No Perfect Hero(4)

It’s nice. I’d like to paint the special way the light beams in, turning almost misty as it slants across the carpet. Whoever owns this place has an eye for comfort, and I throw a glance back at the front desk, suspecting it's not him.

Perfect timing. The old man’s done, printing out my receipt to sign, and pushing a key across the desk just as Tara comes out of the bathroom, moving in that prim, princess-like way that says she’s got her groove back with her bladder weighing a pound less, thank you very much.

I toss her a grin and turn to thank the old man, swiping the key and my card in exchange for a pen scribble.

“Thanks,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“Flynn,” he answers. “Flynn Bitters. At your service anytime.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bitters,” I say, lifting my hand in a wave. “Just have the mechanic give me a call. No need to rush, we can probably stay a few days.”

Tara looks up at me with wide eyes as we step outside into the brisk, warm summer afternoon. “We’re...staying here?”

“Just for a little while,” I answer. “Call it a mini-vacay until the car’s straightened out. We’ll soak up the sun, kick up our feet, maybe take in the sights and try some local food. This place looks fun.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I dunno, Auntie Hay. It’s so tiny...there wasn’t even a name on Google.”

“There was a name on the sign we passed,” I point out and grin. “My darling tagalong, welcome to the illustrious town of Heart’s Edge.”





*



The numbered duplex cabin we’ve been assigned to is actually around the back of the main plantation house, almost toward the far edge of the property.

Good. Plenty of privacy.

It’s one of the larger cottages, made of unfinished dark wood, maybe cedar or fir. Just looking at it screams it's modernly simplistic and sweetly rustic with its wooden siding and wraparound porch and tall floor-to-ceiling windows to the sides and back.

But what really gives it soul is the view. The whole unit looks out on a long slope leading down to a cliff with a stunning valley view rolling right up the foot of the mountains.

My heart does a somersault when I'm really able to stop and breathe and take it in.

There’s even a hot tub out back. I find it while we're scouting around the little porch, which is settled right in the middle. So, no question that the occupants of both sides either have to share or come up with some kind of scheduling agreement. There’s no one around, though, so once we’re tucked away and settled in, I might just take a little dip to get rid of the soreness from driving.

Once we’ve finished snooping around outside, we step back up the porch stairs and try the key in the lock on the left side. It jiggles and...doesn't do anything.

No go. Weird.

Bitters must've told us the wrong number. He told us we were Cabin 31-A, not 31-B.

No big deal. I slip the key into the lock for 31-B on the right side, and it twists open immediately.

We step into a cozy space, full of light shining off soft wood tones, with furniture in dark, earthy, welcoming shades. It’s a little like Martha Stewart meets Mountain Home Magazine, and I’m loving the vibe.

My niece creeps in shyly behind me, peering around.

“We're fine. Looks newer in here than I would've guessed.” I flash Tara a disarming smile and dump my bag on the sofa. “Let’s check out the beds. This place looks big enough that we might even get separate bedrooms.”

“If we don’t,” she says chirpily, already heading toward the hall, “we can just act like it’s a sleepover!”

I can’t help watching her fondly as I follow.

She’s so resilient, so adaptable, putting the best face on everything. I miss when I was still that bright and optimistic and easily excited. But heck, maybe I can take a life lesson or two from a ten-year-old bumblebee.

Find the bright side to everything, appreciate new, and just move on.

But I'm too busy moving into the first bedroom off the hall to guess what's coming.

A big, rough hand grips my shoulder, spins me around, and the wall thumps hard against my back.

Holy –

Before I even have time to blink, there's a behemoth on me, a charging bull, appearing out of nowhere, walling me off in muscle and pine scent and dark, wily ink.

I'm too shocked to even scream.

So I yelp instead, my heart rocketing up the back of my throat, my pulse spiking.

Half a second later, I'm staring up into a grim, tight-locked, sharply handsome face and livid, hard blue eyes that bore into me as this giant of a man bears down.

He tightens his grip. Pins me to the wall with enough strength to make me feel like a gnat and enough body heat to make me feel like I’ve stepped into a furnace, burning off him in waves that touch me from head to toe.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” he demands, snarling low, a vibrating growl I can practically feel slamming into me. “Who sent you? Does Bress know? Is he coming?”

Holy hell.

This is new, and I'm frozen.

I’m not used to oversized men grabbing me and barking questions.

My brain can’t decide between panic and anger or whether this asshole is getting handsy with me.

It settles on deer in headlights. Or maybe possum. Yep, that’s me.