UndeniablyHisE (24 page)

Mia

I collapsed onto the battered mattress in my room at the Sweet Home Motor Lodge (& Bait Shop) and stared at the ceiling because I was tired and the television didn't work. Keppler hadn't worn me out. There had been little moving of stock, no copious errands to run. Instead, I had worn myself out waiting for the door to open and Collin Stark to walk in.

The pattern had become familiar since I moved out of the guesthouse. I would be fine until around ten in the morning, then I would start getting twitchy knowing Collin would soon appear. Once he did, I could relax for a couple of hours. Then I would get twitchy again because sometimes he made a second visit, sometimes he didn't.

Today, he hadn't visited at all, which meant I'd been increasingly twitchy from ten on. Part of me worried that he had hurt himself, that with all the paint and wood and fixtures he'd acquired every day of the week except when we were closed on Sunday, that he had finally pushed himself too hard after being shot and burnt. The rest of me shut down at the likeliest possibility -- he had decided whatever game he was playing wasn't worth it, that I wasn't worth it.

I rolled onto my side and stared at the bins I had brought from the guesthouse while I ignored the question of whether I welcomed that likely scenario. Every day he came in, I wished he hadn't. Each visit felt like he was removing chunks of my heart with a rusty ice cream scooper one scoop at a time.

Things weren't settled.

I hadn't shut him out at all.

Careful what you wish for...

I wrapped my arms around the pillow and read the labels on the bins. In addition to my clothes, they were all the items that had been salvageable from the spare room. I would have to go back at some point and remove the remaining bins that contained the ruined items -- or find someone to do it for me. I guess it didn't really matter. They and the house could fester until my life estate was up. I hadn't stepped foot in the guesthouse until my mother's death. It didn't hold any memories for me -- not any good ones, at least.

Those good memories had all been formed in the main house and stables. Stark owned those now, or soon would after all the paperwork went through. So the bins, their contents moldering, could stay, the roof could continue its slow collapse. No skin off my nose.

I had enough things to take care of. Like finding a place to live that didn't have "& Bait" in its name. Sniffling, I rolled onto my back again. Without the guesthouse, there was no reason to stay in the county or the state. Gillie hadn't gone cold on me, but he'd made it clear he wanted to keep his distance while Stark stuck around.

"Too much going on between you," he had said, followed by, "anything you need, tell me."

Yeah, like that wasn't a mixed message. I needed a shoulder to cry on. Not that I would have cried on it, but it would have been nice knowing it was there. With Gillie out of the picture, that left Keppler as my sole remaining connection to Keeling. With all the stuff Stark had been buying on a daily basis, that connection would soon be severed.

Not putting it past Stark to have formulated such a plan, I snorted. Finished with the laugh, I rubbed at my cheeks while I willed myself to move my legs and take a shower. Instead of using the hot plate to make ramen for dinner, I would go into the one restaurant in town that had wi-fi and begin the job search I should have started more than a week ago while I ate.

When I emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, my hair dry and a light coating of make-up on, I pulled the lid off one bin. Evan was dead. I didn't need to hide the fancy clothes any more. In fact, I needed the opposite, needed to stop being invisible or I would fail any interview I might possibly land.

I sorted through the clothes, divorcing each of them from the associations they held with Stark. Ignoring how long he had stared into my eyes the first time I wore it, I shook out the long-sleeved blouse in a georgette of cerulean blue over a silk shell. Pairing it with a full-length silk skirt, I suppressed the memory of how Collin's hand had possessed me under the skirt as the sun set over the Persian Gulf and I trembled in climax.

When I pulled out the expensive leather boots, the black as shiny and smooth as oil, I thought of Gillie at the roadhouse and not Stark.

I changed into the clothes then spent a few minutes in front of the cracked mirror above the dresser as I brushed my hair into submission. Finished, I ran my hands over the skirt, appreciating its texture. It was too nice for the little diner I was going to, too nice for a hardware store clerk, as well. The skirt alone was two weeks' pay before taxes. I should probably take half the outfits and find a boutique consignment shop in Raleigh. That would extend the cushion of time I had to find a job by months with enough left over to pay for a few plane tickets in case I needed to interview out of state.

Making a mental note to search for consignment shops in Raleigh when I was at the diner, I slid my laptop into the black leather attache Stark had given me in Dubai. Keys in one hand and reaching for the door handle, I jumped back with a little squeak as someone knocked.

I didn't open the door immediately. Instead, I went to the window that looked onto the parking spaces in front of the room and pulled the curtain aside. A young male in a business suit stood in front of my door. He carried a box with him that looked heavy from the way he kept shifting its weight. On top of that, a dark yellow envelope kept threatening to blow away each time he lifted his chin from it.

Deciding he wasn't there for strong arm robbery, I opened the door.

He took a second to look me over, his expression brightening when he saw the expensive clothes and all the other indicia that I wasn't a regular at the Sweet Home Motor Lodge.

"Miss Mia James?"

"Yes." I lifted my chin so I could surreptitiously stare at the box and envelope. Neither was marked. I frowned at the mystery. "Are those for me?"

He nodded. "But I need ID."

I rolled my eyes at him but opened the attache to pull out my driver's license.

"Hey," he smiled as he checked my bona fides, "You're just two years older than me."

And you, Junior, are at least a decade too young for me.

I smiled back if only to be polite. "Who is this from?"

He shrugged and I felt a moment's sympathy for him. He had either been instructed not to tell or someone had deemed him too unimportant to know.

"Well, thank you for delivering them." I reached for the box and envelope, then hesitated before I would have my hands full. "Should I...uh..."

Delivery boys generally didn't wear suits, so I wasn't sure if I should tip him. He caught the gist of my confusion and blushed before shaking his head vigorously.

"They're from the law firm I work at," he explained. "Just dropping them off on my way home."

Mention of a law firm surprised me. My fingers started to tingle as I placed a palm top and bottom of the box with its envelope and relieved him of his burden. Placing the box on a chair by the door, I immediately ripped the envelope open and pulled two pieces of paper out.

If Collin Stark was serving some kind of legal process to nullify my rights to the guesthouse, I would go mental on him. It didn't matter than an hour ago I had been ready to abandon those rights, I would not let him take them from me.

I stared down at the paper, the words making no sense. At the top it read
North Carolina Quitclaim Deed
. Collin's name filled the Grantor column, mine filled the Grantee. Below that, legalese on heirs and assigns and then:

WITNESSETH, that said Grantors, for and in consideration of the sum of ten dollars and other consideration to them in hand paid, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, have remised and released and by these presents do remise, release, and forever quitclaim into the Grantee and his heirs and assigns all right, title, claim, and interest of the said Grantors in and to a certain tract or parcel of land lying and being in the County of Martin and State of North Carolina, in Keeling Township, and more particularly described as follows:

I read the description of the horse farm, the papers starting to shake in my hand.

"Good news, I hope."

I looked up to find the young man staring at me, his gaze a mix of appreciation and confusion. My lips parted but I couldn't formulate an answer. I just shook my head, mumbled a good-bye and shut the door.

I slid down to sit on the floor, the six-hundred dollar silk skirt as forgotten as the aged-in grime underneath. I re-read the first and second page of the form then ran my fingers over the raised notary seal.

Collin Stark had spent over a million dollars to acquire the horse farm and almost two weeks and however many additional dollars making repairs and he had just assigned his entire interest to me. I looked at the clock and scowled at the time. Closing in on seven in the evening, it was too late to take the deed to the county clerk's and have it recorded.

I returned the deed to the envelope and placed the envelope in the attache case. I would not go out until I was leaving for the county clerk's office. I would stay home and have ramen. Nodding at my decision, I got up and hid the attache in a bin, a layer of clothing on top of it. I locked the door after that then turned my attention to the box.

Plain brown paper secured with clear tape covered the outside. I cut at both with my car keys, stuffed the paper in the trash and pulled back the top flaps. Photographs that I had labeled "ruined" filled the interior. Only these were new, freshly developed.

I picked one up, studied it. My father and me at Christmas. Mold had made his head indistinguishable from the tree. I had left this picture and the others at the guesthouse. I dug deeper -- one outside the stables, me on Corabelle's back, Ray's hand holding me steady. The right third had been almost black with mold. I looked at it closely, my brain realizing that the fence on the right third didn't exist when the picture had been taken. That had been photo-manipulated into place.

Collin had entered the guesthouse after I vacated it, taken my photos, had them scanned and then -- what?

NSA has these algorithms

I shook my head. I had told him he couldn't fix the pictures. Just like I had told him things between us were settled and that I had finally and completely shut him out.

Sinking to my knees, I started to cry. I had to be right because if I let him back in and he left me again there would be nothing to piece back together.

I chewed at my lip to stay focused. Things clearly weren't settled because he wouldn't let them be. But he kept coming at me sideways. I mean, Reed -- not Collin -- had given me insight on Collin's reaction to the miscarriage. Kessa had sent me to hospital on the day Collin was released and, instead of telling me he was buying the farm for me, Collin had made it sound like he was buying it for himself and then haunted me every day at work afterwards. He had sent a man/boy to deliver the quitclaim deed and pictures -- and snuck behind my back to get the pictures to begin with.

As my list built, I rose from the floor and started to pace. He also had acted lie the ring on the tray didn't exist or had no relevance between us.

So did you, Mia. So did you.

I shook my head at the annoying little voice of reason inside me. This was about Collin's behavior, not mine. I twisted the locks on the hotel door and opened it, almost storming out without my keys or wallet. I shut and locked the door again while I retrieved my wallet from the attache and found my keys where I had dropped then on the floor.

I locked the room up and headed for the horse farm. I looked like a maniac, I'm sure, shaking my head, talking to myself, shouting sometimes.

Sideways bastard!

I pulled into the drive, my car kicking up dirt that glowed red in the tail lights as I came to a stop in front of the main house.

Seeing it for the first time in over a week, I sucked a breath in. The exterior was still in dire need of a new paint job, but the dark, heavy drapes had been taken off the windows in favor of lace curtains. The light fixtures on the porch had been replaced. Those inside the house had been dusted so that the crystal threw fairy lights into the night.

He had found rocking chairs for the front porch that were a close match to those he would have seen in the ruined pictures. The lace curtains, too -- I hadn't realized that they mirrored the pictures until I saw the rocking chairs.

I got out of the car and approached the house, stopping just short of stepping onto the porch. The front door was open, the screen keeping out the moths that wanted to dance with the light that streamed from every window.

I stared hard at the door. He had to have heard the car pull up, had to have known the pictures and deed were delivered. That he didn't appear made me doubt myself all over again.

Behind me, I heard the crunch of drying pine needles. I turned to see Collin step away from the tall pine that stood in the front yard. He hadn't come out because he'd been there all along, watching my reaction.

Looking for the tactical advantage.

Taking my hand, Collin led me onto the porch. Urging me to look up, he brushed a finger under my chin.

"I figured if you didn't come out right away, there really wasn't any chance left for us."

"That I came doesn't mean there is." I pulled my hand from his. I knew I wanted him, would always want him. I just didn't think I could survive having him again. "Go home, Collin."

He seemed to stagger a step back. I knew the feeling, felt a flare of deep pain shoot through my chest as if we'd both been stabbed with the same blade or shot with the same gun.

"I don't have one." He straightened, his gaze like it had been that last day in the hospital. He studied me as if he didn't quite know who I was. Reaching out, he scratched at a spot of peeling paint on the side of the porch. "Haven't since before I enlisted. I have places I own--"

"This isn't one of them anymore," I reminded him.

He acknowledge the fact with a slight nod and then his hands curled against the sides of my face. "What will it take for you to stop hating me?"