Page 10 of Runaway
“Don't worry about me,” she said. “I'll keep Ranger on his toes.”
I laughed. “I never do worry about you, Grandma.”
“Any husband prospects yet?”
“Not yet.”
Mark riffled through my mind, but I shoved that back out. Nope. Noooope. He was my client and not at all my type. Although, granted, I didn't exactly know my type. Dating hadn't been high on my priority list the last few years, and Joshua certainly hadn't made it easy.
That whole married-but-possessive-of-other-women thing got in the way.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Grandma asked. “How can I be a great-grandma if you don't have babies?”
I laughed again. “You can adopt some from one of your friends there. You basically run that retirement home.”
“It's not the same, Stella Marie, and you know it.” The chiding in her voice softened. “He'll come. He'll probably surprise you, but he'll come.”
“Love you. Thank you for answering. It's always good to hear your voice.”
“You too, honey. Love you. Be safe!”
With a click, she was gone. I set my phone aside as a blast of wind slammed into the cabin wall from the west. Disturbed coals glowed a bright red in the fireplace but didn't seem to catch onto the log I'd shoved inside. This whole Laura Ingalls Wilder setup was new to me. Charming, but I needed a guidebook.
In a crouch, I blew on the coals. They flared to burnt orange, and a small flame licked up the side of the wood.
But would it stay?
For several minutes, I stared at the coals to will them to life, lost in thought. Was Grandma safe? Yes. There was no paper trail to her through financial or public records. Joshua hadn't heard much about her except that she existed, and Grandma could pay for herself for now. Phone records existed, but would he dive into those? I snorted. Okay, that was a step too far. I kept blowing this whole situation up in my head.
Well . . . maybe not.
With a sigh, I glanced up and realized darkness had settled outside. Several store bags littered the room, still unpacked. I flicked on the lamp that I'd bought, filling the cabin with a warm glow. A new winter coat hung across the back of the desk chair, and packaged clothes hangers waited for me to unpack my two suitcases. Maybe Mark would let me stow my empty suitcases somewhere else.
At some point, I needed to eat dinner.
Just after I started a movie on NetShows to run in the background while I worked, a gentle tap came on the door. By the time I pulled a jacket on and got the door open, no one stood outside.
A single mug of hot chocolate sat on the ground just outside my door, steaming in the cooling night air.
* * *
Five days of blissful quiet passed.
Mark and I blithely avoided each other, like we'd created a game to see as little of each other as possible.
A mug of hot chocolate appeared at my doorstep every night. Instead of catching him on delivery, I paused to give him time to escape. I left an envelope filled with five 100 dollar bills and markedrenton his table after his ancient truck roared away. Because who would lock their door out here?
Sometimes after I grabbed some coffee in his house and slipped out the back door again, the cabin smelled like a faint hint of pine, as if he'd just slipped upstairs when he heard my knock and didn't want to be seen. When I returned from making lunch in the kitchen, fresh firewood was stacked in my room.
Strange, like a dance.
But nice all the same.
By the sixth day, however, I was silenced out. The utter stillness of the mountains, while soothing, became grating. Although I'd caught up on a lot of the movies that I'd missed while throwing my world into the accounting firm I suddenly left without explanation, I didn't feel accomplished.
Or relaxed.
The absence of bustle, activity, and people had been rejuvenating. Now, it was too quiet. Suffocating. What was I doing with my life? The four remaining clients I had—Mark included—wouldn't need much until the end of the month. No unusual local or national headlines caught my attention. The quiet should have been a relief.
