Jack Kilborn - Endurance

“Nice to meet you, Eleanor,” Deb began. “Are you sure you—”

“My goodness, young lady. What happened to your legs?”

Mal squeezed her shoulders a bit tighter, as if in reassurance. Deb shrugged him off.

“I lost them in a climbing accident,” Deb said. “And I saw a mountain lion just a—”

“Are you sick?” Eleanor interrupted. “We can’t allow you inside the Inn if you’re diseased.”

“Rude much?” Mal asked.

Being impolite didn’t matter to Deb, especially with a cougar nearby. But now she began to question if she’d seen the cat at all. She took pride in her inner strength, but being in these mountains again brought back some pretty terrible memories. And since no cats seemed to be pouncing on them, perhaps she’d imagined those eyes. The smell might have been something else. A badger, maybe.

“I compete in triathlons,” Deb said, her eyes darting around the woods, looking for movement. “And I haven’t had so much as a cold in over five years.”

The large woman cocked her head to the side, as if considering her. Then her face split into a big-toothed smile. “Well, then, let’s get you people inside. Welcome to the Rushmore Inn.”

Mal picked up the bags he’d dropped, and Deb followed him through the bushes, one eye on her footing and the other on the forest. The animal smell was gone.

Once past the bushes, a clearing opened up in the woods, revealing a massive, three story log house. There weren’t any lights on the outside, and no light coming through any of the shuttered windows. It was as dark and quiet as the mountains surrounding them.

“Welcome to the Rushmore Inn,” Eleanor said again, pulling open the door and holding it while they entered.

The smell inside wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t pleasant. Sort of a sour, antiseptic odor mingled with sandalwood incense. But unique as that was, it paled compared to the decor.

“As you can plainly see,” Eleanor Roosevelt said, closing and locking the door behind them, “I greatly admire our nation’s leaders. They’re such important men. You might say I’m a bit obsessed with the subject.”

“Yes,” Mal nodded, looking around. “You might say that.”

He gave Deb a sideways glance, his smirk barely concealed.

“My grandfather was second cousin to Theodore Roosevelt. There’s presidential blood in my family. It’s a fact I’m particularly proud of, though it isn’t without its… challenges .”

Like turning your house into a flea market, Deb thought. But instead of speaking it aloud, she said, “Mrs. Roosevelt, my car is out on the road. It seems we’ve gotten a flat tire.”

Eleanor clucked her tongue. “You’d be surprised how often that happens around here. In the morning we can call the auto repair shop.”

“I need to be at the hotel early to...”

“My son will take you,” Eleanor interrupted. “He has a truck for your bike.”

“Already shipped the bike ahead. But the ride would be terrific.”

“He’ll be leaving early, so be sure to get some rest tonight. Might not be a bad idea to go straight to bed.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Mal said, raising his eyebrows at Deb.

She ignored him. “Is there any chance we could get something to eat?” Deb asked. “We missed dinner on the ride up.”

“The kitchen is back there, down the hall. The icebox is stocked, and you’re welcome to help yourselves. I made cupcakes earlier today, and there are a few left. But let me show you to your rooms, first.”

Eleanor plodded up the wooden staircase. Deb wasn’t a big fan of stairs, but the iron railing looked solid. She followed Mal up, stopping only to admire his trim backside as they ascended. Deb found it amusing that he continued to flirt despite several rebuffs. For a millisecond she entertained what it might be like to date Mal. The fantasy disintegrated when she caught the toe of her Cheetah prosthetic on the top stair. Luckily, she managed to make it to the second floor without a face-plant.

“Deborah, this is the Theodore Roosevelt room,” Eleanor said, holding out a key. “One of the finest rooms in the Inn.”

Deb didn’t suppose that meant very much. “Does it have a bath tub?”

“Indeed it does. And for you—I didn’t catch your name.”

“Mal. Mal Deiter.”

“Next door over, Mr. Deiter, is the Harry S. Truman room. While it doesn’t have a bathtub, I believe you’ll find the walk-in shower most agreeable. And necessary, considering your current appearance.”

“We ran into one of the locals, making venison headcheese,” Mal said, taking the key. “Is it currently hunting season?”

Eleanor smiled. “There’s always something in season around these parts.”

“Have the Pillsburys arrived yet? I didn’t see any other cars around. I’m a reporter, and I’m supposed to interview them.”

“They have, but I’m afraid they turned in for the evening.”

“Perhaps I’ll get to see them at breakfast.”

“Perhaps. If you’ll indulge an old woman’s fancy, might I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I pride myself in being able to guess blood types. You strike me as a type O. Am I correct?”

“Yes, you are.”

Eleanor’s bulbous eyes lit up. “Would that be positive or negative?”

“Positive.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Mal winked. “I’m positive.”

Eleanor nodded politely. “Thank you, Mr. Deiter.” The old lady curtsied. “I trust you’ll both have a pleasant night.”

Then she waddled off, leaving the two of them befuddled.

“Blood type?” Deb finally asked when the old woman had descended the stairs.

“Maybe she’s a vampire,” Mal said. “She might have been the creature you saw in the bushes.”

“I saw a cougar, Mal. Not an old woman.”

“Was it wearing a pillbox hat?”

Deb allowed herself to smile. “Maybe it was. I think it also had a rifle. Perhaps it shot out my tire.”

“Touché. I’m going to unpack and grab some food. Meet you in the kitchen in a few?”

“Sure.”

Mal handed Deb her bags, then unlocked his door. “See you in a bit.”

In keeping with the theme of the Inn, the Teddy Roosevelt room was chockfull of creepy presidential memorabilia. Every wall boasted pictures and banners, the lamp shades were collage pastiches, and not a single stick of furniture was without a Roosevelt stamp of some sort. Eleanor had even managed to find Teddy Roosevelt bed sheets, his cherubic face five feet wide and grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Deb placed her two suitcases in the closet, next to an old reel-to-reel tape deck. Since she wouldn’t be here for more than a few hours, it didn’t make sense to unpack. She’d pull out a change of clothes in the morning.

A trip to the bathroom found her appearance to be considerably less than stellar. She applied a bit of lip gloss from her fanny back, a bit of mousse to her hair, and used the hand soap on the sink to get the last of the deer blood out from her expensive manicured fingernails. A life-size poster of Roosevelt hung next to the toilet, his eyes seeming to follow her. Deb didn’t mind—the old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub more than made up for the bizarre decorations. She was aching to have a soak. And if she’d been alone, she would have put off dinner and done just that.

And yet, she found herself leaving the bathroom, and her room, in order to meet Mal in the kitchen.

Why am I so anxious to see him again? And why am I hurrying?

He’s probably not even there yet.

She still descended the stairs quicker than safety warranted.

To get to the kitchen, she walked through the living room, getting a startle when she saw the large man standing in the middle of the room.