Copyright 2013 by Fran Lee
Shutting
off the faltering motor, she tossed her designer sunglasses onto the passenger
seat and slid out of the car to stare in dismay at the scary sight of a delapidated cabin
standing before her.
What have I done?
Had she
truly thought this would be a restful, wonderful rustic vacation in the Desert?
Her eyes slid over the old fashioned hand-pump that stood in front of the cabin
next to an ancient bathtub with claw feet. At least in New York she’d had running water. And a toilet. The outhouse she could
just see to the left of the area was the last frigging straw. Oh, no no no. With a fastidious shudder,
she decided that she would much rather turn right around and drive back to
town. They’d had decent motels, at least. With indoor toilets.
The door
opened without being obstinate. No rusty hinges there. The expected smells of
disuse were absent. She stepped inside the surprisingly tidy cabin and crossed
the bare wood floor. Glancing around, she moved across to a covered window and
tugged aside the sun-faded curtain. The window glass was clean. In fact,
everything seemed to be clean. The open door and the window gave the only
illumination to the interior of the utilitarian single room. She checked at the
inside edge of the door for a light switch. Nope. Great. Her gaze slid to the
vintage sconces on two of the rough log walls. Oil lamps? You have got to be shitting me!
But then,
there were no electrical wires or poles anywhere along the rutted road she’d
been following. Obtuse. Any sane woman would have noticed this fact. But then,
shouldn’t there be a generator, at least?
She bit
her lower lip and turned full circle to survey the cabin she had rented. The
floors were swept and canned goods were on the open-front shelves along the
wall. Another pair of free-standing hurricane lanterns stood on one of the
shelves. No fridge. Good thing she hadn’t brought perishables.
Well…she
had wanted rustic.
And I got ancient.
Chellie
moved methodically around the small space. Oh shit! No way. The stove was cold, but a half-full coffee pot sat on the
stovetop extension that was supported by a metal leg of sorts. It looked as if
someone had very recently been in the cabin.
Or is living here.
Was there
another cabin out here besides the one she’d rented? Obviously this one was
already occupied.
Her heart
tripped nervously. She swallowed the tightness in her throat as she moved
across the room to the old chest of drawers that stood against the far wall.
Tugging open one of the drawers, she issued an aggravated sound at the sight of
men’s jeans, a couple of T-shirts, socks and odds and ends of underwear. She lifted
a pair of soft, well-worn cotton boxer briefs between thumb and finger, and
groaned. The place most definitely was occupied. “I fucking don’t believe this!
What more can possibly go wrong today?” she said to no one in particular. A
soft coughing sound behind her made her stiffen.
“Usually
people don’t just walk in and start checking out my skivvies…but you, I don’t
mind.” The rough, deep voice came from the direction of the open door behind
her and she jerked around with a cry of shock to face the intruder. Intruder?
Oh, hell…looks like I’m the intruder…
The words,
tall, dark and incredibly rugged
flashed through her mind as she nearly tripped backwards onto the narrow bed
and barely saved herself from further humiliation by staggering sideways before
regaining her balance.
No part of the above excerpt may be used in any manner without express permission of the copyright holder Fran Lee.
This is just a nibble...let me know if you like it so far?
Hugs!
Fran Lee
