Wanting Something More. Kathy Love
old bedroom. Even her original plan to sit down with a hot cup of tea seemed like too much effort after that harrowing drive. Her car was as ill suited to Maine as her shoes.
She threw her bags onto her bedroom chair with more force than necessary. As childish as it was, she didn’t want to agree with Nathaniel Peck about anything. Even something as silly as the bad handling of her car in the snow.
The only positive thing about seeing that wretched man was that it served to remind her why she was going to avoid men for a good long while. Nathaniel. Rod. They were cut from the same loathsome cloth.
Marty unzipped one of her cases and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. As she changed into the warmer clothes, she considered both men. Even with her intense dislike of Nathaniel, she had to admit it wasn’t fair to compare him to Rod. What Nathaniel had done to her was the cruel prank of an immature teenager. Rod was an adult, and there were no excuses for the hurtful things he’d done to her.
She shivered. Would this cold ever leave her? It seemed to have collected in her veins. In her bones.
She crossed back to her packs and dug around for a pair of socks. The bedsprings squeaked as she sat on the edge to pull on the thick knee-highs. The snow was still falling hard, and she crossed over to the window to watch it for a moment.
She hadn’t recognized Nathaniel at all. And it hadn’t been just the dark and snow. His hair was longer than she’d ever seen it. He’d always been the type to sport a very short military cut, even in high school. That was how it had been at her sister’s wedding. Of course, she hadn’t recognized him there either. Not until he opened his rude mouth. God, she disliked that man!
She moved from the window to the bed.
Tossing back the quilt made up of different squares of blue, she started to crawl onto the mattress, then paused. Something clanked downstairs.
She remained perfectly still, the covers clutched in her hand, one knee up on the bed.
The sound repeated, this time closer. Maybe in the hallway? It was hard to tell; the sound seemed to echo through the whole house.
Marty held her breath.
A loud clatter rang out directly behind her. She squealed and spun around to stare at the door. Nothing. But she continued to watch the door, waiting for a shadow to move in the hallway. For a figure to appear.
Clank! Marty jumped. Then she laughed, pressing a hand to her chest.
The radiators.
The ancient radiators had always clanged and banged and made all sorts of noises. How could she have forgotten? She’d spent many nights listening to this old house moan and groan and complain.
Shaking her head and letting out another unsteady laugh, she slid into bed. She’d never been a skittish person, and certainly nothing about this house had ever felt eerie to her. But she did feel a little nervous tonight.
It was just the stress of the day, she decided. And running into Nathaniel Peck. He’d make anyone uneasy. But she didn’t ever have to talk to him again. In fact, he was the easiest of her problems to ignore, to forget. Just like he seemed to have forgotten that dance years ago.
She fell back against the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. The weight of the quilt felt good as the tension escaped her tired body.
It took her a few moments to get the energy to turn off the light, but after she did, she curled onto her side and watched the snow continue to fall, the flakes reflected against the streetlights. Despite everything, it was so good to be home.
Marty had no idea what woke her. She didn’t even remember falling to sleep. But now she was suddenly awake. And she had a weird feeling. A sensation no more substantial than the creep of static electricity over her skin, but it was there nonetheless.
She started to sit up when she heard it—a creak. Just a faint sound. Far less noticeable than the loud knocks of the radiators.
Marty pushed the covers off herself and cautiously stood up, her stocking feet silent on the worn wood floor. She tiptoed toward the door, then she heard it, a sharp squeak like someone stepping on a mouse’s tail.
Marty might not have remembered the other noises of the house, but she knew this one. Someone was coming up the staircase.
Pausing, she scanned the room, looking for something to use as a weapon. The room was decorated just as it had been when she was in high school, meaning she’d have to beat the intruder to death with either a stuffed animal or a poster of an eighties pop idol.
She shuffled closer to her bureau and saw a box filled with old odds and ends, including a couple of dust-covered records. She sidled closer and grabbed one.
As far as weapons went, it was a bad one, but better than nothing. She crept back to the door, album raised over her head. Through the crack of the door, she saw the light shift. Her heart hammered in her chest. There was someone out there.
She waited a second, trying to stay calm, as the shadow moved past her door and farther down the hall. Then she threw open her door and lunged at the dark figure.
The intruder spun around and disarmed her just as she was about to whack the album against the back of his head.
“Whoa, there,” the tall form said.
Marty didn’t need the prowler to say anything more. She recognized the voice immediately. She’d already cursed having heard it once tonight.
“I can’t believe this,” she muttered, stepping back from him. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Nathaniel Peck blinked, then squinted at her makeshift weapon. “Apparently about to get brained with…” He squinted. “A Quiet Riot album?”
Even in the shadowy light, she could see his smile was so winsome that for a moment she forgot that she hated this man. And that he had broken into her house in the wee hours of the morning. But only for a moment.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded again, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“This is my house.”
“Why aren’t you staying with one of your sisters?”
Anger tightened her chest. He was questioning her? This was unbelievable. “Nathaniel, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Nate.”
“Excuse me?”
“I prefer to be called Nate now.”
Marty gritted her teeth. This man was a lunatic. Absolutely nuts. “Okay, Nate, let’s forget why you’re here and move on to when you’re going to leave.”
“I have to be in to work at noon.”
Marty blinked. Was this a dream? A nightmare? It had to be. “No, you are leaving—” She pretended to think it over. “Now.”
Nate crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her stance almost exactly. “I’d rather not. It’s a little too cold to sleep in my cruiser.”
The man was apparently both crazy and homeless. “Why don’t you just go home?” Marty asked slowly. She was pretty sure he was indeed nutty enough to be Millbrook’s vagrant chief of police, but she thought she’d take a chance and give the suggestion a try.
Nate shook his head. “Can’t get there from here. At least not tonight.”
“So, when you can’t get home,” she knew she sounded like she was talking to a simpleton, which it appeared she was, “you just break into people’s houses?”
“I didn’t break in. I have a key.”
Marty frowned. “What?”
“A key. I have one.”
“Why?”