I nod as she slips off her cream-colored parka revealing jeans and a lilac sweater. She tucks her hat and mittens into the hood and toes off her wet boots. I gave her shit, but I have to give her credit—she dressed warm. “Yes, but only one. We’ll be sharing. The lighthouse is hooked up to Old Harbor’s water and sewer. Sometimes the pipes freeze, but it’s not that cold out yet so you don’t have to worry about it. Come on.”
She follows me through the kitchen to the bathroom near my bedroom. Almost everything I need is on the first floor. The second, and only other inhabitable floor, is where the spare bedroom, my library, and a sitting room are located. When I drew up the plans, I wanted space to move around. I didn’t want to feel closed in.
“Everything you need should be in here,” I say, gesturing to the bathroom. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Her deep green eyes can’t leave my face. She’s the first person in a long time to be this close, and I find her scrutiny uncomfortable. I’ve met enough of the townspeople in Old Harbor that their stares don’t bother me anymore. If we’re going to wait out the storm, I’d better get used to her staring at me. I’m not going to hide in my own home.
I return her stare. “Done?”
“I’m sorry.” She looks away and shuts the bathroom door behind her.
I put on a fresh pot of coffee, and while she’s cleaning up, bring in the logs I’d gone out for in the first place. She’s in there for so long, I’m thinking about checking on her when she steps tentatively into the kitchen.
She looks better. Her face is dry, and her hair is free of snarls. She’s rubbed some of the lotion I have sitting on the vanity into her hands, and I can smell the light scent drift to me over the coffee as it drips into the carafe.
“Thank you. For not letting me fend for myself out there. It’s more than I deserve.”
“I don’t disagree. Sit. The coffee will be done in a few minutes. What did you say your name was again?”
“Devyn Scott. I work for the Portland Pioneer. It’s a small town about five hours west of here.” She sits on one of the benches that came with the kitchen table instead of chairs. I like how it fits in with the Old World décor the interior designer suggested when I hired her to help me redo the place.
I busy myself with mugs, cream, and sugar. “I know it,” I say, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. She took her share of liberties checking me out; I can do the same. “The name sounds familiar.”
“I used to work for the Cedar Hill Times.”
Something tugs, and then I lose it. My life hasn’t exactly been a picnic the last two years, and I can’t be bothered trying to remember the name of a woman reporter who worked for a newspaper that I didn’t give a shit about. And still don’t.
“Here. Warm your hands with this.” I pour coffee into a mug and slide it to her.
She wraps her hands around the large mug and inhales deeply, letting it out in a sigh that does strange things to my insides.
The whole situation pisses me off.
I’m pissed I find her attractive. I’m pissed she’s stuck here for the next few days until the storm passes and the plows clear the roads well enough for her to at least drive into Old Harbor. I’m pissed that out of anyone who could be trapped here, it’s a reporter who only wants to use me.
I’m so fucking tired of the world.
I’ve already had coffee, but I pour more into a clean mug and add my usual splash of whiskey. Devyn watches me, her eyebrows raised. “Are you in pain?”
“Always.” I know what will make me livid. “Aren’t you?”
Her answer.
“Always.”
I lift the bottle of Glenlivet in offer.
She raises her mug in acceptance, and I add a finger of whiskey to her coffee.
After she sips, her sigh is even more appreciative.
Fuck this. I need to go to bed.
“So, while we’re trapped here, you could let me interview you.”
I sip my coffee wishing it was plain old whiskey. I told my doc I’d be careful, and I wasn’t fucking around. I’ve never experienced days so dark, and they weren’t over.
She looks at me hopefully, expectantly, a reporter used to getting what she wants. She had to have been good to work at the Times, and I wouldn’t need to do much digging to find what caused her fall from grace. There’s more to her than blood-thirsty motivation to reach the top. Maybe there hadn’t been, but there is now. I can see it in the shadows of her green eyes.