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“Never mind. My son’s effect on women is legendary.”
“I’m a painter.”
Her eyes swept from Blue’s untidy ponytail to her scuffed black motorcycle boots. “You’re not his usual type of girlfriend.”
“Once again, my three-digit IQ separates me from the pack.”
April sank down on the next to last step. “What the hell am I going to do now?”
“Maybe you could try to reconcile with your son while you wait for the results from your latest round of tests. Considering the amazing strides doctors have made treating heart disease, I’m fairly confident you’ll get good news.”
“It was a rhetorical question,” April said dryly.
“Only a suggestion.”
April set off for the tenant’s cottage shortly after, and Blue wandered through the quiet, dusty rooms. Even the home’s renovated kitchen couldn’t cheer her up. No matter how pure her motivation, she had no business indulging her fairy godmother fantasy when it came to other people’s family messes.
By nightfall, Dean still hadn’t returned. As darkness settled around the house, Blue made the unpleasant discovery that only the kitchen and bathrooms had any working light fixtures. She sincerely hoped Dean returned soon because the house, so cozy a few hours earlier, had grown eerie. The plastic hanging over the doorways crackled like dry bones. The old floors creaked. Since there were no doors, she didn’t have the option of locking herself in a bedroom, and with no car, she couldn’t even drive into town and hang out at a convenience store. She was stuck. There was nothing to do but go to sleep.
She wished she’d made up a bed while she could still see. She fumbled around in the dark, feeling her way along the dining room chair rail to get to the trouble light the carpenters had left coiled in the corner. Ominous shadows leaped up the dining room walls as she flicked it on. She unplugged it and crept upstairs, holding on to the banister while the long yellow power cord dragged behind her like a tail.
Five bedrooms opened off the hallway’s nooks and crannies, but only one had a private bath with a working light fixture. By the time she reached it, she was so jumpy from the grotesque shadows shooting across the walls that she couldn’t go any farther. True, only a few faint threads of illumination spilled from the bathroom, but it was better than nothing. She propped the trouble light in a corner and unpacked the linens stacked on the mattress. The new, queen-size sleigh bed had a curving cherry headboard but no footboard. The bed, along with a matching triple dresser, were the only pieces of furniture. Six bare windows watched her like staring eyes with a big stone fireplace forming a gaping mouth.
She pushed the stepladder the painter had left in the hallway in front of the door to let Dean know this room was already occupied for the night. The ladder would hardly keep him out if he decided he wanted to come in, but why should he? After the earthshaking news he’d received about his mother, he’d hardly be in the mood for seduction.
She carried the trouble light into the small bathroom and washed her face. Since Dean had driven off with her stuff, she had to brush her teeth with her finger. She pulled her bra through the armhole of her T-shirt and kicked off her boots but left everything else on in case she needed to flee the house screaming. She wasn’t a jumpy person when it came to dealing with urban boogeymen, but she was out of her element here, and she took the trouble light with her as she slipped into bed. Only after she’d settled in did she turn it off and stick it under the covers where she could get to it quickly.
A branch rubbed the side of the house. Something rustled in the chimney. She imagined bats lining up for a 5K through the house. Where was Dean? And why couldn’t this place have some doors?
She wished she’d gone to the cottage with April, but she hadn’t been invited. Maybe Blue had been a little heavy-handed, but at least she’d bought Dean’s mother some time, which was more than April had been able to do for herself. The helplessness of the naturally beautiful.
Blue tried to concentrate on being ill-used, but she wasn’t good at lying to herself. She’d interfered with something she should have left alone. On the bright side, dealing with other people’s troubles had distracted her from worrying about her own.
A floorboard creaked. The chimney moaned. She curled her fingers around the handle of the trouble light and stared at the gaping doorway.
Minutes ticked away.
Gradually, her fingers relaxed, and she fell into a restless sleep.
An ominously creaking floorboard jolted her awake. Her eyes shot open to see a menacing shape looming over her. Her hand convulsed around the trouble light. She yanked it from under the covers and swung.
“Shit!” A familiar masculine bellow pierced the night quiet.
Her fingers found the switch. Miraculously the bulb in the plastic cage hadn’t broken, and harsh light flooded the room. A very angry multimillionaire quarterback hovered above her. He was bare-chested, furious, and rubbing his arm just above the elbow. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She shot up in the pillows, trouble light clutched high. “Me? You creep in here—”
“It’s my house. I swear to God, if you screwed up my passing arm…”
“I had the door blocked! How could you sneak up on me like that?”
“Sneak? You had this place lit up like a frickin’ Christmas tree.”
She wasn’t stupid enough to mention the jumping shadows and staring windows. “Only two measly bathroom lights.”
“Plus the kitchen.” He whipped the trouble light from her hands. “Give me that and stop being a chickenshit.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t attacked when you were sound asleep.”
