Ann Aguirre - Hell Fire

That summed up my key complaint about Chance. He always seemed to think he knew what was best for me and never bothered to confirm it. Well, after I fell through the floor of a burning building, I’d put the pieces together myself.

And then I walked away, as soon as I was able.

It wasn’t just the danger of bodily harm that had driven me off. I felt as if I had to leave a relationship where I wasn’t a full partner. I didn’t want him to be my guardian; just my lover. I remained unconvinced he knew how to separate the two impulses.

We passed few cars. It was around lunchtime; there should have been people on the road heading home for a bite or looking for a likely dining spot. So far as I could tell, there was Ma’s Kitchen, the coffee shop, and the Kilmer Inn. I hadn’t seen a single restaurant otherwise—more hallmarks of a dying town.

The silence between us stretched taut, emblazoned with the inability to connect that had destroyed our relationship. He couldn’t let me in all the way—and I was afraid of giving more than I got. My heart hurt with the futility of it.

When we pulled up to the periwinkle Victorian house, I realized we’d come straight back to the bed-and-breakfast. Chance circled around back and put the car in park. Before I could move, he came around the front of the car and yanked my door open. With a start, I saw he’d gotten his expensive leather shoes muddy.

Rain trickled down his brown face, but he paid it no mind. I slid out of the car, suddenly uneasy with the intensity I’d evoked, but instead of telling me what was on his mind, he only muttered, “Let’s get inside before you catch your death.”

We ran through the rain toward the porch and tried to stamp off some of the wet before going inside. Sandra came down the hall to meet us. She tried to look welcoming, but instead her expression looked brittle. “You two got caught out in it, did you? Well, you should have time to freshen up before lunch.”

Translation: You’re dripping on my rug, so get your asses upstairs.

I didn’t know whether we rubbed her the wrong way or whether she just wasn’t cut out for customer service. The diamond-sharp edge to her manner made me uneasy. What would she do if she found out about Butch?

Maybe the stress of being back in Kilmer had gotten to me. Surely I didn’t suspect a middle-aged innkeeper would murder my dog. Still, I made sure he was out of sight as I hurried toward the stairs.

Chance came hard on my heels. “There’s something off about her.”

I didn’t feel safe to answer until we’d locked the door behind us. “You think?”

We still hadn’t met her husband or her daughter. The inn seemed eerily quiet, no sounds within to indicate a meal being served; just the rain drumming on the roof and our breathing. I would have liked to blame my wet clothes, but my skin just crawled.

And the idea of getting naked and stepping into that old-fashioned tub, then drawing the curtain so I could take a hot shower? My teeth chattered.

“You’re freezing,” he said. “You take the bathroom first.”

“Come in with me.” The words shot out before I could stop them.

He froze. “You want me in the tub with you? Naked bodies, hot water, steam . . .” Chance’s look turned dreamy for a moment; then he seemed to gauge my expression. “Jesus, you’re scared to death. What’s wrong?”

I could only shake my head. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. Please, will you sit in there with me? Keep me company?”

Score points for Chance—because he didn’t question my unusual, neurotic behavior. It felt . . . good. I said, Thank you , with my eyes. And he smiled. God, he was so beautiful. Men had no right to look like he did, especially dripping wet.

Shivering all the while, I gathered up my toiletries and made my way to the bathroom. The hinges creaked as I pulled the slatted door wide. A door on the other side adjoined the Plumeria room. However crazy it sounded, I wanted Chance parked in between, watching my back.

My breathing slowly settled. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I undressed in the tub behind the shower curtain, knowing he could see the sexy shadow play of my movements. His muffled moan verified that notion.

“Cruel and unusual,” he muttered.

“You always did say I have a mean streak.” I sounded almost normal, thank God.

“Do you ever.”

The pipes groaned, and then the hot water gushed out, no warm-up period . . . unusual for a place this old. I derived a certain amount of satisfaction from washing myself with him only a few short feet away. I imagined him watching my hands with rapt attention, and my pulse spiked. Okay, I didn’t want to tease myself , so I finished up quickly.

But when I stepped onto the bath mat, safely wrapped in a towel, I didn’t receive the sizzling welcome I anticipated. I started to make a joke about finding him frozen in the middle of the room, but Chance motioned me to silence. At first I didn’t know what I was listening for. Then it registered.

Creak. It came from the floorboards in the Plumeria room. For reasons I couldn’t articulate, the sound chilled my blood. I stilled too, listening to light, furtive steps coming closer and closer. Steam twirled in the air between us like a fiendish fog.

I held my breath, every muscle coiled. And then . . . the decorative brass doorknob turned ever so slowly, side to side. Nobody knocked. The door didn’t rattle. I heard no steps going away, but they might have been drowned by my thundering heart. After what seemed like an eternity, I had to inhale. Stars sparked in my field of vision, and the terror I hadn’t been able to explain before returned twofold.

Would they come into our room? Would they try the door from the other side? There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation, but my twitchy nerves screamed no.

“Whew. Either we’re both crazy, or . . .” Chance wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back through the damp terry cloth of my towel. “We should find somewhere else to stay.”

While Chance stood guard, I scrambled into clean clothes. Butch trotted into the bathroom and whined. I tried to shush him, but he ignored me, scratching at the bottom of the door that led into the Plumeria room. Against my better judgment, I hunkered down on all fours and peered to see what had the dog so riled up. I spied something through the little crack beneath the door, and a foul smell told me the powdery residue wasn’t dust.

“Chance, come take a look at this.”

He crouched down. “Smells rotten.”

“We’ve either been visited by something nasty or this is a spell component.” Dammit, I wished I had my mother’s books. “Let’s get out of here.”

“First . . .” He got a zip bag out of his duffel and used a comb, wrapped in toilet paper, to scoop up a little of the powder. I didn’t know what he planned on doing with it, but it didn’t seem like the time to question him.

We snatched our belongings, and I opened the door into the hall. Another line of evil-smelling powder ran across our threshold. I remembered the way Chuch and Eva had warded their house with sea salt and wormwood and I hesitated, wondering if we’d been hexed or blessed.

“Could this be for our protection?” I wondered aloud. “A country tradition?”

“Either way, step over it. Don’t get it on your shoe.”

That sounded like a wise idea, if only to avoid the smell, so I did just that. Chance followed me, closing the door behind him. I stifled a little scream when Sandra Cheney came around the corner.

“Lunch is ready,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss it. I made a lovely pot roast with potatoes and carrots. Peach pie for dessert.”