Page 54 of The Woman By the Lake

As mad as you were, it was impossible to be in the forest with rain hitting a tin roof and not fall fast asleep.

I learned this because this was exactly what I did.

It was still cold and drizzling the next morning when I sat cross legged in my love seat on the back porch wearing heavy socks, pajama bottoms, another tight cami, my cashmere robe, and one of those cute headbands snow bunnies wore to show off their hair while still keeping their ears warm.

I’d seen it in a window in town and couldn’t resist, so I bought it the day before, between Kimmy’s holiday store and going back to my car and reading disturbing stories about Misted Pines.

I had both hands wrapped around my coffee cup, which I had held to my face as I glared at the soothing sight of light rain hitting a tranquil lake.

I was not surprised this time when I heard noise coming from the north, and I wasn’t surprised because, after teeth brushing, face cleaning and moisturizing, even though it was early, I’d texted Riggs that the scratching came back last night but went away when it started raining.

Only then did I make coffee.

And there he came, wearing a dark canvas jacket, slicked with wet, the hood up, his hands in the pockets, jeans on his legs, and on his feet, his ever-present brown boots.

He left the trail and came to a stop opposite where I was, but he didn’t alight the porch.

He looked at me.

“Which number is that?” he asked, tipping his head to my coffee cup and taking in my glare with barely concealed humor.

“One,” I grunted.

“How far into it are you?” he asked.

“A sip.”

“Drink up, honey,” he urged, then he took off down the side of my house.

I did as told as he did whatever he was doing at the side of the house. And I kept doing it as I watched him pass in front of me to go to the stable trail.

I continued sipping even as I turned my head and watched him tramp around in the drizzle.

He came back, but this time ascended the steps, shrugged off his jacket to afford me the pleasure of seeing him in a fabulous fisherman’s sweater, and he tossed it on one of the wicker chairs.

After he did that, without invitation, he went inside my house.

I was getting to like him a whole lot, but I liked him more when he made sure to wipe his boots thoroughly on the outdoor mat before he went in, because the cabin wasn’t all that big, but it was a whole lot of floor to mop.

He came back with a mug of coffee, and I only scooched enough he could squeeze his ass in the seat beside me. This meant he had to lift my knee, but when he was settled in, he dropped it and it rested on his thigh.

His thigh felt warm regardless of the chill, and hard, and I liked it too much, but I was so angry, I was too mad to move.

He took a sip and said to the lake, “If there were tracks, rain washed them away.”

“Figures,” I grumbled and took my own sip.

“Kids get up to stupid shit,” he noted.

“My exact thinking,” I replied, and it was, because if Riggs had learned about me, and Kimmy had guessed I was at this cabin, then that meant it was official.

Word had gotten around.

I was now glaring at the lake again, but I knew he’d turned to look at me when he asked, “How pissed are you?”

I turned to look at him. “On a scale of someone running through my yard being a one, and someone keeping me up all night with metal music and lake frolicking a ten, I’m at about a two-hundred-and-seventeen.”

He grinned at me, then took another sip.

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