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“I’ve got something to do. I’m doing it.”
“Repairing an old toaster?”
This time he did respond to the putdown. He sat back in the chair and stared at her thoughtfully while tapping a small screwdriver against his palm. “There are other things that need fixing.”
“And what happens when they run out?”
“I don’t see that happening.”
More than a little subdued by his “do not trespass” tone, she made a circuit of the room, went to one of the windows, and moved aside the curtain so she could look out again. The snowfall was thicker than earlier. “How far are we from Drakeland?”
“Farther than a marathon, if you had in mind to run all the way.”
“I spent Friday night there. I didn’t see much of the town, though. Is it nice?”
“It’s almost civilized. Has a Wendy’s, a Walmart, a multiscreen movie theater.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “How often do you go?”
“To the movies?”
“To town.”
“When I need something. When I feel like going.”
“Do you see friends?”
“The lady at Dunkin’ Donuts always speaks. She knows my face.”
“But not your name.”
He didn’t say anything.
“No friends. No…” At a loss for words, she went to the hearth and sat down. “How do you make your living? What do you do for money?”
“I get by.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I keep myself clothed and fed, but I don’t have gobs of money.” He paused, then added, “Not like you.”
“I don’t have gobs of money.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Wealth is relative,” she said irritably. “Besides, how do you—” She stopped and looked over at the laptop on the end table beneath the lamp. “You looked me up?”
“The afternoon I brought you here.”
“You got my name off my driver’s license.”
“The rest was easy. A few keystrokes. Charbonneau Oil and Gas popped up. You’re an heiress.”
She wasn’t prepared to talk about anything this personal with him. Yet she heard herself say, “I hate that word.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it means that my parents are dead. I guess you read about that.”
