Knox took the bags from her and put them in the bed of his pickup. “Let’s go.”
It was a quiet ride, and apparently if I wasn’t making conversation or fighting with Knox, I didn’t have the energy to remain conscious. I woke abruptly when the truck jostled. We were on a dirt road that snaked its way through woods. The trees created a canopy above us. I had no idea if I’d just dozed off or if we’d been driving for an hour.
Remembering my predicament, I whipped around and relaxed when I saw Waylay in the back seat, sitting next to the white, fluffy mound that was my wedding dress.
Turning back to Knox, I yawned. “Great. You’re taking us out to the middle of nowhere to murder us, aren’t you?”
Waylay snickered behind me.
Knox stayed stubbornly silent as we bumped along the dirt drive.
“Whoa.” Waylay’s exclamation had me focusing on the view through the windshield.
A wide creek meandered alongside the road before curling back into the woods. Just ahead, the trees thinned, and I spotted the “whoa.” It was a large log home with a wide front porch that wrapped around one side of the first floor.
Knox continued down the drive past the house.
“Bummer,” Waylay muttered under her breath when we drove on.
Around the next bend, I spied a small cabin with dark siding tucked into a copse of trees. “That’s my place,” Knox said. “And that’s yours.”
Just beyond it was a storybook-looking cottage. Pine trees towered over it, offering shade from the summer sun. Its white board-and-batten exterior was charming. The small front porch with cheery blue planks, inviting.
I loved it.
Knox turned into the short gravel drive and turned off the engine.
“Let’s go,” he said, climbing out.
“I guess we’re here,” I whispered to Waylay.
We both exited the truck.
It was cooler here than in town. Quieter too. The rumble of motorcycles and traffic was replaced with the buzz of bees and the far-off drone of an airplane. A dog barked nearby. I could hear the creek as it burbled its way through whispering trees somewhere behind the cottage. The warm breeze carried the scent of flowers and earth and summer sunshine.
It was perfect. Too perfect for a runaway bride with no wallet.
“Uh. Knox?”
He ignored me and carried Waylay’s bags and my suitcase to the front porch.
“We’re stayin’ here?” Waylay asked as she pressed her face to the front window to peer inside.
“It’s dusty and probably stale as hell,” Knox said as he propped open the screen door and pulled out his keys. “Hasn’t been used in a while. You’ll probably need to open the windows. Air it out.”
Why he had a key to a cottage that looked like it lived on the pages of my favorite fairy tale was on my list of questions. Just above that were questions concerning rent and security deposits.
“Knox?” I tried again.
But he’d gotten the door open, and suddenly I was standing on the wide wood plank floor of a cozy living room with a tiny stone fireplace. There was an old rolltop desk crammed into an alcove between the stairs to the second floor and the coat closet. Windows brought the outdoors inside.
“Seriously. We get to stay here?” Waylay asked, her skepticism mirroring my own.
Knox dropped our bags at the foot of the tiny staircase. “Yeah.”
She stared at him for a beat, then shrugged. “Guess I’ll go check out the upstairs.”
“Wait! Take off your shoes,” I told her, not wanting to track any dirt inside.