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I chuckle on the way to my car and wait for Bill to pull out of the garage with his truck. At the main road, he turns in the direction away from Ashleigh Lake. It’s a mere five minutes later that we pull off at a red barn that’s situated next to the road. It’s in the traditional style and fits into the landscape perfectly, unlike a modern structure that would disturb the beauty of the surrounding countryside.
“We’ve constructed this to have easier transport to Hunter’s factory,” Bill explains as we meet up in front of two huge sliding doors. “Enough space for the trucks to pull up, fill up and go.”
He unlocks the doors and slides them open, then hands me the key. “Better hang on to this for now. I think you’ll need it.”
The metal is cold in my hand but holds so much promise. “Thank you.”
“Before we went organic twenty years ago, we were struggling. At first, we barely broke even, but then Hunter’s ice cream took off and now with him buying all our milk, things are looking up.”
He leads the way into the dark interior and takes a few steps down the wall to flick on some lights. I blink a few times as I try to take in the world I’ve stepped into. Center stage is a massive trailer with double wheels. It’s at least thirty feet long and has to be the tiny house base that the competition regulators provide to all competitors. All along the edge of the barn walls are workbenches, with electric saws, power tools and other equipment of the building trade.
The air is heavy with the scent of machine lubricant and the wood studs piled on the sides. The quiet of the waiting power tools fills the barn with a sense of anticipation.
Bill takes in the look on my face and laughs at my stunned silence. “Boys and their toys, hey? This is Raiden. He isn’t much of a talker, but his hands are something else.”
I fumble for words. “It’s a lot of…toys.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle. The heat, on the other hand…” Bill glances around the big space. “When the doors are all open, there should be a bit of a breeze, but if it ever gets too hot in here, you have the lake a few hundred yards away.” He rubs his hands together. “Now, if you’ll be all right alone here, I’ll leave you to it. The cows are calling.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for showing me the way.”
As Bill pulls the huge door shut behind him, I sigh in relief for having made it this far this morning.
I look around at my new workspace. It’s so early, I don’t think anybody is going to knock on this barn door until much, much later. It gives me time to explore and get an understanding of what goes on in Raiden’s head.
7
RAIDEN
I blink. The sun is way too high.
Since I decided to go sober seven years ago, my tolerance for alcohol has taken a nosedive. For a big guy like me, it’s a joke, and my brothers still poke fun at me after all this time. I drink the occasional beer, but stress-chugging six like I did last night isn’t my thing anymore.
My body can handle the alcohol as I don’t feel hung over, but I slept later than I have in ages. Hauling machines and equipment around and making sure the workshop was ready for today took the last of the energy I had to spare.
And then she arrived.
I tossed around for ages before falling asleep. Was it because of the beer or because the inevitable screw-up that I always wait for finally happened?
Holy crap.
I bolt upright and stare through the bedroom window to the lake’s metallic blue as sunlight shimmers over the water.
It’s quiet—eerily quiet—in the boathouse with its cardboard walls.
I tumble out of bed and pull on the pair of jeans I’d hooked over the wingback in the room, going commando. Without any further thought, I stride out of my room, scanning the place.
There’s nobody. Her room door is closed, and when I knock there’s no answer. I walk to the front door and look outside. Her car is gone.
Did she bail without any further prodding? I sigh in relief, but it’s short-lived. I’ve never had that type of luck in my life. She’s as hard-ass as they get and after our messed-up evening yesterday, one thing is for sure: Georgiana Wess is going to give as good as she gets.
I knock once more on her door and when there’s still no answer, I peek into her room. The bed is unmade, and her suitcase is still there, gaping open and revealing a tumble of soft feminine fabrics. The room smells somewhat girly already, fresh with a touch of flowers.
A sky-blue evening dress is draped over the wingback chair, and I break out in a wicked chuckle. Our princess thinks she’ll wear that to work? Ha!
If she isn’t here, where the hell is she? Dread creeps all the way up my spine to the back of my head, a cold chilling spread of premonition. With a glance I take in the living room.
Crap. My model tiny house is gone. If she so much as f—
