Page 32 of Fight Or Flight

Ethan nodded. He looked nervous, waiting for an answer.

“Is this like a date—”

“No. Not a date.”

He answered so fast she couldn’t help but be offended. Not that she wanted to go on a date with him. But would she have said no?

Ugh, probably best not to wonder about that.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Good. Because I don’t date.”

“Ever?”

She shook her head. “No.”

His eyes seemed to look everywhere but at her before he finally said, “Okay, full disclosure. I want to take you around, explain the area, and show you how important your land is to the ecosystem.”

“Oh . . . I see. This is part of your crusade to protect the snakes.”

“More or less.”

She eyed him for a moment, taking in his nervous energy. She couldn’t care less about the snakes, but she loved a good tour, and she’d never been “waterfalling” before. Not to mention she hated being in that house. Maybe a day away would be nice, even if she had to listen to a sales pitch from the cute doctor about snakes and the ecosystem and blah blah blah.

She walked over to the dresser where her suitcase sat and picked up the yellow pad with the inheritance list on it, scanning for an opening. “Looks like Speeler gave me Thursday off.”

Ethan’s face lit up. “I can do Thursday morning.”

“Fair warning, I won’t change my mind about selling this house.”

He nodded. “I’ll take what I can get.”

They walked together down the stairs and through the foyer. Natalie swung open the door to let Ethan out and found Harold Monroe standing alone on the porch, fisted hand suspended in the air about to knock, showing off a sizable sweat stain in the armpit of his beige shirt.

He had dark-red hair, streaked with grey, and big googly eyes that he’d narrowed to slits. He steadied himself to speak, but Ethan beat him to it.

“Eight a.m. good?”

Harold’s head whipped between Ethan and Natalie. They both ignored him.

“Fine.”

“Perfect. See you then,” he said with a charming half smile, then bounded down the stairs to his truck.

She turned her attention to Harold finally.

“You must be Nat—”

She cut him off, raising her voice over his. “You know where the cellar is?”

“Of course I know where the cellar is! This is my—”

“Good. That’s where your guns are. Get them and get out.”

So much for indifference.

She left him in the house alone and walked down the stairs to where Ethan had left the bike. She couldn’t listen to any more words come out of a Monroe. Better to take her chances in the vermin-infested barn.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

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