Page 9 of Christmas Cove

“This is where you’re booked to stay for your trip.”

“A cabin. In the middle of nowhere? Brampson, this is how horror movies begin. I’ve literally seen this before.” She pointed to the small cabin and then to the fog rolling in and glowing orange through the dusky sky. “You are kidding me, right?”

America pulled out her phone and dialed Poppy. The phone icon flashed as it attempted to connect to a network. She tried again with no luck. “No signal. That’s simply great,” she said and stashed her phone in her tote. “Do you have service?”

Brampson shook his head as he lifted her bags from the back hatch and placed them on the ground beside America. “I’m afraid not.” He checked his own timepiece. “The property owner should be here soon. He was supposed to meet us here, but it appears we’ve arrived first.”

“Will you stay and wait with me until we find out what the story is?”

He nodded and shut the back hatch.

“I’m going to stretch my legs. Don’t you leave me,” she said and pointed two fingers at her eyes and then towards his.

After digging around in her suitcase for more practical shoes, she walked down the gravel drive. Grass spilled over the edges, and pine saplings dotted the ground along what looked to be an old split-rail fence. The gravel turned to wood planks, grayed from years of sun exposure, but with a kind of coziness, like a well-worn pair of jeans.

The terrain dipped down, and the wood planks turned into a raised walkway like a walking bridge. “Or a dock,” America said and peered over the edge. Instead of a lake, there was only long grasses and small bushy weeds. No water.

The planks ended at a square platform where railings hemmed in a row of benches. A staircase went down to one side, and a flagpole stood straight in one corner, though there was no flag hoisted. The dock, it seemed, went to nowhere.

Behind her, a plank creaked, causing her to spin around. Through the fog, a man’s silhouette emerged.

“You’re not Brampson.”

CHAPTER7

“The name’s Leo,”the man said. He held his hands up by his shoulders and opened them to her. “I’m here to let you in the cabin.”

America’s heart had jumped for a moment at the sight of the stranger. Her hand went to the center of her chest. “You gave me a fright,” she said and put her hand out.

Leo’s rough palm and sturdy grip left her reassured as they shook hands. His side-cocked smile and friendly amber eyes further put her at ease. America withdrew her hand and placed it on her fluttering stomach. The man was easy to look at.

“Your driver pointed me down here, and—”

“Oh, my gosh! Did he leave me here?” she said and marched past Leo.

“That is how car services work, you know. They bring you to your destination and then they...leave,” he said.

“Yes. I know how it works. But I don’t think this is the right place, and he shouldn’t have left me,” America said as her feet scuffed along the gravel path. “Isn’t there a resort or something around here? This isn’t the Christmas wonderland that I was expecting.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know what you thought you were getting. I have a reservation for Ms. America Greene via Jet Trek Magazine,” he said. “The driver said that was you.”

“It is. I am her. I mean, I am she, America.” She fumbled her words with each perturbed step. “Is there a phone or wifi in the cabin? I need to ring my office.”

“Sometimes.”

America paused. “Sometimes?”

“You know...”

“No, I don’t know. I’m getting no signal on my cell.” She held her phone out for him to see and wagged it back and forth. “I need a phone. Preferably one that works.”

“Well, let’s get you settled. I’ll show you around the cabin, and then we’ll figure out this signal mess. Okay?”

Though she was hesitant about a strange man showing her around a vacant cabin in the middle of nowhere, she had no real reason not to trust him, and no other options at the moment. With a grunt of agreement, she followed him up the path to the cabin where her bags sat on the bottom step. She palmed the handle of her roller case, and Leo’s hand fell upon hers.

“I’ll get this one,” he said, and she removed her hand from beneath his. “You can grab the smaller bag. And your purse.”

“Tote,” she corrected him and immediately regretted having done so. “Sorry. I’m an editor. I have the unfortunate habit of correcting words. Grammar. Slang. You name it.”

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