Page 193 of One More Kiss
Chapter5
CJ
What a great night’ssleep I had. Nothing like a little rain to help you doze off. Well, once I finally took care of the tingles in my lady bits left by that beastly man. Stretching my arms over my head and twisting a little, my back popped a few times then I swung my legs over the side of the king-sized bed that could have been from a high-end hotel.
The cabin was adorable. It was rainy and dark once I got in, but from the outside it looked like any other cabin would: dark wood, covered rocking chair porch, and a pile of wood on the side, covered by a small awning. It was a nice touch. Cabins I had stayed in before had fireplaces but always said to bring your own wood.
After the drive up the mountain in the torrential downpour, I managed to get my things inside then took a hot shower before heading to bed. That man kept popping into my head every time I tried to relax. Johnny.
Of course, his name was Johnny. Good looks and a cocky attitude. Total Johnny. Oh well. Besides a few moments of him invading my mind and my dreams, which would surely wear off soon, I’d never see him again.
Walking downstairs from the bedroom, I took in the cabin. It had a very rustic look and was adorned with a few Viking hat paintings and a dark fur rug in the living room. The dark brown sofa and chair were plush and cozy and sat opposite a wood burning stove. The kitchen was open to the living room, but was updated with nice brown and white counters, a farmhouse sink, and a huge island with barstools lined on one side.
I shuffled into the kitchen and pulled my coffee out. “Shit, I didn’t get filters.” On a whim, I opened the cabinets and was pleased to find not only coffee filters, but a small can of coffee and salt, pepper, and garlic powder. I prepped the coffee pot and hit the start button, immediately perked up by the savory aroma wafting through the kitchen.
While I waited for that, I checked other cabinets and found mugs, cups, plates, and bowls. There was also a box of pancake mix, syrup, some packets of tuna, and various potted meats. Gross, but it was nice that there were provisions. Looking under the sink, there was a pack of trash bags and two rolls of paper towels next to the dish soap and dishwasher tabs. This place had nearly everything you’d need. At least to live off of a few days. It was pretty far up the mountain and the weather could be tricky depending on the time of year.
After the coffee pot beeped several times, I poured a steaming cup then pulled one of my creamers from the fridge, turning it from black to golden. It was still raining, but not as hard, so I opened the back door and stepped onto the porch. There was a hot tub, which was listed on the website, but it was much nicer than I anticipated. I sat at the table and sipped my coffee while I listened to the rain and the sounds of nature around me.
It was calm and serene. No city noise, no neighbors, just a few birds and the sound of the rain beating on the roof. I think it was the dream of most authors to write full time and live in a cabin in the woods. At least it was for me and most of the gals in my author circle. We all had full time jobs, only able to write on the side, even Ruth, who had a contract with one of the big publishing houses. It tickled me that when you told people you were an author, everyone assumed you had a lot of money. Ruth had five books published with the house, even a bestseller title, and still had to keep her corporate job. Most of us just love it, even though we know it may never pay the bills. We all hold onto hope and keep writing. Plus, even though we don’t make money, we all have loyal readers always waiting for the next story.
My cup was empty, and the caffeine was kicking in, so I went inside and poured another cup, ate a few of the small, powdered donuts, then pulled out my laptop that I had left downstairs. I found an outlet that I could use while sitting on the sofa. It was nice drinking a cup of coffee outside, but it was definitely chilly, so I didn’t want to write out there. I put my laptop on the side table and fired it up, then went back upstairs to change. I brought comfy clothes and I didn’t want to sit in my jammies all day. My friends gave me a hard time because I always got up and got dressed and put a little gloss on, even if I was home all day. I was used to working from home and having to be ready for meetings at a moment’s notice, so I was prepared all the time. Plus, it made me feel primed to tackle the day ahead. Another girl in my author circle was like me, but the rest were content to toss their hair in a bun and live in leggings and oversized shirts when they weren’t at work. Some of them had kids and said it was the mom-look. My hair was too short for a bun but would stay pretty straight when I styled it, even for an extra day. Dry shampoo was such a brilliant invention.
When I opened my luggage to find day clothes, I felt the handle of my Fireball. I pulled it out to put it in the freezer. It was much better cold. Once I got dressed, I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, then took my booze downstairs.
When I opened the freezer, I found it was full of meat and veggies. I wasn’t sure if it was okay to use it or not, but it all looked to be sealed. I leaned in and grabbed a pack of steaks, and the date was good. I put it back then found a good spot for my Fireball before I grabbed my coffee. I cringed at the first sip after brushing my teeth, then got settled in to write for a few hours.
* * *
After several hoursplugging away on my current work, a mystery on an island off the Washington Coast, my stomach finally was growling, and my coffee mug had long been empty.
“4500 words. Not bad. Not bad at all, CJ.” I smiled to myself. I still had a way to go, but at that rate, I’d be caught up and even surpass my goal before the weekend was over.
Once I put the laptop down, it started pouring again. As I walked to the kitchen, it occurred to me there had been several strong waves of rain all morning. Writing, in a cabin, in a rainstorm…perfection.
I made a sandwich and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then went out back and sat down. It was still chilly, but the rainy air was refreshing, and I could sit out there long enough to eat before I got too cold.
Halfway through my sandwich I heard a knocking somewhere nearby and some birds scattered from the trees surrounding the porch. I shrugged it off; I was in the woods and surely there were deer, bears, and other creatures out doing creaturely things and probably caused the noise. I heard the noise a few more times but looked around and didn’t see anything.
Mid-chew I heard some rustling on the side of the house and my mystery writer brain went crazy. I was in the middle of the woods, and nobody would hear me scream. But my damn flight or fight instinct froze. So much for all that research. I even stopped chewing.
It felt like time slowed down, even the rain seemed to fall slower, and the sounds became closer. Finally, my brain decided to move my body and I flew from my seat, then fumbled to get the door open. I stepped inside and as I slammed the door, I heard a man’s voice.
I was about to die.
Goddammit. Why did I come out here to the middle of nowhere? I should have listened to Mom. I made sure the door was locked and ran to the kitchen area. Knives were hanging on a magnetic strip on the backsplash, and I furiously tried to choose one, serrated or butcher knife?
My hand hovered in front of them as my eyes darted back and forth when the killer started slamming on the back door.
Shit.
I grabbed the serrated knife…he wouldn’t take me without a damn good fight. I said a little prayer and took a deep breath.
“You should know I called the cops.” I yelled through a shaky voice. “Even if you kill me, you’ll be caught!”
A muffled voice answered as I hid in the corner of the kitchen, knees bent and ready to pounce. “No, I wouldn’t. They’d never make it out here before I was gone.” Bile rose in my throat. “Plus, I’m not here to kill you, but I’d be interested to know who you are because the reservation showed one tenant.”
Reservation?
“What reservation? Who are you?”
“Owner of Heart’s Rentals. I don’t carry any special ID, but I have my driver’s license if it means anything to you. I also have a key, but I didn’t want to scare you.”
I crept across the kitchen and poked my head slowly around the fridge to glance out the glass block window on the top of the door.
My fear quickly turned to aggravation and my lips thinned as I walked in front of the door, still wielding a knife.
