Page 5 of Backed By You
I walk to the left where the small kitchen-dining area sits with a sliding glass door that leads to the back. The four-seater dining table feeds into the living space where I’ve updated the original furnishings: a brown leather couch, end tables, a matching coffee table across from the stone fireplace, and a make-shift office with a desk beside the window for more natural light.
To the right is the bedroom where I’ve got a pillow-top, king-sized bed, a cluttered closet, a dresser, and a TV mounted on the wall. Through the bedroom, the bathroom is attached. A simple, standing glass shower, toilet, and sink set up—where I added new shelving for proper storage.
Even with all my updates and homey touches, I’ve kept some of the bear and deer décor that decorated the cabin when I first moved in.
Call itMontana Inspiration, if you will.
You could say I’ve been channeling that middle-of-nowhere atmosphere just by reading my latest screenplay. Because it’s what I do, I’m a screenwriter—or as my loving andsupportivefather used to call it, “Wasting my time.”
Key words being: used to.
At the prime age of twenty-eight, I’ve sold over fifteen screenplays in the horror movie genre, with two completed films in a trilogy, and the third releasing in just six short weeks.
When you’re young, well off financially, and sort of famous, one can gain a lot of unwanted attention from seemingly kind people with ulterior motives.
Hulk has needed to put his multitude of training to good use against a few close encounters. I don’t know what it is about me, but people seem to think a petite blonde woman who writes about serial killers is someone they can try to take advantage of.
It’s why I came here, to a small town barely on the map if it wasn’t for the rising popularity of Winton’s Ski Resort. Thanksto one of my best girlfriends back in LA, Shea Winton, I found this mountain paradise.
I set the to-go bag on the counter and grab a treat for Hulk. I give it to him with a kiss on the nose. “Good alerting, big boy,” I coo.
I shuffle to the fridge to pull out the chicken breast I mix in Hulk’s high-end, premium dog food for his dinner. He gets two of these fancy meals a day, with a variation between chicken, steak, and ground beef. I spare no expense to take the best care of him. He does the same for me.
Prepping his dinner, I hit play on the Bluetooth speakers I had installed throughout the cabin. The music bumps, and I sway my hips as I get to cooking with Hulk waiting patiently beside me.
It’s not another five minutes later when I have the chicken in the frying pan on a low simmer that someone pounds on my door. Hulk’s ears perk on high alert. He watches the door, but remains at my side.
I bet it’s that asshole renter come to complain about my musicanddog.
I snatch my phone off the table and lower the music. I hit dial on Maci’s number and hold the phone to my ear as I walk to the front door with Hulk. I unlock the two deadbolts and chain, then finally the knob itself. I open the door to reveal the same towering brute from before.
“Pass auf,” I say, the German command for Hulk to guard the door from allowing anyone or anything from entering.
Hulk takes point at the door, positioning himself between me and the man glowering in my direction. He looks between Hulk and me, his scowl deepening.
“Hello?” Maci finally answers.
“Hey, Maci. It’s Callie,” I say, glaring at the obnoxious renter. “I’ve got some asshole over here banging on my door. He has twoseconds to get off my porch before Hulk gets a taste of soldier boy.”
The man at my door raises a stern brow, standing a little taller as he crosses his large arms over his insanely broad chest. Jeez.With that pose, he’d have to turn to the side just to walk in my front door.
“Oh—Oh my god,” Maci whispers before frantically speaking to someone on the other end. “No, no, Callie. It’s fine. Duke and I will be there in just a minute. Please, don’t—”
“No pets allowed inside the cabins,” the jerk grinds out through clenched teeth. “Chain up your dog outside, or you’re both gone.”
I bristle at his tone. “Who the hell areyouto tell me wheremydog is allowed?”
“And turn down that fuckin’ music,” he bites out, ignoring my question.
“Absolutely,not,” I snap. “This ismyhouse. I live here. Not you. You’re just some dickhead who’ll be gone by the end of the week.”
“Callie, no, that’s—” Maci tries to say.
“I want all these flowers gone. It’s not a goddamn greenhouse out here,” he demands. “And what the fuck is that raised block out back? What are you growing in there? Marijuana?”
I wish.
Hulk takes a menacing step forward with a rumbling growl in warning.
