Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
The sound of those high heels coming across the tile was quiet, and as the woman stopped in front of the cage, she lowered her head. Then closed her eyes.
Something about the unexpected reverence gave Lydia the space to become emotional, a wave of heat hitting her face and bringing tears to her eyes. But again, she refused to let herself lose it. Action was required, and if the board thought they were going to silence her by giving her a pink slip? They were all wrong—
“I didn’t come to fire you,” came the soft voice.
Lydia frowned and turned to the woman. “You didn’t?”
C.P. Phalen shook her head, but didn’t look over. She stayed focused on the wolf.
And then abruptly a pair of very hard gray eyes locked on Lydia.
“I want to know what you do,” the woman said in a grim tone. “Everything.”
A little after eleven-thirty, Daniel returned to the WSP’s main building in Lydia’s car. As he pulled into the parking area, the Audi was gone, and when he got out and stretched his stiff back, some instinct made him walk around to the porch that overlooked the view. Sure enough, Lydia was at the railing once again, staring across the lake to the scar in the opposite mountain.
As he coughed to get her attention, she startled, putting her hand to her throat. “Oh, hi. Jeez, you never make a sound.”
“Habit, I guess.”
“You mean you like to sneak up on people?”
“No.” He went over to stand next to her, but fuck the view. He only wanted to look at the woman who was haunting him like a ghost for no good goddamned reason. “It’s just handy to not draw attention to yourself sometimes.”
“Sounds sneaky.”
“You want me to take up the ukulele, maybe? The trombone?”
Her eyes, those lovely whiskey-colored eyes, wrinkled at the corners as she smiled. “You would do that?”
“Sure, I’d suck at either one, but I’m game.”
“Just to keep this job,” she said.
“Yeah, paychecks are nice, you know? And on that note, I didn’t wreck your car.”
“I didn’t think you would.” She looked back out at the trees, her profile tense, her hair now pulled back in a rubber band like its strands had been annoying her. “So how are the bridges?”
I like it down here better, he thought.
“I was only able to check out two of them,” he said, “and they’re not great. But at least I know how to fix them so you can get one more season out of ’em without a big spend. I am going to get the ATV working, however, so I can haul the lumber out. It’s too much for your hatchback.”
“Do we have enough wood in the shed?”
“We’ll see.”
As he went silent, he waited for her to say something. But she just refocused on the view, a study in someone with too much on their mind.
“Okay, out with it,” he demanded. “Were you fired?”
Lydia’s eyes returned to his. “What makes you ask that?”
“Come on, a woman like that strides in like she owns the place, driving a car that’s worth more than this facility? She’s either a headhunter trying to raid someone or a higher-up dropping the hammer.”
“Well, she didn’t fire me.” Lydia shrugged. “And she’s not as bad as I thought she was.”
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” When she went back to the view again, he said, “You can be honest with me.”
There was a long period of silence. After which he was compelled to say, “You know what’s great about drifters?”
Lydia murmured, “You never have to worry about being a hoarder?”
“Well, that’s true. But we also know how to handle ourselves—and others. So how can I help you?”
“I thought you didn’t get involved in business that wasn’t your own,” she said.
“I’m an employee here. You’re an employee. This is my business.”
She turned around and stared at the sliding door that led back into the building. On the far side of the glass, the receptionist was talking on the phone. Hanging up. Taking notes on a pad. Getting into her email and composing something.
“I have to mail a bunch of invitations,” Lydia said absently. “Like five hundred. Can you help me take them to the post office?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Let’s go,” she said remotely. “Do you have my keys still?”
He took the ring out of his pocket and dangled them. “Right here.”
Lydia seemed to set her shoulders. “Great. You can drive.”
SO HAVE YOU found a place to crash?”
As Lydia tossed the question out, she was shooting for casual in everything she did, everything she said: Even though her body was trembling, she clicked her seatbelt and arranged herself in her hatchback’s passenger seat in what she hoped seemed like a laid-back sprawl. And though her voice was threatening to break octave and pull a tension-filled soprano, she tethered it to normal range. No pressure of speech was allowed, either, so she slowed her words, evened her tone.