by Pandora Pine
Whining, the dog skidded to a stop in front of Landon and obeyed.
Taking a deep breath, Landon opened his eyes to see a small German Sheppard looking up at him with his head cocked to the side as if he were studying Landon. “G-Good b-boy,” Landon stammered, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that he wasn’t about to be eaten.
“Be a tree?” Noble asked, smirking at Landon when he caught up with the dog.
“Yeah. Saw a documentary once about what to do when animals attack. If you’re about to be set upon by a wild hound, you’re supposed to stand absolutely still with your arms at your sides and your fingers curled into fists, so the dog can’t bite them off.”
“That’s two strikes against you there, Landon.” Noble cocked his head to the side to look down at the man standing on the beach.
“What? Trespassing and calling this puppy a wild hound?” Christ, Landon couldn’t afford any strikes. This guy could call the cops and instead of spending the night in warm room at the Holiday Inn in Sandwich, he could end up spending the night in a jail cell, which, if he thought about it, might be a good plot device for Marcus Pike.
Noble burst out laughing. “Your first strike was calling her a good boy. Your second was comparing her to the Hound of the Baskervilles.”
Landon grimaced at the handsome man standing in front of him. His blue eyes were practically glowing in the January gloom while his sandy blond hair lit up the beach brighter than the lighthouse beacon. The man was about three or four inches taller than his own six feet and had a smile that Landon was pretty sure was more deadly than Charlie’s bite. He also seemed to be a fan of classic literature.
Looking down at Charlie, Landon fell instantly in love with her doggy grin, which was out in full-force, matching the smile on her master’s face. Slowly kneeling down, Landon held a hand out to the puppy, who started to lick him. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Landon. Sorry I thought you were a boy, but with the way you were charging at me, I didn’t think looking at your private bits was the best use of my last few seconds on earth.”
“Jesus Christ, Wordsmith! Have you got a flair for the dramatic or what? Charlie is the sweetest girl in the world. The only thing you were in danger of was her licking you to death.”
Landon grinned sheepishly and sank his right hand into the dog’s soft fur. The sand dollar was still curled up in the palm of his other hand.
“What’cha got there?” Noble sounded genuinely curious.
“Sand dollar.” Landon opened his palm to show him.
“Beautiful.” Noble grinned, running his fingers along the edge of it. “I found this a little earlier.” He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled something out which he dropped into the palm of Landon’s hand.
“Oh! It’s a mermaid tear! I found a couple of these here when I was a kid. Still have them in a jar in my office back home.” Landon smiled up at Noble, trying to regain his feet, but his cold legs weren’t in the mood to cooperate.
“Here, let me help.” Noble offered a hand down and easily pulled Landon to his feet.
Hissing at the contact between his and Noble’s hands, Landon felt like he’d been hit by lightning. In all of his thirty years, he’d never felt that kind of instant attraction to another man. Shaking his head, Landon found his balance and tried to pull his hand away from Noble. To be honest, he was a little scared of the physical reaction he was having to the handsome stranger.
Landon’s heart was hammering in his chest like a hummingbird’s. His cock had gone instantly hard and was straining against his jeans. Thankfully his red parka went down past his ass, otherwise, Noble would have seen Landon’s attraction to him with his too-blue eyes. “T-Thanks,” Landon managed.
“Why don’t you come up to the hotel with us? I’ll make some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. You can tell me and Charlie all about what brought you here.” Noble snapped his fingers and pointed at the hotel. Charlie barked happily and took off like a shot toward the back door.
“Sure, okay.” Lunch with a handsome stranger? What could possibly go wrong?
3
Noble could still feel the ghost of Landon’s handshake ten minutes later. He’d left the other man in the hotel dining room in front of the fireplace to warm up while he’d headed into the kitchen to throw some lunch together.
Landon hadn’t said anything more on their way back to the hotel, which left Noble to make up his own reasons why his uninvited guest had shown up here in the first place. He’d said he was a writer, maybe he was here to research his next book? Or he could be a serial killer looking for his next victim. Or maybe he was on the run from the Irish mafia? Christ, who was the drama queen now?
Plating the two crisp and cheesy sandwiches, Noble snapped off the flattop grill and carried the plates to the dining room. Landon was still sitting in the exact position where Noble had left him. “I’ll be right back with the soup and then we can eat.”
Landon mumbled something Noble couldn’t quite make out.
That’s one weird dude… Maybe his earlier supposition that Landon was a serial killer wasn’t so far off the mark after all.
Grabbing two stoneware mugs from the cupboard, Noble poured the steaming tomato soup into them. He grimaced, thinking about the kind of meal Gregor would have been able to whip up for the handsome stranger. He’d bet the hotel that his friend would have come up with something better than toasted cheese sandwiches and condensed soup from a can.
Wait! Handsome? Where the hell had that thought come from? Noble sighed, picking up the mugs and heading back to the dining room. He might be a widow, but he sure as hell wasn’t dead.
Landon had dark hair that looked silky to the touch. His hazel eyes had been glowing a burnished gold out on the beach. It had been hard to tell when they were outside, but now that he had his jacket off, he could see that Landon was a bit doughy around the middle with broad shoulders.
“Here we go!” Noble said with more enthusiasm than he felt. He’d had his day off mapped out in his head and now here was this interloper ruining his plans to spend the day reading in front of the fire.
Noble rolled his eyes. He’d been alone, with the exception of Charlie, since the day after Christmas when he’d driven down to the Cape from his father’s house up in Haverhill. A little company wasn’t going to kill him. In fact, it might keep him from going stir-crazy like Jack Torrance in The Shining.
“Thanks, Noble. This looks great.” Landon grabbed his sandwich and took a bite. “Mmm, delicious.”
Noble grinned. No one had ever called his cooking delicious. He could make simple meals, nothing that would earn him a Michelin star, but he wasn’t starving to death either. “So, tell me what the hell you’re doing here.” Noble bit into his sandwich, watching with glee as a shocked look came over Landon’s face.
“Not pulling any punches, huh?” Landon reached for the paper towel roll and jerked one off. He made a show of wiping his greasy hands and lips.
“I still haven’t decided if you’re a serial killer or a desperate hit man on the run from the mob.” Noble wrapped his hands around his mug of soup and took a sip. “And to be honest, if you’re either, I’d like you out the door before the snow starts.”
Landon burst out laughing. “And you said I had a flair for the dramatic. I’m not a serial killer and I’m not with the mob.” He looked like he was about to continue, but stopped suddenly, shutting his mouth with an audible clack of his teeth.
“Well, that’s a reassuring testimonial.” Noble rolled his eyes again. He relaxed back in his seat, studying Landon as he obviously was trying to figure out just how much to tell Noble about himself.
“I mentioned earlier that I’m a writer. Had a book that hit number one on the New York Times Bestseller List.” Blushing, Landon stopped talking again.
“Seriously?” Noble dug out his phone and after keying in his access code, went to Amazon.com to look Landon up. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Noble
whistled. “Killer Cure, by Landon Fairchild. Oh, look, you’ve got over four hundred reviews and a five star rating. That’s amazing.”
“What? You didn’t believe me?” Landon frowned at Noble over the rim of his mug.
Noble shrugged his broad shoulders. “Look, you showed up unannounced, not to mention uninvited, spouting that you’re some famous novelist. Fuck, man! I still don’t know if you are who you say you are. There’s no picture of you on the Amazon page for the book.”
Landon sighed. Scroll down to my author profile. There are several pictures of me there.”
Grunting, Noble did as Landon asked. The pictures he saw were clearly of the man sitting across from him. “Damn, that’s you and Stephen King!”
“I met him a few years ago at a writer’s conference. He’s a great guy. Not as creepy in person as I thought he would be. Gave me some great advice about my writing career.”
“What’s that? Stay away from clowns, killer cars, rabid dogs and the prom?”
Landon burst out laughing, shaking his head. “No, he told me to write every single day. He said the only day a year he takes off is his birthday.”
“Did you take his advice?” Noble asked with genuine curiosity.
Landon shrugged. “Mostly.”
“Man you’re a tough nut to crack.”
“Why is there an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels and an AA chip on the table behind this one? Here you are wondering if I’m a mobbed up serial killer. You could be too, for all I know.”
Noble sighed. The other man had a point. “Fine, tell you what. You tell me about why you’re here without me needing to literally pull the story out of you and I’ll tell you about the bottle and the chip. Deal?” What did it matter if he told this guy about his battle with alcoholism? It wasn’t like he was ever gonna see this stranger again after today.
XX
Landon never opened up to people. Former lovers had been complaining about that for years. Hell, to tell the truth, it was the reason he’d stopped dating, settling instead for a series of fuck-buddies. He’d tell the buddy going in that this was just about sex. When it inevitably became more for the other man, Landon had no choice, in his mind, at least, than to turn the fuck buddy out on his ear.
He sighed, scooping up his mug to take a sip of the hot soup. His mother always made tomato soup with water, but he could tell Noble made it with milk. It was rich and creamy on his tongue. Hell, if the other man could invite him in for a hot meal, the least he could do was tell Noble why he was at Sand Dollar Shoal.
“I have a two book contract with my publisher. Killer Cure was the first book. Book two, which doesn’t even have a name yet, is supposed to be a follow up, featuring Marcus Pike, the hero microbiologist from the first book.”
Noble looked impressed. “Oh, so it’s going to be a series like Dan Brown’s books with Professor Robert Langdon?”
Landon snorted. He wished he could write as well as fellow New Englander, Dan Brown. The Da Vinci Code was a masterfully told story. That man had more imagination in his little finger than Landon had in his entire body. Plus, nothing stirs up book sales like a little religious controversy. “That’s the plan my publisher has for me.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Who said there’s a problem?” How the hell did this virtual stranger know there was a problem?
Noble snorted. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe the way your forehead is furrowed with frost heaves? Or the way you keep wringing your hands together? Or the fact that you drove down here with a foot of snow due to hit any time now?”
Landon rolled his eyes. “Fine. There’s a problem. A big one.” Landon sighed. Telling this story sucked donkey balls.
“Writer’s block?”
“What are you? Psychic?” How the hell was this guy figuring Landon’s story out for himself? His intuition was uncanny.
“No, I’m not a psychic,” Noble said with a wry smile. “You said you had a big problem. Logic would dictate the biggest problem a wordsmith like yourself could have is writer’s block.” Noble waggled his eyebrows.
“Yes, Mr. Spock.” Landon shot Noble a wry smile of his own, followed by the Vulcan salute. “I have writer’s block. The rough draft of the book was due to my publisher three weeks ago.”
“Ouch! How much of it do you have left to write?”
“All of it.” Landon felt his shame race up his spine to bloom over his face.
“Holy shit! When you said you had a big problem you weren’t kidding.” Noble shook his head.
“Yeah, so, my agent called me this morning. I thought he was calling to wish me a Happy New Year, but he was calling to ask about the book. He wanted me to send him the roughest rough draft I have. He lost his mind when I told him I hadn’t written one word.” The shame of Frank’s disappointment in him wasn’t something he’d soon forget.
“How did he leave things with you?”Noble leaned forward as if to hear better.
Landon shrugged. “He gave me until the fifteenth to send him the first one hundred pages.”
“The first hundred pages? How many are there supposed to be in total?”
“My usual target is eighty thousand words which translates into two hundred pages in Word, which translates into a little over three hundred pages in Kindle format.”
Noble took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Twenty six hundred words per day, if you start writing today.”
Jesus Christ! “Damn that was fast. Are you some kind of mathematician?”
Noble chuckled. “No, just good with numbers. Being a master builder, I need to be.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders making the movement look effortless. “But back to you. I get the writer’s block, but what does that have to do with you showing up at Sand Dollar Shoal?”
"My parents used to bring me here every summer until..." Landon sighed. Divorce was so common now in this day and age, but he still felt embarrassed. "Until they split up."
Noble nodded. "That sucks, man. My mother died when I was ten years old."
"Damn, Noble. I'm so sorry you lost her."
Noble shrugged as if he didn't quite know how to accept Landon's condolences.
Landon figured the best way to handle Noble’s lukewarm reaction was to move away from the topic of his mother. "Anyway, the best memories of my life happened here, so I thought maybe if I came back, it might help get my creative juices flowing."
Noble's eyes darkened as he licked slowly over his bottom lip.
Christ, If Noble kept looking at him like that, another sort of juice altogether was going to start flowing.
“You really think this place can bring your muse out of hiding?” Noble pinned Landon with his gaze, a dubious look on his face.
“I do,” Landon agreed.
"It's snowing," Noble said, seemingly out of the blue.
Landon looked out the window and saw the light flakes floating toward the ocean. He dug his phone out of his back pocket. This time he'd call around to the hotels in the area to make sure they had a room for him for the night. He should probably also make sure the hotel had a generator in case the power went out. With the high winds the Cape got in this kind of storm, the chances were pretty high that the lights were going to go out.
"Why don't we go outside and grab your luggage?" Noble stood up and stretched his bulky frame. "Come on, Charlie, walkies!"
Charlie barked and raced to Noble's side.
"Wait! What? My luggage?" Was Noble inviting him to stay?
Noble grinned. "Not a lot of hotels in Hyannis have generators. At least here, we have the fireplace and the stove works on gas. I can't offer luxurious accommodations, but we'll have a hot meal and a warm place to sleep tonight no matter what happens with the weather."
Landon eyed the queen-sized mattress lying on the floor near the fireplace. Landon had no doubt in his mind that Noble could offer a very warm place to sleep. "Thanks, man. How much do I owe you for the night?" Landon dug into his pocket for his walle
t.
Noble shook his head. "You'll pay for your lodgings, Landon, but not with cash." He took half a step closer before seeming to realize what he was doing and turned away, heading toward the front of the hotel.
Landon's heart was pounding in his chest while all of the blood in his body flowed south. He was both terrified and aroused by the thought of what Noble's method of payment would be. Shivering, Landon grabbed his coat and followed after his host.
4
While Landon showered, Noble made dinner. Plucking two cans of Spaghetti O's out of the cabinet, he moved to grab a sauce pan big enough to accommodate the food. His stomach pitched and tossed like the angry Atlantic Ocean outside the kitchen window.
Why on earth was he so nervous? He was only having dinner with an attractive stranger, who, after tomorrow, he was never going to see again. No big deal, right?
Noble cringed when the canned pasta made a farting noise as it slid out into the can to plop into the pot. It wasn't the best meal, but it was hot and there was a lot of it. Landon hadn't seemed very picky about the lunch he made them, so why should dinner be any different?
Reaching for the half-eaten loaf of bread, Noble made four slices of toast. He knew it was crazy, but Spaghetti O's and toast was something his father used to make them for dinner every Saturday night when he was growing up.
His thoughts turned back to Landon as he stirred the pasta. Noble couldn't help feeling for the guy. He had his dream job, and for whatever reason, mental block or lack of an idea, couldn't do it.
All of Noble's free time growing up was spent working with his father. Aside from the occasional smashed hand or other minor injury, he had always been able to work. He supposed not being able to swing a hammer was the same thing as staring at a blank Word document on a computer.
