Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
She snorts, and I swear a faint smile touches her lips, but it quickly vanishes. “Fine, I'll help as long as you don't make me cook.”
“Deal.”
We go through the process again. Dasher closely follows her every move, and she curses when she trips over him during the final load.
“You okay?” Luckily, I catch her before she does a face-plant on the floor.
“No, I'm not.” She blows out a frustrated huff, and I quickly release her. “I don't have coffee, internet, or any type of delivery services. When I’m pissed or annoyed, I usually go for a run, and now I can't even do that!”
“Fallon...” I say carefully, hoping to pull her off the ledge.
“For all I know, you're a murderer and put up the fake listing to get me here. It's probably why you live out in the middle of fucking nowhere! Trap your victims in your big secluded mountain cabin and then slaughter them.”
“Mm-hmm...and I suppose I'm to blame for this blizzard too, right? I mean, I must've planned that. Summoned the angels above to bring us over twenty inches of snow and hurricane-level winds. I had to make sure there was no possible way for you to call for help or have access to your precious outside world. Damn, you caught me.”
“Don't deflect with a smart-ass attitude. I watch enough true crime to know how serial killers premeditate their kills.”
I chuckle, entertained by her theory. “If that were my plan, wouldn't I have killed you already instead of given you a place to sleep?”
“Some psychos enjoy playing with their prey first. Get me to trust you, and then that's when you make your lethal move.” She makes a throat-slit motion, and I crack up.
“No wonder you're a writer. You have quite the imagination.”
“But you're not denying it.” She arches a brow, and I can't believe how serious she is.
Leaning in, I dip down to her ear and whisper, “Keep talking shit, and I'll put a pearl necklace around your throat instead.”
“Uh...what?” She looks thoroughly confused until it finally hits her, and her eyes widen in shock.
I flash her a wink as the blood drains from her face.
Fuck, she's too damn easy to mess with, and although it's fun to rile her up, I have to finish gathering supplies right now.
“I'm gonna grab the extra lanterns, flashlights, and batteries. I have a kerosene lamp, too, just in case we're without power for a while.”
She stays glued to the couch with Dasher next to her. I quickly build a fire since there's a chill in the house from the door being open, then search for everything we'll need.
When I return, she silently watches me like she’s concerned I'll really gut her like a fish.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Sure.” Fallon sounds less than enthusiastic. While I’m sympathetic because she's not used to this, she better suck it up. This storm is just getting started.
A loud pounding startles me awake, and I roll over in bed to check the time on my phone. I went to sleep a few hours ago after Fallon and I ate dinner.
I whip open the door, and Dasher rushes toward Fallon. From what I can see, she's wrapped in a blanket.
“What's wrong?” I ask, hearing her teeth chatter.
“The heat's out, and I’m turning into an ice cube.”
“I put extra blankets in your room,” I explain, feeling the chill in the air. “The furnace should still be working even with the power out.”
“Well, it's not,” she whines. “And the blankets aren't enough when it’s negative thirty outside.”
“One was wool,” I tell her in disbelief. She's being dramatic.
“Hey, I can't help it if I’m always cold.”
“Because you’re cold-hearted?”
“Can you save the insults for later, please? I’m having a crisis at the moment.”
I smirk, grabbing her hand so she doesn’t trip down the stairs. “C’mon, I’ll build a fire.”
Dasher zooms to the living room, and I grab a couple of flashlights and the matches.
“Hold this up for me so I can see.” I hand her a flashlight.
I grab some kindling, but because of the draft, it takes me a minute to get it started. Once I have a nice flame going, I stand. “Is that better, Little Miss Seattle?”
She sits directly in front of the fire on the shag rug. Dasher settles in beside her, much to her disdain.
“Can you get him off me, please?” She tries to push against him, but he's a hundred-plus pounds of dead weight and doesn't budge.
“It's a mystery to me why he likes you so much. At least you can use his warmth.” I grin.
She groans.
I can hear the fridge running. “Generator kicked on, so at least the food in the fridge won’t go bad.”
“And heat?”
“The pilot light must've blown out. That sometimes happens when it's this windy. I'll check it in the morning when it's daylight.”