Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“What?” I asked as she grabbed her purse and mine in one motion.
She hauled me to my feet. “I just closed our tab,” she said, motioning for Tessa to get a move on. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
“Why?” I snatched my bag away, stumbling after her.
“Because if anything goes down, we’re not going to be in the middle of it. Especially with a reporter here.” She gave me a firm look. “Just once, Anna. Just once, I don’t want to be in the paper.”
She hustled us toward the door, moving fast enough to qualify as a sprint.
“But there might be a catfight,” I muttered, craning my neck to get one last look.
“Exactly,” she said. “This time, we’re not going to be in it.” She pushed open the door, and cold rain slapped us in the face. Outside, the air smelled like wet asphalt and pine.
Across the lot, headlights cut through the downpour as a familiar truck pulled in. Aiden hopped out, pulling up his collar against the rain. “Hey,” he called, striding toward us. “You guys are leaving already?”
“There’s about to be a catfight,” Tessa said by way of greeting.
Aiden grinned, blue eyes glinting in the low light. “Good timing then. Hop in the truck, and I’ll take you home.”
“I’m fine to drive,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”
“All right,” he said, giving me a look that was all Aiden. “Fair enough. Drive straight home. Don’t go back inside.”
“I won’t.” I glanced toward Donna. “If there’s a fight, will Luanne call you?”
Donna smirked. “She’ll take pictures.”
“Perfect,” I said dryly.
Chapter 15
I dropped Tessa off at the prosecuting attorney’s office since Donna had been the one to bring her to the bar. Tessa said she’d catch a ride home with Nick, so I drove out of Timber City toward Tamarack Lake, the wipers beating time against the windshield while rain pummeled the glass in steady, relentless sheets.
By the time I reached Aiden’s cabin, night had swallowed the trees. His truck sat under a haze of dripping pine needles. I ducked my head against the downpour and sprinted up the porch steps, rain and wind beating at me.
Inside the cabin, a wonderful warmth hit me like a solid wall. A fire was already crackling in the stone fireplace, and the place smelled like cedar, damp wool, and something buttery from the kitchen.
A furball bounded my way. “Brickhouse,” I cried happily, dropping my purse.
My dog charged me with pure joy, tail wagging like a propeller. For a dog who had washed out of official search-and-rescue work, he had enthusiasm in spades. He bowled into me, and I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around him. He licked my face while I tried to fend him off, laughing.
“You need to train with him sometime tomorrow,” Aiden said from the kitchen, voice low and rough with humor. “He’s too smart to forget all his commands.”
“I know,” I said, still wrestling fur and teeth and tongue. “He missed me.”
“He’s not the only one.”
That earned him a quick glance. His mouth quirked, unreadable in the firelight.
I sat back on my heels, running a hand down Brick’s thick coat. “How’s it going?”
“Good. I talked to Saber. He was just arriving at the Penguin to meet some friends shortly after we left.”
Excitement caught me. “Did anything happen?”
“Nope. No catfight.” Aiden’s mouth curved slightly. “Though if you’d stayed, I’m sure there would’ve been.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I said, frowning.
His eyes gleamed. “It doesn’t have to. It’s you.”
The rain deepened outside, drumming against the roof. I stood and lifted my nose, catching that rich scent again. “Did you cook?”
“I did. You trust me with explosives,” he said, turning back to the stove. “You can trust me with pasta.”
The cabin lights glowed against the storm, the kitchen warm and golden. Steam curled from a pot on the range.
“I never said I trusted you with explosives,” I teased. “Just that you’re good with them.”
“Noted.” He twirled a fork through the pot. “You want wine?”
“Absolutely.” I brushed dog hair off my jeans, walked toward the rear sliding glass door, and looked out at the silver surface of the lake. The darkness pressed close to the cabin, thick and watchful. Rain on the roof sounded like steady static, almost soothing.
I heard the cork pop and then the clink of glasses. When I turned, Aiden was leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, pouring two glasses of red wine. The firelight picked up lighter strands in his hair and painted his skin in amber tones.
He’d been upgrading the cabin. The counters gleamed in dark marble now, the wood floors newly polished. Still rough around the edges, but warmer. The place felt more lived-in but not quite. It needed some softer touches.
“What?” he asked, catching me looking.
“Oh, nothing.”
His blue eyes softened. “You can plant whatever you want in here. Decorate however you like.”