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“Like I said, I don’t think she wants to be disturbed too much. I guess that’s how writers are.”
He glances in the direction Brooke had gone, a flash of regret in his gaze. “I’d better be on my way, then I can get back sooner. I hope she’s not too cranky.”
"You just need someone to go and knock on the door and check on her at the cabin? The one that's just half a mile up the road, back on the right side?"
"Yeah, that one. It won't take long."
"I'm headed that way. I'll go check on her and then if she needs anything, I'll let you know. How's that?"
"Oh, I can't ask you to do that."
"I don't recall you asking at all. I offered. You stay here. Brooke could use some TLC. Besides, old ladies like me."
He pauses. I understand. He's a man of his word and doesn't like not doing what he said he'd do. He smiles and says, "Okay, you do that for me, and you can be Caleb number one. For today."
CHAPTER2
CALEB
I'm feeling much better as I continue down the dirt road. I need to get out and see old friends more often, though I'll admit that seeing Caleb and Brooke with a baby—while I'm still being lumped in with Midge and my sister on group gifts—made me feel like I was missing out.
Yeah, maybe it's time for me to rethink a few things.
Honestly, I've been thinking about getting my own house. I could build on the ranch. Or I could move off the ranch and into a house in town. Or out here. I've got all kinds of options.
I need to exercise a few of them.
The long driveway back to the cabin is full of potholes and I maneuver carefully so as not to damage the truck. There's a nondescript compact car parked by the house and I pull in next to it.
I haven't actually been back to this cabin for years. The trees have grown and filled in so that it's hard to see it from the road. If I didn't know it was here, I'd have driven on by.
I guess that's good for someone who wants to be left alone.
A writer, huh? That could be interesting. I've been on a real Stephen King kick lately. I don't suppose he'd be out this way writing his next horror book. Besides, Caleb said it was a woman.
Ah well. Probably some bookish professor-type. I'll do my duty and be on my way. Must not be a very successful author, though, if she's got to borrow someone's cabin.
I make my way to the porch and one of the boards creaks. I rock my foot over it a couple times and make a mental note to tell Caleb. It ought to be fixed before it gets any worse. Especially if the writer is some old retiree writing her memoirs or something.
I knock on the door and step back. Don't want to frighten the old girl.
I wonder if she writes mysteries. Like the woman onMurder She Wrote.
It occurs to me that I need to stop watching old TV shows if my frame of reference isAndy GriffithandMurder She Wrote. Yeah, my life needs a big overhaul.
There's no response. Should I wait? Maybe she can't move very fast, but it's a small cabin. Her hearing probably isn't great so I knock louder and turn to look at the lawn and trees around the cabin.
I'm about to leave and chalk the lack of answer up to a reclusive writer who doesn't want to be disturbed when I hear a noise behind me and spin back to greet her while saying, "Hello, ma'am," loudly, trying to be thoughtful about her poor hearing.
And then I stop and stare.
Not only is the woman on the other side of the door not old, she's beautiful with big brown eyes and pink lips that turn up a bit on the ends.
"Hello," she says, then blushes and touches her hand to her nearly-white hair in a nervous gesture and I notice her unusual hair cut.
Most of her hair is short, just above the collar of her T-shirt. But on one side, there are long strands that fall nearly to her waist. It's not a mullet. Maybe it's a side mullet. Is there such a thing?
But on her, it's kind of cute. I gape, just so surprised not to find an old woman standing there.
