Heroes Are My Weakness(81)

AFTER ANNIE HAD SHOWERED AND dressed for the day in jeans and her green sweater, she found Theo in the kitchen.

“Would you like another cup of coffee?” he asked.

“No, thank you. But thank you for offering.”

“My pleasure.”

He’d showered before her, and he, too, was fully dressed. They had their best manners on display, making up for last night’s debauchery with Old World courtesy, as if they needed to reclaim their dignity and prove they were, indeed, civilized.

As he retired to the table with his coffee, she found an old sheet, located a can of black paint in the storage closet, and carried it all into the studio where there were enough splatters on the floor not to make a difference. Half an hour later, Theo stood in the fresh snow and gazed at the banner she’d hung on the front of the cottage.


TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.

NO QUESTIONS ASKED.

She climbed down from the ladder and scowled at him, daring him to make fun of her, but he merely shrugged. “Works for me.”


OVER THE COURSE OF THE next few days, Annie came to a decision. Not about Theo. Her relationship with him was as clear-cut as she could wish. She loved being Sex Queen of the World, and insisting on separate beds kept her from becoming a chump. Instead, her decision involved the legacy. She’d found nothing, and it was time to face reality. Mariah had been on so many painkillers that she hadn’t known what she was saying. There was no legacy, and Annie could either fall apart because her money problems weren’t going to magically disappear, or she could keep moving forward, one step at a time.

The interisland ferry was due to arrive on the first of March, only a few days away, and she began packing up everything in the cottage that had value to ship to the mainland. She arranged for a van to meet the ferry and take it all to Manhattan. Her mother’s name was still worth something, and her things were going to the best resale shop in the city.

Annie had sent photos of everything to the owner, including the paintings, lithographs, art books, the Louis XIV “Pile Driver” chest, and barbed-wire bowl. He’d agreed to advance the money for transportation against future sales.

The centerpiece of the collection and the item the dealer was certain would fetch the most money was one she’d nearly overlooked. The cottage guest book. Some of the autographs were of well-known artists, and a few signatures had small doodles next to the names. The dealer hoped to get as much as two thousand dollars for it, but he took a 40 percent commission. Even if everything sold, Annie wouldn’t be able to settle her debts, but she’d put a dent in them. She was also healthy again. When her sixty days were up, she’d try to get her old jobs back and start all over again. A depressing thought.

Then something happened on the last day of February that cheered her up.

Theo had been out riding longer than usual, and she kept dashing to the windows at Harp House looking for him. It was nearly dusk when she spotted him riding up the drive. She hurried out the side door, grabbing her coat on the way but not bothering with her hat and gloves.

He reined up as he saw her running toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing. Put your happy face on. I got my period!”

He nodded. “That’s a relief.”

No big smile. No high fives or “Thank Gods.” She regarded him curiously. “Somehow I expected a little more enthusiasm.”

“Trust me. I couldn’t be more enthusiastic.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Unlike you, I’m not in the habit of jumping up and down like a twelve-year-old.” He rode off toward the stable.

“You should try it sometime,” she called after him.

As he disappeared she shook her head in disgust. One more reminder that the only connection between them was physical. Did he let anybody see what was going on inside his head?


OF COURSE HE WAS RELIEVED. Annie had a lot of gall suggesting he wasn’t. A pregnant Annie would have screwed up his life in more ways than he could begin to fathom. He was irritable because of his work. He always got testy when his writing wasn’t going well, and it definitely wasn’t going well now. He’d killed off Diggity Swift a week ago and been blocked ever since.

He didn’t understand it. He’d never had a problem killing off a character, but now he couldn’t seem to garner any interest in Quentin Pierce and his band of miscreants. Today he’d actually been happy to get a call from Booker Rose about his hemorrhoids, and how whacked was that?


ANNIE KEPT THE PINK VELVET sofa and the beds, but shipped off most of the rest of the furniture, including the mermaid chair. She wrapped old blankets around the larger paintings and packed up smaller items in boxes she brought down from Harp House. Judy Kester’s son Kurt had to make two trips in his truck to get it all to the wharf. She paid him with the taupe armchair he wanted to give his pregnant wife for her birthday.

Since the new locks had been installed a little over a week ago, there’d been no more incidents at the cottage, although she couldn’t be certain whether the locks were responsible or the sign she’d hung. Once Theo was satisfied she could handle a gun, he’d made certain everyone in town knew she was armed, and she’d begun to feel safe again.

Theo wasn’t happy about the missing furniture. “I need a place to write,” he complained as he surveyed the nearly bare living room.