She Owns the Knight (37 page)

She lifted her fork again, blew on the food, and when the dog scratched on the glass, she lowered the utensil once more.

She couldn’t take the poor beast staring at her. Especially since she didn’t know if he were hungry or not.

Moving her drink and utensils to the counter so her back would be to the dog, she went back for the hot plate.

Sitting down on one of the taller chairs, lifting her fork again, she took the first bite. “Ahhhh!” She shot out of the chair. “
Hot
! It’s too hot!” Mouth
burning
, eyes watering, she spit the food into her napkin, grabbed ice water and filled her mouth, but it was too cold after the hot food.

Choking, she dribbled water on the front of her shirt. Setting the glass down, she gulped for air. “Cold!”

Blowing air in and out of her mouth for a moment, she looked down at the food, then at the splotch of water on the front of her shirt. Retrieving another napkin, she wiped her mouth and dabbed at her damp shirt, glad the clients weren’t there. She glanced at the French doors. It was bad enough the dog had witnessed her bad manners.

After a quick search for a garbage can, she threw away both napkins, then looked wistfully at the food. She had no desire to burn her mouth again. Taking a small sip of water, she let it soothe her tongue, then snagged a nearby magazine off the stack on the counter and flipped through the pages.

Luckily she found a funny article in the back, and when she’d finished reading it, tentatively tried the food again.

It was just right.

When dinner and clean up were over, Honey tried to decide what to do. She checked her watch and realized it was almost ten o’clock. She was tired, had been up since five a.m., and wouldn’t mind having an early night. But until her hosts returned home, she saw no choice but to wait. So TV sounded like a good option. How late could they be?

Wandering back into the living room, she peeked out the front blinds, but hers was still the only car parked in the driveway. She wondered if anything could have happened to the Barons. She, more than most people, was well aware that accidents happened. Sometimes tragic ones to innocent people.

She let go of the blind. She was getting morbid and it was time to think about something else.

She turned on the TV, grabbed the remote and tried the favorite settings. They were all set to sports channels. She flipped through true crime, action, weather, commercials, a couple of reality shows, nothing good until she found a romantic comedy.

With a smile, she sat in the biggest of the three log-and-cushion chairs to watch the show. But the chair was big and firm and she couldn’t get comfortable. Her feet dangled and she didn’t want to take off her shoes when the Barons could show up at any moment, so she switched to a different chair.

Better, but the big cushion was a little soft and she sank down into the seat.

“Third time’s a charm.” She moved to the last and smallest chair and settled in.

It was just right.

She pulled the comforter off the back of the chair, it stuck a little, so she gave a tug to free it, then spread it over her knees, and settled back to relax.

A creaking sound accompanied a wrenching, jarring movement, and the chair broke apart, throwing Honey to the floor where she banged her hip. Horror and disbelief rushed through her as, flat on her back, she stared up at the log beam in the ceiling. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Panting a little, she struggled out of the mess and stood. Both hands flew to her mouth and her face burned as she frantically eyed the mess. “
This is unbelievable. How could this happen
?”

The log and cushion chair lay broken into pieces, a few clamps gripping wood in strategic places, and one wood clamp on the floor amid the mess.

Someone had been fixing the chair.

The throw-quilt over the back had hidden the clamps and she must have pulled one loose when she’d tugged on the blanket and her weight had done the rest.

“This is so awful,” she whispered.

Reaching down, she pulled at one piece of wood and it came completely free of the others. She closed her eyes for a moment, then glanced around. “
What do I do
?”

She felt like grabbing her stuff, running out, and leaving forever. She actually stared at the door for a long moment before remembering the glue on the mantle.

Maybe she could fix the chair? Re-glue and re-clamp it? Maybe the Baron family wouldn’t be home for a while longer?

She thought about calling Nick for advice, but quickly threw out the notion. Her boss had sent her to charm them, not to destroy their property.

Her dad? He didn’t know a lot about fix-it stuff, but probably more than she did. Or Christian might be able to help, but again, she knew he wouldn’t answer the phone. She blew out a breath and looked at the mess. This didn’t look like something that could be explained over the phone, anyway.

So what should she do? Leave it and try and explain the cringe-worthy mess to her hosts?

She shook her head once more. She had glue, she had clamps, she had to at least try.

***

Forty minutes later, she was done. The chair was upside down, but back together, and she didn’t dare try to turn it over again. She wasn’t out to hide what she’d done, anyway. She’d glued and clamped the three pieces, and it looked okay. She was going to bed. Explanations could wait until morning.

She stood, and from the higher perspective, the chair looked kind of . . . off.

Tears filled her eyes. She’d just pay for the darn thing. She’d buy them a new one. Even if it was custom-made and ended up costing her two weeks’ wages.

Feeling tired, cranky and frustrated, Honey grabbed her suitcase, and went upstairs to look for a bed. There were four doors, and the first opened into a bedroom overlooking the front yard. She flipped on the light and peeked inside.

A queen-sized bed, a nightstand with a picture of a group of kids, an alarm clock, and a book. A rocking chair sat in the corner. There were no personal effects, but the gorgeous cream-colored quilt on the bed was obviously handmade and sported ducks, coyotes and pine trees. It definitely looked like a guest room.

She walked in, dropped her purse and suitcase, sat on the bed and bounced on the mattress. There wasn’t much give. In fact, it was hard.

She sighed. This night just kept getting better and better. She turned her head to the open closet door, and shot back off the bed. Clothes hung in the closet, and boots and shoes neatly lined the floor. She quickly gathered her things and left the room.

The second door led to a big bathroom with a tile floor, a vanity with matching basins and silver-framed mirrors, and both a shower and a jetted tub. Nice. Very nice. She could picture herself taking a bubble bath, but not tonight. Not when her hosts could come home at any moment.

Going to the third door, she went inside, flipped on the light and looked around. A huge, foam cushion chair dominated the floor. Playstation paddles led back to a box on top of a television, and a shelf with DVDs was attached to the wall. It was conceivable that it could be a guest room. Children would certainly enjoy sleeping on the giant, oversized cushion.

Going inside the room, she set her things down and gingerly sank down on the foam-filled suede. It was very soft. She lay back and wiggled. Perhaps it was too soft. She really couldn’t see herself sleeping there the entire night. There was no blanket and she felt as though she might sink right inside and suffocate. Getting up, she hoped for better luck with the last door.

Pushing it open, she went inside and breathed a sigh of relief. A king-sized bed dominated the room and a few hunting trophies graced the top of the dresser, but no family pictures or anything like that. A gray quilt spread over the bed. Nice, but spartan. Out of the three,
this
had to be the guest room.

Dropping her purse and bag, she sat on the bed. The mattress was
much nicer
. Kicking off her shoes, she sank full length on the bed, pressed her face into one of the pillows and sighed. It was better than nice. Not too hard, not too soft, it was just right.

Rolling off the bed, she retrieved pajamas and toiletries and headed for the bathroom. At this point, she didn’t even have a desire to meet up with the owners until morning. If she’d blown the deal when she’d broken the furniture, tomorrow would be soon enough to find out about it.

She brushed her teeth, pulled her thick hair back into a ponytail, washed off her makeup, and accidentally drenched the front of her hair in the process. She dried her face with a towel, and quickly patted her hair but it was too late. It started to curl. The tiniest hint of moisture and she frizzed out. It had taken her forever to straighten it that morning. Tears pricked her eyes again. Frizzy hair was the final straw.

Wasn’t it enough that she’d worked a full day, had a fight with Christian, driven three hours, and then all the problems she’d encountered here at the client’s house? Not to mention she was starting her brokerage class in the morning, and was completely stressed out about that? And now curls?

She needed to get hold of herself. She knew that. She dried her eyes, blew her nose, gathered up her things, went back to the guest room, and shut the door. She put her stuff down and climbed into the bed.

She’d unpack in the morning after she had an inkling about how long she’d be staying before moving to a hotel. Right now all she wanted to do was to escape into dreamland.

***

Trevor Baron turned onto his driveway. It was almost midnight and all he wanted to do was eat the turkey dinner his mom had promised to leave, and then fall into bed.

Another day or two and he’d be finished with the backbreaking schedule he was on.

There was a car parked on one side of the driveway, in his spot. It took him a moment to realize the vehicle must be his sister’s new car. He’d heard her jerk-off husband had bought one as a bribery gift. Since Elizabeth was at Trevor’s house, he’d guess it hadn’t worked. No surprise there. His sister wasn’t the kind of woman to forgive infidelity, or to forget.

He went for the mail and on the way back to the house, reached into the bed of his truck, grabbed three fishing poles—minus hooks—and propped them by the side of the cabin.

He knew the three boys he’d taken them from would eventually work up the courage to steal them back, and knew the lack of hooks, and the fact that the boys had been caught fishing illegally, wouldn’t stop them from doing it again. It hadn’t stopped him at that age, either.

Smiling, he continued to the back gate, opened it, and let himself in. “Hey, Charlie boy. Come here.”

A dark form moved toward Trevor and a big head bumped against his hand.

“You eat all that food I left out?”

Trevor checked the dog dishes, one empty and one still half-full of water. “Good boy.”

Trevor went down on one knee and rubbed the dog’s thick fur coat while Charlie, ecstatic, wiggled like a puppy. With one last pat, Trevor opened the back door–-no need to lock it with Charlie in the back yard-–and they both went inside.

Charlie immediately bounded up the stairs, probably looking for Elizabeth, and Trevor headed for his office.

He was tired. He’d worked the entire day, putting in a full eight hours, most of it rounding up a deer wandering the city and returning it to the forest. He’d then talked to reporters about the incident.

After some routine paperwork, he’d taken time to catch the kids doing their spot of illegal fishing, then back to work for the rest of the evening repairing some commercial property for the family company.

All the painting he’d done had made his back sore. But only a few more nights and the building would be ready to lease again and he could relax.

Opening his safe, he locked his gun away, set his belt on the desk and went back to the kitchen to get his dinner.

He opened the fridge.

No dinner.

Had his mom forgotten him? A note on the countertop caught his eye and he kicked the fridge shut and snagged it.
I’ve left a plate of food for you in the fridge. Love, M.

He checked again. The milk, ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise weren’t hiding a plate of food. He checked the freezer. Nothing.

Thinking about Elizabeth’s car in the driveway, he opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the garbage. Sure enough. A used sheath of tin foil lay on top and had very likely covered his plate of food.

Well, that was nice.

He rubbed a hand over his full beard, blew out a breath, then got out fixings for peanut butter and honey sandwiches. He slathered four slices of bread, and poured himself a large glass of milk.

He took his plate and glass out to the living room, set them on an end table, grabbed the remote control, sat and turned on ESPN.

It was on the wrong channel and—

His chair
! Jumping up, he quickly scanned the poorly repaired chair, then glared at the stairs and considered waking Elizabeth to have a talk. But she had at least
tried
to fix it and that surprised him, so, disgusted, he changed the channel to ESPN, quickly ate, and, with Charlie now back and watching his every move, spent the next thirty minutes re-glueing the chair correctly,
and
placing the clamps where they’d actually do their job.