by Emilia Finn
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like what?”
“This guy!” Beckett throws a hand up in frustration. “He just waltzes into town and into your bed? That’s not cool.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” I laugh. Because if I don’t laugh, I might cry. “He’s not some guy I don’t know. He’s not a guy I just met last weekend at a bar. Mark and I have been living together for two years already.”
Scowling, Beckett turns me with a hand on my hip, and leads me toward the front door. “Two years? Is it presumptuous of me to assume you’ve been saving yourself for marriage?”
“Inappropriate!” I growl, only to stop and squeak when the front door opens, and an itty-bitty woman in a frilly apron and single braid smiles up at us.
In her left hand, she holds a spatula. Her right, a phone. Her apron is messed from flour, and her cheeks are rosy and show a million wrinkles.
“Welcome! Oh my gosh.” She shoots out of the door when Beckett and I remain stock-still, in shock and still discussing something entirely improper. “Welcome to Meadow Hill’s Bed and Breakfast. My name is Darla, and I’m your hostess.” She drops the spatula in her apron pocket and thrusts a hand forward.
When Beckett is too stunned to take it, she jumps in and grabs hold. “You must be Mr. Rosa?”
“Um… yes?”
“Oh!” Giggling, Darla blushes and waves the guy off, only to turn her attentions on me. “Mrs. Rosa, then?”
“No!” I startle back and kick a potted plant by accident.
With wide, dancing eyes, Beckett studies me over his shoulder.
“Not Mrs.,” I choke out. “Him, married?” I bark out a desperate laugh. “It’s ridiculous, really.”
“Oh?” Less exuberant, Darla wrings her hands together. “Unmarried, but visiting our bed-and-breakfast? Well…” The poor woman tries with all her might to understand. “That’s… uh. Well. Not what we’re used to around here. But I can be open-minded.” She nods, as though to convince herself. “Yes. It’ll be fine. But please, when you speak to my children, don’t let on about your… uh… arrangements. This is not something children need to know.”
“Hm?” I jump forward when Darla spins to lead Beckett inside. “Mrs.… um, Darla. What arrangements?”
“Exactly,” she grins and heads through the front door. Beckett walks behind me, smirking and touching the small of my back far too much. “They’re only children, after all. And they won’t know what you don’t tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“Reggie!” Darla stops by a living room covered in ugly doilies while the old box television in the corner drones on with something educational.
Engrossed in his show, a little boy glances up with glazed eyes and hair long ago needing a cut.
“Sweetheart. This is Mr. and Mrs. Rosa. Come say hello to our guests, honey.”
“Mr. and Mrs.,” I choke out. “No, it’s—”
“Discretion,” Darla whips out with a sharp crack, making me jump and Beckett chuckle at my back. “Reggie, please meet the Rosas. This is…” When she realizes she doesn’t know, Darla looks to me.
“Tabby.”
“Tabby!” She spins back to her boy. “And Beckett. You must use your manners, Reginald.”
“Yes, Mother.” He looks from her, to me, to Beckett. Slow movements. Robotic swiveling of his neck. “Good day, Mrs. Rosa.” He looks to Beckett. “And you, Mr. Rosa.”
“Um… good day,” Beckett works to stifle his laughter. “How are you, Reggie?”
“Mother says I’m fine,” he responds. “A healthy ninety-six-point-eight, ten hours’ sleep, and two servings of fruit for breakfast.”
“Ninety-six-point—” Beckett pauses. “Your temperature?”
“Yes, sir. We check thrice a day to be sure I am well.”
“Oh god,” my breath comes faster. Panic sets in.
We’re in a murder house. We’re in a murder house!
“P-perhaps it would be best if we checked with the Four S—”
“Come along, dear.” Darla snags my hand and yanks me away from the boy. “Your room is just off the kitchen. The family sleeps upstairs.” She points to a staircase leading up. “But we keep guests down here. For their comfort and ours. Mr. Rosa?”
“Yeah?” Still staring at the boy, Beckett’s head snaps up. “Huh?”
“Come along, please. Once I settle you in, I’ll help carry your luggage.”
“Oh, that’s not nece—”
“Hogwash!” the woman cuts him off. “You’ve not long missed lunch.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We grabbed takeout on the way in.” I tell lies, lies, lies, and Beckett’s eyes come to mine.
“Dinner is served between five and six,” Darla informs us. “I’ll ring the bell when we’re ten minutes out so you have time to wash and dress up.”
“Dress up?” My brows wing high. “How… um, up? What do you typically wear?”
“I would expect a tie from a gentleman.”
Darla looks to Beckett, but at her words, Beckett looks to me.
“Lucky I packed some,” he grins. “I knew someone would appreciate my excellent fashion sense someday.”
“If, uh…” I study the lines in Darla’s forehead. The spatula moving in her pocket. “If he’s wearing a tie, then I would be wearing—”
“A dress,” she finishes. “Yes. Certainly not jeans.”
Scowling, I drop my hands into my pockets and square my shoulders. I’m not a six-year-old people-pleaser anymore. “What a shame,” I tsk. “Unfortunately, I did not bring any dresses with me. So if that excludes me from the dinner table, then I’m certain I can find something in town—”
“Not necessary,” Darla cuts in. “I’ll have something prepared for you. And here’s your room!”
She steps aside and ushers me into, well… a fucking menagerie of flowers, African animal wall prints, and doilies. So many doilies.
My eyes ache with actual pain. My retinas burn, and when my scan stops on the bedspread—yellow daffodils and red ribbons—my brain bleeds.
These are my last minutes on Earth. I’m done. And I’ll have died while working for a guy who has no clue I came a few nights ago while saying his name.
“Oh gosh, Darla.” Beckett pushes past me, eyes squinting to keep out the damage, and turns back to smile for us. “This room is fantastic. Who is your decorator? I must have her come help me with my home.”
Darla blushes. “You are too nice, Mr. Rosa. I did this room myself, silly. But don’t you just love the drapes?”
“Uh huh. And they match the carpet!” he turns to them and exclaims. “That’s so rare nowadays.”
Already half in love with her new guest, Darla drops her fists to her hips and shakes her head at me. “You travel with this man, but you do not share a name?” She tsks her disappointment. “Shame on you.”
“Yeah. Shame. On. You!” Beckett taunts. “I’ve asked her a dozen times, Miss Darla. More than a dozen, actually. But she insists on keeping her options open.”
“Stop it.” I grit my teeth when he only grins. “Darla? Could you show Beckett to his room, please? I would like time to rest. We’ve been traveling for half a day.”
“His room?” she asks sweetly. “Honey, this is it.”
“Wait, what?” Beckett’s eyes snap wide, his smile, gone. “Come again, Miss Darla?”
“We only have the one guest room. I appreciate y’all wanting to keep to tradition, since you’re not yet married. But,” she shrugs and digs her hands into her apron pockets. “Only one room.”
“There’s a big barn outside,” I plead. “The red one. There would be loads of space out there for him.”
“Me?” Beckett cries out. “Why am I the one in the barn?”
“Because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” I snarl. “That’s why.”
“You two are just so funny.” Stepping back, Darla taps the doorframe to leave. “I’ll have your bags brought fr
om your truck so you can settle in. Bathroom is along the hall, second door on the left. You saw the living room, though I respectfully ask you don’t stay up too late watching television. Our children are young, and they need a good night’s rest.”
“You can count on us,” Beckett sniggers.
“I’ll ring the bell when it’s almost time for dinner. Otherwise, the gardens are plenty and beautiful. There’s a creek out back. Oh, and Graciela is with foal.”
Beckett’s glittering eyes snap to mine.
“…and Reginald Senior is in the shed working. If you see him, be sure to say hello.”
“We’ll say hey.” Beckett makes his way to the door, friendly, sweet, and leads Darla out. He acts all chivalrous and shit, but the moment she’s over the threshold, he shuts the door and spins back to me. “What the fuck did you do?”
“It’s a murder house!” I hiss. “Oh my god, she’s going to wear our skin!”
“One bed, Tabitha!”
“Did you see the kid?” I panic. “He’s going to experiment on our organs. I bet he already has buyers set up for my heart and liver.”
“You have no dresses!”
“I was trying to punish you,” I whimper. “A nice bed-and-breakfast would have humbled you.”
“And now we’re both stuck here.” He darts to the window and glances out. “She’s getting our bags from the truck.” His stomach heaves. “She’s got Megatron strength, Tabby. She just lifted my bag with one hand.”
“Oh god.” Hyperventilating, I stumble toward the bed and drop onto the edge. The frame squeaks, loud and ear-splitting. I let my face fall into my hands and cry. “I did this to you on purpose because I was mad. Then when you said I had to come too, I made an extra booking. Two bookings. Two rooms!”
“Two bookings, one credit card,” he counters. “She thought you were my wife.”
“Fuck no. Jesus. That’s not even funny.” My phone vibrates in my back pocket with an incoming call. A call I should probably take, considering I don’t expect to survive the night. “I messed up by booking this.”
“Yes you fuckin’ did! Bet you wish you had the bar and the buffet and the wi-fi now.”
Beckett strides past me and toward the door. Pausing for a moment and fixing his expression, he takes a deep breath, then swings the door wide. “Darla. You really didn’t have to do that.” He takes the bags and flashes his panty-dropping smile—something I’ve seen a million times already—but for the first time ever, the recipient is neither impressed nor dropping her panties. “But we sure do appreciate your hospitality.”
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she smiles for him. Pleasant, of course, but not lusting for the man. Then she looks at me. “I’ll come find you a little earlier.”
My heart stammers. “Huh?” I look to Beckett, pleading for safe haven. “Why?”
“I’ll help you prepare a gown, of course.”
“A gown?” Gone are my heart stutters, and in their place, revulsion. “I can’t wear a gown! That’s not who I—”
“I’ll come find you when it’s time,” she presses, then turning on her heels, she strides away.
Probably to see to her other hill children. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”
“You orgasming over there?” Beckett closes the door and drops our bags on the floor. “Sounds serious.”
“Wildly inappropriate!” I snarl. With the mere movement of my vocal chords, the bed squeaks again. “What the hell are we gonna do?”
“We’re gonna make sure we’re on time for dinner,” he snickers. “If we cooperate, they might let us live.”
“This is not funny!” I snatch my vibrating phone from my pocket and peg it at my boss’ face. “We are going to die today! It’ll be painful, and traumatic, and probably at the hands of a kindergartener.”
“Definitely don’t call him Issac,” Beckett teases. “Oh god. And there’s corn outside! Don’t taunt the beast, Tabby.”
“I loathe you.” The bed squeaks its support. “This was supposed to be your punishment. Not mine.”
“And that, wifey, is called karma. She’s whooped you good.” Picking up my phone, Beckett unashamedly checks the screen and grins as he reads. “Jen wants to make sure you arrived safe. Who is McHotty?”
“Give me that!” I spring from the bed and snatch my cell from his hands. “Don’t read my texts.”
Unoffended, the boss I’ve come to know for his sharp suits and annoying wit now walks a slow lap of our room. Our room.
Our room!
He digs his hands into his pockets and pushes back his shoulder blades. The polo he wears shows off his impressive size, which means my eyes follow him as he walks, rather than focus on my phone and the incoming calls Jen insists on making.
“You’ve landed us in quite the conundrum, Tabitha.” He stops at the window again, angles his body, and peeks past the sheer curtain. “Quite the conundrum, indeed. All because you wanted to be petty and mean.”
“I didn’t mean to be the reason we’re murdered and chopped into Darla’s next soup.”
“You saying you didn’t mean it will be as significant as me saying I won’t mean to gas us out tonight when I fart in my sleep.”
My eyes move to his and narrow. “Don’t you dare.”
“I don’t control my flatulence.” He flashes a grin smug enough to make me want to shove his body in a barrel. “Honestly? The master of our fart universe is Darla and whatever she puts in her soup. It would be best if she eases back on the protein.”
“I will kill you if you fart all night.” Spying a thick blanket on the end of the bed, I snatch it and a pillow, then I toss them both to the rug in the middle of the room. “That is where you’re sleeping.”
“On the floor?” He turns from the window and glares. “Tabitha!”
“We’re sure as shit not sharing a bed, and you would feel bad if you made me sleep on the floor.”
“Not sure that’s true.” He snags the blanket and slowly brings it to his nose. “Does this smell like formaldehyde to you?” Then he sneezes, loud and obnoxious, making the bed squeak as I jump. “It’s formaldehyde, Tabby!”
“If you snore, I will murder you in your sleep.”
“Chloroform?” He sniffs the blanket again. “It’s chloroform.”
“If you come anywhere near me, I’ll rip your arms off.”
“Lime? What’s the opposite of lime?”
“If you bring a date back here, there will be dire consequences. In fact,” my stomach jumps enough to make me ill. The jokes have run out as I lick my lips and swallow down the nausea that threatens. “I’m not sure we could come back from that.”
“Wanna go for a walk in the garden?”
His change in tone brings my eyes up. Then his crooked grin and extended hand make my heart stumble.
“Huh?”
“A walk.” He tilts his chin toward the window. “I think fresh air would do us both good. It would be best if we get away from the sulfur anyway.”
“I think…” My phone continues to vibrate. Insistent. Demanding. “I think I’m in shock.”
Chuckling, Beckett takes my cell from my limp hands and tosses it to the bed. Then he pulls me to my feet and leads me to the door. “You’re on work time right now, and I’m telling you to take a walk.”
“That call could be important.”
“If it’s work, it can wait. If it’s personal, then they know you’re on the clock. Your sister can wait a second.”
Beckett slings his arm over my shoulders and pulls me close, then swinging the door open, we’re met with the demonic eyes of a little girl reminiscent of the one from that horror movie.
Which movie? All of them!
“Argh!” My entire being rejects the idea of more trauma. More fear. More worry.
“What the f—” Beckett bites off his words rather than cuss out a child. A dark-haired, white-dressed, pale-skinned, sunken-eyed child. “Can we help you!?”
“Mother says you are our
guests,” the girl speaks in monotone. She’s ten… maybe twelve. With long, black hair and a dress hailing from mid-depression nineteen thirty-two. “My name is Samara.”
“From The Ring.” Whimpering, I shrink into Beckett’s side and break all of those getting too close in the workplace rules I set down for us. “That was the girl’s name in The Ring.”
“Hi, Samara.” Beckett speaks slowly. Calmly. And leads us forward one small step at a time. “We’re Beck and Tabby.”
“Would you like to have afternoon tea with me?” Samara follows us with her eyes. “I’ve made a fresh pot.”
“Um… no thank you.” Beckett squeezes me closer. Protection, or readying to toss me down so he can make a fast getaway? “We… uh… we’d like a walk in the garden.”
“Great idea.” Her words say ‘great,’ but her tone says we’re about to swallow oil. “Be sure to check the vegetable patch. I grew the tomatoes all on my own.”
“We will. Thank you!” Beckett’s steps move faster as we put space between us and the girl from an actual horror fucking movie. “Let’s go, wife.” He presses a loud, grizzly kiss to the top of my head in a show of we’re married and normal. “Let’s go see the tomatoes.”
Darla steps out of nowhere with her spatula and an evil grin. “Enjoy your walk.”
“Argh!” Tears well in my eyes as I grab onto Beckett for safety.
We stopped being enemies back when Samara from The Ring joined us. Now we’re both captives and hours from death. We’re common allies in this war against the people from the hills.
“Sorry, dear.” Darla’s smile grows wider. Higher. Eviler. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright.”
“It’s cool. Let’s go.” Beckett grabs my hand and slingshots us through the kitchen and toward the door we entered only… was it a mere ten minutes ago? Was my life so different only minutes ago?
I shove the screen door open, since I’m the first to make contact, then once on the porch, I stumble and gulp for fresh air.
“Don’t stop.” Hissing, Beckett drags me down the steps and into the sunlight so I’m forced to follow at a jog and pray none of the crazies follow. “What the fuck is going on around here? What do they put in the water in that house?”
