A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(57)

"I always strive to be a good neighbor. One can't be too careful these days." Mrs. VanVlear opened her umbrella. "Vagrants are known to move into empty homes when the owners are out of town. When the family returns, they have to evict them. Can you imagine?"

She turned toward the street and made her way around the puddles that had formed on the path. "I read about it in the paper. Sometimes it takes months to get rid of them. Squatter's rights, I think they call it," she yelled over her shoulder.

"Yes," Gwen said.

"Terrible. It's just terrible. I don't—" Gwen shut the door on the final words and pulled her phone from her pocket to read the new message.

"Well? I'm passing Ralphs?"

"No. I'm good." She typed. She took Mrs. VanVlear's glass into the kitchen, put it in the sink and reached for a clean one.

The phone lit up. "Too late anyway."

The clock in the great room said 7:17. The sun was long gone, and the black windows now looked like prying eyes. Gwen turned down the lights. She felt less visible in candlelight.

She sat on the couch, picked up her wine, and tried to slow her racing heart. Why did she feel so guilty? She wasn't doing anything wrong. Okay, maybe a little wrong. Flirting wasn't the best behavior for a married woman, but it wasn't an affair. It wasn't whatever she'd seen between Art and the waitress. By the time she heard the knock on the door, she had drained her second glass and was feeling better about the evening.





CHAPTER FORTY


Rain puddled on Art's sleeping bag. The walls of the tent flapped in the wind like the sail of a boat. He couldn't believe the kids slept through the racket.

He lay on his aching back in his damp sleeping bag, the musty odors of teenage boy, wet dog, and dirt filling his nostrils. At the moment, he couldn't remember whose idea this camping trip was.

Emily was restless; her bag knotted from constant twisting. She fussed whenever the noise of the storm hit a certain decibel, but didn't wake. This was not the trip he'd envisioned.

He rolled over to reach into a pocket built into the tent wall, slammed his hip into a rock, and swore under his breath. After groping in the dark, he found his cell phone.

When it lit, the cozy glow made him long for some of the other comforts of civilization, like real walls, a roof that didn't leak, and the warmth of a wife next to him. He pushed the weather app icon and typed Big Bear into the search menu. It came up, and he groaned. It showed rain all day Saturday and Sunday.

He pondered his options for the morning. They could get up and go into town for a big breakfast, buy rain parkas, and soldier on. Or, they could pack it up and try again another weekend. He knew which the boys would opt for. They would happily turn blue from cold if they could stay in Big Bear.

He shifted in his bag. A trickle of cold water seeped through a gap in the zipper soaking the right leg of his sweat pants. Emily flailed and moaned like a trapped animal. Art flopped onto his back and stared at the undulating tent roof, miserable.

The walls of the tent lit with an amber light. Seconds later, thunder boomed like a bass drum. Rocket tried to bury himself under Art's legs.

Great. They were lying in a pool of water. Forget morning; they should leave tonight. The tent was illuminated as lightning struck again. It was close. Too close. A long, menacing rumble reverberated in the air around him, and he began to think through the quickest way to break camp.

The world became as bright as day. A crack exploded near his head. Emily screamed and fought her way out of her tangled bed to a sitting position. Both boys lurched up, eyes wide.

"Daddy!" Emily called out.

"Shh, shh, I'm here," he said reaching for her.

"I don't like this," she said, whimpering.

"What the heck," Jason said. He was leaning on one elbow with a look of excited wonder on his face.

Another crash detonated near the tent. It was like a war zone out there.

"Okay, guys, we're leaving," Art said. The boys broke into an instant argument. Emily wiggled from her bag and climbed into Art's lap. "Listen to me. No arguing. This isn't safe."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Emily whispered with a panicky look on her face.

"I'll take her," Tyler said.

"I want Daddy." Emily tightened her grip on Art's neck.

"Go with Tyler, honey. Jason and I will start loading the car so we can get out of here." Art unraveled her from around him and passed her off to Tyler. "Let's get going J-Man."





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


Lance arrived ten minutes later. Gwen pulled him into the house, away from Esther VanVlear's spying eyes, and closed the door behind him. "Crazy weather," he said, removing a dripping jacket and hanging it on a hook in the entryway.

His hair sparkled with water droplets. A stray lock curled across his forehead. He looked like a disheveled Prince Charming just in from a ride on his white steed.

But this was no fairy tale. He was a real flesh and blood man. The musk of the cologne he always wore filled Gwen's head. Her thighs went weak, but not from passion or longing. It was nerves. Anxiety knocked against her rib cage, making it hard to fill her lungs.

"Come and have some wine." She hoped he didn't hear the breathlessness of her voice.