Page 1 of Guarded from Havoc

CHAPTER 1

TATUM

The cookies!

A muttered curse slips outs as the faint hint of burnt cookies hits my nose.

Dropping the measuring cup into the sink, I quickly shut off the water and race over to the oven, yanking open the door with a hope and a prayer.

Maybe the cookies are still okay.

Maybe it’s only one or two that got slightly crispy around the edges, and I’ll still have plenty to bring to work tomorrow.

It’s not that Ican’tbake more tonight, but that doesn’t fit in with my plan—baking two dozen cookies, cleaning the kitchen until it’s spotless, a deep conditioning hair treatment and shower, dinner while I watch two episodes ofCriminal Conspiracies, the newest thriller slash drama on Netflix, and then fifteen minutes of reading on my Kindle before my ten-thirty bedtime, so I’ll be ready to get up bright and early for my daily hike at five AM tomorrow.

If I have to bake another round of cookies, I’ll have to skip one episode, at least. Which isn’t a bad thing, but it throws offmy whole night. My dinner will be later than normal. And then I might end up with heartburn—a pleasant little treat I picked up sometime during the last year—which will interrupt my sleep, and I’ll be tired tomorrow, and then…

Stop.

Stop worrying.

If the cookies are burnt, it’s no big deal.

As I look into the oven, I grumble, “Sugar on a cracker.”

They’re definitely looking a bit… crispy.

Grabbing an oven mitt, I pull the baking sheet out and set it on top of the oven, frowning at the rows of most-definitely-overcooked chocolate chip cookies. If they were just for me, I might be able to salvage a few of them, but I’m making these for the new tenants checking in tomorrow at the rental houses I manage, and I’d like to give them a good first impression.

And it was my idea, after all, to leave a plate of cookies in the kitchen whenever new people check in. So I can’t very well screw it up, can I?

When I interviewed for the position of property manager for ten rental units around Tupper Lake, a small resort town in the Adirondacks, adding a personal touch was one of the things I focused on. Doing all the little things that would make the guests feel appreciated. Special. Differentiating our properties from the dozens of other ones in the area.

“Freshly baked cookies,”I told Ralph Donaldson, the property owner.“Realtors use them at open houses to set the mood. We could do the same thing. Plus, personalized notes for all the guests. Dog biscuits if they bring their pet. Maybe a bottle of wine or a six-pack of beer from a local brewery. Those are the things that’ll make people choose your properties over the rest of them.”

I was desperate for the job back then—six months ago, incredibly, though it feels like much longer—and the added perkof free housing in one of the houses was irresistible. All it took was one look at this adorable cabin, with its sweet front porch perfect for watching the sunset and the wood stove that would keep me warm all winter, and I was sold.

Now that I’m living here, I like it even more.

I like all of it. The cabin. The stove. The porch. The acres of picturesque woods. The peace and quiet.

And the privacy. That most of all.

“You could live here off the grid, if you wanted,” Ralph bragged as he showed me around the cabin. “Since this house is for the property manager, and you’re here through the winter, I installed a generator. It’ll run the well, the furnace, most of the lights and the fridge, plus you’ve got the wood stove. So you’ll be good even if the power goes out for days.”

“No internet up here,” he added, but quickly tried to spin that into a positive, too. “But people are online too much these days, don’t you think? And anyway, there’s a cell tower in range, so you can still use your phone. Hotspot it, if you need.”

I told him no internet was fine, and I meant it.

After the crapshow I went through before moving here, the less connected, the better.

Anyway. The cookies. The ones I’ll definitely need to make again.

With a little sigh, I walk the baking sheet over to the trash and tip the ruined cookies in. As I head back to the counter to start another batch, my gaze wanders to the reason I got distracted to begin with.

To the little cabin, a near twin to mine, its lights softly glowing through the trees separating us. The cabin is another rental property, the closest one to me, and it’s currently rented, which is one of the reasons it keeps drawing my attention.

Professional interest, I tell myself. I’m responsible for the upkeep of the cabin—well, unless it needs major repairs, andthen I contact Ralph for that—so naturally, I’d want to keep an eye on it. Especially since it’s so close to me.

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