by Julie Reece
Wow.
I close my mouth suddenly aware Silas is watching. My face gets hot. “Nice place.”
“Glad you approve,” he says with an uneven smile.
We park next to an older model Land Rover and get out. I stretch my arms over my head, face to the sun. Back, hamstrings, my whole body relaxes as I bend, touching my toes. “Oh, it feels so freaking good just to stand up.”
When I turn, Silas is waiting by the back of the Jeep. Check that. He’s not waiting. He’s staring. His cheeks color, but that might be the heat. “Ready to unpack?”
“You have no idea.” I brush past him and reach for my bags. The weight can’t be more than fifty pounds, but my shoulders argue it’s more like one hundred and fifty. I crunch through the parking gravel toward the stairs, and try not to break both ankles in my boots.
“Autumn?” Silas waits near the Jeep. “This way. Interns don’t sleep in the house. You’ll bunk out here … ” He jerks his chin. “Out here” doesn’t sound as promising as the chalet looks. The evil smile he’s fond of giving me is back, and my stomach bottoms. “Don’t look so disappointed. You’re about to be rid of my company.”
His words shame me after his help at the bus stop, but only a little. He’s still being a pain. “Lead on.”
I adjust my luggage strap over my shoulder and follow. I don’t know what I’m picturing, multiple interns in a co-ed bunkhouse, a few girls in cabins, one per teepee. We circle the main house to reach our destination, my bags getting heavier with each step. I shift the weight from one hand to another and look up just short of ramming Silas.
He stopped at a tiny building against the tree line at the edge of a freshly mown lawn. When I say building, I mean shack. Maybe a tool shed? I have a fairly serious case of arachnophobia, and this place looks like Spidey headquarters. “This can’t be happening.”
“Something wrong?” Silas climbs six wooden steps to a miniscule porch. I scan the moss-covered shingles for webs. Colorful, potted geraniums hang at intervals from the roofline which is sort of charming—for a closet. “You coming?” he asks. “It’s getting late. I need to fill you in on a few details before I finish my work and head for the house.”
Wait, what? “You’re staying up there?” I gesture behind me. “At the big house?”
He grins wide. “The big house?”
“You know what I mean.” After lugging my bags up the steps, I check every corner for cobwebs. “You want girls to sleep in a shed?”
“Shed?” His eyebrows dive like I just included his mother in the worst Your Momma joke ever. “This is a historic building, not a shed. And yes, it’s your room while you’re here.” He pushes the front door open. “Are you saying you should stay in the house because you’re a girl?”
“Of course not.” It’s because of my very real fear of crawly things. I’m not confessing any bug issues to Mr. Sensitive, so I do what I always do when I’m desperate or panicking. I make shit up. “I was thinking roominess. Girls have more stuff. It’s documented. We’re territorial about bathroom outlets and mirror space. Plus, we don’t do as well in extreme temperatures. This building can’t have decent insulation.” Is he buying any of this crap? None of it’s true. Well, okay, it might be true of Sydney. “I’ll roast, freeze … Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I thought you were self-absorbed,” he says. “But you’re not.”
“Me? Of course I’m not! That’s the dumbest—”
“You’re so far past self-centered, you’ve invaded full-blown narcissistic territory.”
While I decide which ugly name to call him first, he disappears through the doorway. No way is he calling me spoiled and getting away with it, but as I cross the threshold, my first two fingers catch in the slamming screen door. ”Son of a—”
“Autumn?” Silas drops his backpack and hurries to my side. “Sorry. I should have warned you about that door.”
If I had something sharp, I’d stick it in his neck. “You knew that door eats fingers?” I shake my hand and bend over, waiting for the throbbing to subside. “Oow. Okay, I hate you a little bit right now.” I may sound like a petulant brat, but anger keeps other emotions in check. Ones scarier than rage.
“Hate me all you want, but take a seat on the bed, first. I want to have a look at you.”
I straighten, still cradling my smashed fingers. “What? I don’t—”
“At your hand. Get your mind out of the gutter, girl.”
“It’s not in the gutter.” Since the pain is fading, I was going to say I don’t need an examination, but explaining takes more energy than I have left. The single twin bed shoved against the far wall suggests I don’t have roommates. I sit while Silas takes the chair across from me.
“I haven’t been down here in a long time and forgot the screen snaps like that. I really am sorry. Believe me, I know how it hurts.” His touch is light and careful as he bends each of my knuckles. Turning my hand over, his fingertips run lightly across my skin. He’s making sure I’m okay, but my cheeks feel tight and I wish he’d finish. “Nothing’s broken,” he says. “I’ll get the door fixed tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I say, pulling my hand from his. It’s dumb, but Silas’s touch leaves me a little self-conscience. I scoot back and straighten my shoulders. While Silas stands and goes for his backpack, I get a first real look at where I’ll spend the next eight weeks.
Pine floors and walls make the place dark, but the wood is polished to a high shine. A small, stone fireplace takes up one corner. The bed sits across from two chairs upholstered in dark red corduroy. Double windows to my left allow light but sacrifice privacy, until I consider the blue and white striped curtains pushed open on either side.
There’s a shelf stocked with books, but no TV. A white sink stands under a third, smaller window near a few cabinets and a microwave, but I see no appliances. White daisies fill a blue mason jar on the counter. Thoughtful.
And not a cobweb in sight.
Something’s nagging at me, though. The place is quaint, clean, cozier than expected, but … I scan the room twice, searching for a door that’s not here. Finally, my gaze climbs Silas’s lanky frame to his stupid, handsome face. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He drops his pack on the seat he just vacated and peers inside, rummaging for something. I swear he looks guilty, but he pulls out a set of keys, and when he faces me again, his expression is blank to the point I must have imagined anything more.
“Outside.”
With the spiders. “Really?” I can’t help the catch in my voice.
“Yep. You’ll be roughing it here, Autumn. This cottage is original to the property. Built in nineteen eighteen, a hermit lived off the land for years until he died.
My stomach lurches. “In the name of all that’s not gross or creepy, please tell me it wasn’t in this bed.”
Silas’s grin unnerves me a little. “Not as far as you know.”
“Silas!”
“Kidding.” There’s an outdoor shower stall over a concrete slab on the north side of the cottage. To the rear is an old-fashioned outhouse—both completely private. Trust me, no one comes back here.”
“Shocker.”
His smile turns wry. “We better get something straight. You are here to help Behr Mountain test new products being considered for their retail stores. That means you’ll be biking, climbing, camping, and hiking, as well as a hundred other things in the next two months. As you finish each product test, you’ll write reports noting important flaws or problems for the company. You’ll also report on what worked well, and that feedback will be used for marketing purposes later.”
I rub my palms on my skirt. “What does an outhouse have to do with consumer feedback?”
“Behr Mountain toilet paper, of course. You’d be surprised how important decent T.P. is to campers.” I do a double take but he doesn’t crack a smile.
“You’re serious.”
“In addition to using our fishing
and hunting equipment, you’ll try lotion. Soap. Shampoo. You’ll use whatever the consumer uses to test our products. Understood?”
The blood leaves my face. Silas said fishing and hunting. Ack! Fishing and hunting!
“Great. We’ll be eating off the land, but tonight, dinner is at the big house at seven. Are we good here?”
Eating off the land means what, exactly? Berries and grubs or … bunnies? Shit. I swallow and nod. The phone in my pocket pings with a new text from Sydney that I ignore.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, but it doesn’t matter, because out on the front porch, what sounds like a herd of buffalo thunders up the stairs. I lean over, peek around the big red chair, and freeze as a bear-like creature clears the ottoman and hurtles toward me.
My blood chills in my veins. I’m gonna die …
Two hundred pounds wrapped in a black fur coat hits me like a missile strike. My head smacks the wall to my rear, and I get a face full of smelly, damp hair. A second yellow thing pounces, before a third beast piles on. The fat, black one is doing the watusi on my lap with its enormous paws.
“No, Gus! Down, boy. Get off of her, you idiots.” Somewhere across the sea of fur, Silas drags the slobbering animals away.
Eaten by dogs at seventeen. I can’t feel any bites yet, but it’s probably because I’m in shock.
“I’m sorry, Autumn. I thought they were up at the house. I meant to introduce you slowly, and they usually don’t take to strangers like this.”
“Like what—death by dog?” One hand goes to my face which has become an oil slick of saliva. The other smooths my skirt down, suddenly aware of the booty-show I must’ve given Silas when my feet went over my head. That’ll happen when you’re mauled by three dogs at once.
Silas kneels at my feet, his long arms wrapping two huge dogs with fangs and claws and … okay, bubblegum-pink tongues. “Now then,” he says. “Let’s do this right, shall we? Autumn, this is Gus. He’s a Newfoundland. Gus, shake the lady’s hand.” The fat, black dog puts his meaty paw on my knee.
I swallow. “I don’t do dogs.”
“My friends don’t agree.” I watch the black paw still attached to my knee. “Shake his paw. He likes that. You don’t want to hurt his feelings, do you?” Silas takes my hand sending a surge of electricity over my skin. When I try to pull away, his grip tightens. His thumb travels in tiny, calming circles over the racing pulse in my wrist. “Ready?” he asks. His lips curving. “Trust me, they’re babies.”
I nod as Silas guides my hand, and together we cradle Gus’s paw. One shake, two, and I let go. “I did it!”
“Yes, you did.” I assume he’s patronizing me, but his expression looks sincere enough. “Now this one over here is Call, our Golden Retriever.”
Call’s ears perk up when Silas says his name. His sloppy mouth opens so wide; I swear the dog is laughing at me. “Hello, Call. Nice dog.” My hands fist like balls of lead in my lap. Along with being angry, and socially awkward, well, and the spider thing, I might have a slight fear of dogs.
My dad’s allergic to pet dander. At least, that’s what he said whenever Sydney and I begged for something as small as a hamster. And since I wasn’t raised with them, I think they’re great on calendars, or at the park from a distance. Up close, I’m terrified one will bite me with their shiny, white dental work.
Silas replaces the shaggy yellow dog with a smooth brown one. “Lastly, this is Deets. Deets the Pointer.” This dog is smaller than the others, but not by much. “Okay, that’s our canine crew.” Silas rises. Deets and Call wait at his feet. Not Gus. The bear-dog crawls up on the bed. Two shiny strings of drool hang from his muzzle.
Adrenaline spikes, my skin prickles with rising anxiety. I’m appalled at the size and smell, but Silas appears practically giddy over my plight. “Here’s your key,” he says removing one from his ring and leaving it on the end table between chairs. “I’m headed in for a shower and change. Dinner’s at seven, don’t forget.”
I’m so done with this joker. The snacks I brought in my bag ought to last me through breakfast, at least. If he stays much longer, I’m going to tell him where to shove his showerhead, which will end badly. I’ll get fired before I’ve even started, and there’ll be no facing my father if that happens. “It’s been a long day. I’ll think I’ll stay in tonight and unpack.” My dismissal unmistakable, I hope he takes his fuzzy friends and leaves.
He smiles. It’s not a nice smile, either. “Whatever you say. Set your alarm for six. You and I have a busy day tomorrow.”
You and I? I replace my hat on my head. “I’m, I’m not sure how this works, but my dad said you’d introduce me to my manager and coworkers. I thought—”
“You assumed. You are our only summer intern, and your supervisor for the next eight weeks? That would be me.”
I feel my eyes bug. “In the last seven hours, you couldn’t find time to mention that?”
“Why spoil the surprise?” He walks to the door and lets out a short whistle. All three dogs scurry past him and out the screen door. “The outhouse is stocked with T.P. and magazines … for your reading pleasure.”
Asshat.
His smug expression makes me want to smack him, but since he’s surrounded by wolves, I decide against physical violence.
“Water pressure works best in the mornings. Sleep well.”
7
Caden
Sunset. My favorite time of day.
I sit on the front porch swing, hot coffee in hand, and watch the shimmering, orange sun fade behind the tree line. Rutilant light reflects off the lake water as if it’s on fire. The red glow reminds me of the highlights in my new intern’s hair. I shake my head, wondering why I sound like a writer for the Hallmark Channel.
Gus stands and stretches before heading down the steps. He disappears around the corner, piquing my curiosity. Rescued from local shelters, my dogs usually stick like glue when I’m here, but I don’t call Gus back from his wandering.
The screen door creaks. I take another sip of coffee, wishing my new sister-in-law hadn’t chosen this moment to invade my much needed solitude.
“Intern at the cottage?” Jesse asks.
“Yep.” I lower my mug to my knee.
She glances to the yard and back. “Then who were you smiling at?
“I wasn’t.”
“You were. No offense, but you had the dopiest look on your face just now.” Jesse sits in the rocker nearest me. Or maybe reclines is a better description. Like a cat. Sleek, quiet, and just as unpredictable, her graceful movements emphasize a theory I have. In my philosophy, girls are cats. Mysterious and cool, you want to pet them and they’ll let you. They’ll purr and rub against your legs. Let you think they love all the attention, and then, for no reason at all, they bite the shit out of you.
Guys aren’t like that. What you see is what you get, like dogs. We’re easy going. See the ball. Chase the ball. Have a good time. Do it again. No tricks, no mind games, no hassle.
My brother has got to be insane for permanently attaching himself to one of these creatures. On purpose. I’m never going to be that guy. Never. I keep my guard up and bail before the bite, thanks.
“You’ve been out here a while. Want me to warm that up for you?” Jesse nods at my cooling java. She wears her blond hair in a ponytail so all you see are her big, brown M&M colored eyes.
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”
“So, about the new intern. Look, I’m not trying to interfere … ”
Oh, yes you are.
“ … but I really think we should talk about this plan of yours.”
Here it comes. “We have talked about it, Jess. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you think you do. Only, I’m not cool with your mom not knowing the whole story. And … there’s a seventeen-year-old girl stuck out in the woods with no bathroom or kitchen. What if she gets scared? Some kids do.”
“Normal kids might, but you don’t k
now this girl. Autumn looks like a regular teenager, but actually, I think she’s a reincarnated Hun or gladiator.” Or Satan.
“You don’t believe in reincarnation.”
“Missing the point, Jess.”
“Okay, so she’s temperamental—”
A laugh bursts free. “Temperamental?”
“Fine. She embarrassed you at the job fair, big deal. Man up, because we’re responsible for her.”
“It’s not embarrassment.” Okay, maybe a little of it is. “This summer is supposed to show how I’ve changed, and that I can handle more responsibility. To be a true test, she has to see me as a peer. The minute she finds out I’m the boss’s kid, everything changes. She’ll act differently, assume things about me. You know how people are.”
“Yeah, well, just remember there’s more to training someone than an agenda. Sure she needs to learn the job, but you have to treat her fairly. And most importantly, we have to keep her safe.”
My grip tightens around my cup when Jesse says the word “safe.” My stomach tightens as I think of her with the guy in the storage room.
“She’s safe. I told you, I made damn sure of that.”
Her eyebrows lift, then she sighs. “All right, but be careful this time.”
This time. Her words weren’t meant to accuse, but they do. I can tell she’s worried, so I give in and talk. “Jess, I’m looking out for her, okay? We’ve never had a single incident of trespassing. The dogs would annihilate anyone who tried anything, not to mention the thirty-odd guns stored on the property. Autumn is here because I, we, need an intern.” I shrug. “Torturing her is an added bonus.”
She shoves my arm.
“Minor torture. A little hard work never hurt anyone.”
