But she wasn’t so out of it that she didn’t notice the boxes on the kitchen and living room tables.
Well, I guess the food’s been delivered. Jeepers. That looks like enough to feed an army.I’ll check it out in the morning. Hope they put the perishable stuff away because I’m not doing it now.
Five minutes later, she was tucked beneath her covers and slipping into sleep.
* * *
A loud noise had Teddy bolting upright in bed.
Sun blazed through the window, and a squinty look at the bedside clock (her cell phone was too far away to reach) told her it was just after seven. Groggy and shocked out of a sound sleep, she stumbled out of bed.
Whatever had awakened her sounded like a heavy thud—very nearby.
Like, in the living room.
She of the very active imagination looked around for a weapon—although why someone would break in in the morning rather than in the dead of night was beyond her—and her eyes lit on a pair of water skis propped in the corner. She didn’t even have the wherewithal to wonder what they were doing there.
Another loud noise from beyond, followed by a muffled human exclamation, had Teddy grabbing one of the skis (it was either that, the hairdryer, or her laptop). Hefting the unwieldy weapon, she sneaked to the curve-topped door connecting the lighthouse to the main part of the cottage and opened it a crack.
There was a man in her living room.
Teddy ducked back. Her heart pounding, her palms slick, she drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.What the hell?
Fortunately, he was facing the other way and hadn’t appeared to notice her.
She peered back out and took a better look. All she could see was an arm and a broad, solid shoulder, plus the hint of a leg and hip as he moved around. Whoever he was, he had stuff—equipment—all over the place. All the boxes and things she’d seen last night and had assumed was food seemed to belong to him.
“Who the hell are you?” She stalked out, ski clutched awkwardly in both hands.
Unfortunately, the damn thing was too long, and she misjudged. The pointy end of the ski snagged in the bumpy Berber carpet, causing it to catch and her to stumble, slamming her head against the waxed wood.Nice going, Mack.
The man whirled around, and they both froze, gaping at each other. “It’s you?” he said.
“You!What the hell are you doing here? Did youfollowme?” Teddy couldn’t have written a better story herself: the man who’d set up some sort of scientific labin her summer rentalwas the nerdy scientist from the hot spring.
But maybe he wasn’t a nerdy scientist after all.
Maybe hewasa serial killer. He had enough of a lab set up to torture her if he pleased. And they were too far from civilization for anyone to hear her scream… (Great tagline for her next book.)
“You’rethe writer?” he said, snapping off a plastic glove. And he didn’t sound at all pleased about it. “You didn’t mention that yesterday.”
“I’mthe writer,” she snarled, and realized her head was pounding, right above her nose. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that last beer Baxter ordered for her after all. “And I didn’t realize a chance meeting required me to tell you my occupa— Anyway, this is my cottage—where I’m supposed to have privacy and solitude so I can finish my damn book—and what in the hell is allthis?”
“Carl— Did you meet Carl?”
“Who? Hell, it doesn’t matter. I’m calling the rental agent. No, I’m calling Harriet, for pity’s sake.She’sgoing to be having words with them about—”
But he shook his head, talking above her rant. “It won’t help. They screwed up and rented the place to both of us, and there aren’t any other rooms available in Wicks Hollow. So we’re stuck sharing the place.” He looked at her, his eyes tracing the ski and then skimming over her tank top—under which she was braless, of course—then down her legs (bared by a pair of boxer shorts). “When he said there was a writer, I didn’t know it was you—I mean, that you were a woman. He said your name was Teddy. And come to think of it, he conveniently didn’t assign a pronoun.”
“The name’s Teddy Mack. Wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I can’t.” She set the ski to lean against the wall and crossed her arms over her breasts as reality sank in. “Are you serious—there’snowhereelse you can go? I have to finish a book! I’m already late, and Ican’t writewith all this going on! With you here.”
Panic clutched her chest. She’d planned to wake up this morning, bright and early, have a cup of tea on the wraparound porch, and absorb the fresh air and sunshine as she looked out at Lake Michigan…and then pull out her laptop and dive right in to the story.
But now everything was off. Mucked up. And her thoughts couldn’t be further from the edgy, cliff-hanging thrillers about sexy, sarcastic Sargent Blue, who saved the world at least once in every single book.
What the hell am I going to do?Teddy felt the sting of tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.I’m so damn behind, so uninspired, so freaking burned out and scared…I just don’t think I can do this.
And now this.
