Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [47]
“Don’t you walk out on me,” she snapped. “Is stalking off your answer for everything?”
“I’m not stalking off.” I’m such a liar.
She leapt up from her chair and shoved her own plate at him. “You know what? It’s my turn to walk out in a huff. Appreciate this, buddy. You can wash the damn dishes, I’m going for a walk.”
And out of the room she went, heading out the back door, her righteous indignation wrapped around her like a gauzy scarf.
Huh. This was the sweet, nurturing young woman he’d been imagining? Simon couldn’t prevent a smile as he carried the dirty dishes to the sink and began rinsing them. He liked the angry, feisty Lottie. He liked the sexy, sultry Lottie. He liked the nurturing, caring Lottie.
He liked everything about her. And that was just bad news. The last thing he needed was to get himself tied in knots over a woman now, when he was finally starting to come out of his long, dark tunnel.
But he didn’t want her to leave. Not only because he’d miss her, but also because with her in the house, it had almost begun to seem normal. He’d had no more headaches, noticed no more strange smells. There’d been a few odd moments—her getting locked in the attic, for instance. But for the most part things were going well for the first time in months. All because of her.
He’d grown accustomed to having her here. And he already dreaded the moment when she’d leave.
As Simon finished the dishes, something made him peer harder out the window over the sink. A movement. Something metallic had caught and reflected the light on the back porch. Leaning close and peering out into the darkness, he tried to determine what it had been.
It took a moment but he finally figured it out. “What the hell?” he muttered when he realized the glint he’d seen had been the reflection off the metal struts on an old buggy that Uncle Roger kept on display on the back lawn. The thing had been there for years and tourists who stayed at the hotel often liked to get their picture taken in it. His uncle even said he would occasionally lend it out to the town below when they wanted to hitch a horse to it for a parade or some local carnival.
Practically a fixture at the hotel, there was absolutely no reason to be startled by the buggy…except he had been. It took a split second to realize why.
It was moving.
Despite blocks at the base of the four wheels that prevented it from going anywhere, the thing was in motion. If it rolled a few more feet, it would hit the gentle slope in the backyard and cruise right down to the edge of it.
The lawn ended at the cliffs.
A sudden, horrific thought leapt into his mind and Simon’s heart thudded in his chest. Dropping the plate he’d been drying, he barely heard it shatter on the floor. He ran for the back door, bursting outside.
The evening was cold and damp. The entire month had been soggy and the ground was mucky and slick. He skidded and slipped as he ran down the steps onto the wet lawn, but he didn’t slow down.
“Lottie!” he yelled, as he headed for the buggy, without looking around for her. There wasn’t time.
She didn’t respond. For all he knew, she was safely around the front of the house, praying to the automotive gods to get her car running so she could get out of here. Away from a moody bastard like him.
But he couldn’t be certain of that.
When he reached the carriage, he grabbed a hitching bar across the back, trying to stop it with sheer brute force. His feet could find no stable ground, however, and the thing pulled him to his knees, dragging him behind it as it hit the slope.
“Simon?” He heard the voice from somewhere ahead of him. Ahead of the wagon. Near the cliffs.
“Shit,” he muttered, letting go of the buggy, knowing it was pointless. He was on his feet, sprinting around it as the old conveyance picked up speed. With his heart pounding in his chest, he yelled with every step. “Lottie, get out of the way. Get the hell away from the cliffs!”
He finally saw her, standing near a large, man-size boulder that Uncle Roger used to tell guests was the do-not-cross