Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Here,” I said. “My confirmation is somewhere in there. I’m going to go put some clothes on.”
“Thank you.”
She frowned when I walked back into the living room. “I think you’re going to have a black eye.”
“Perfect. Goes with the rest of this awful day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You did the right thing. Someone gets into your bed without an invitation, swing first, ask questions later. My eye will heal.”
“Thank you for saying that, but I still feel terrible.” She sighed and pointed to her laptop, shaking her head. “Both our confirmations show the same thing. It looks like we both rented this house for the same dates. How is that even possible?”
“Let me see.”
She turned her laptop my way, and I compared the information on the screen with my paperwork. Sure enough, we had indeed both booked Fifty Dogwood Lane.
“I don’t know what the hell happened,” I told her. “But I definitely paid for this. I remember seeing it on my credit card six months ago.”
“I booked mine last week.”
I shrugged. “Well, then it’s clear who the rightful renter is.”
“Who?”
“Me. I reserved it first.”
“I don’t care who reserved it first,” she countered. “We both paid for it, so we have equal right to this place.”
Her red hand caught my eye. It really was swollen now. “Let me see your knuckles.”
She hesitated again.
I rolled my eyes. “I think we’ve established that I didn’t commit a felony by breaking in here. I had the combination, even though you left the door open, which you really shouldn’t do out here alone in the middle of the woods. This is obviously just some kind of a mix-up. Let me see your damn hand.”
She squinted. “You don’t have to swear at me.”
“Swear? Damn isn’t a swear.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not. Fuck, maybe. Though it’s also a verb, and I tend to use it as an adjective and a noun too.”
“Whatever.” She shook her head. “Just look at my fucking hand.”
I chuckled.
Two of her knuckles seemed shifted to the right, and they were difficult to see because of the swelling. “Can you move those fingers?” I asked.
She winced as she attempted it. “Not really. And when I try to, a painful tingle runs up my arm.”
“Do your knuckles usually align with your fingers?”
“Yes! Of course they do!”
“Then I’m pretty sure they’re broken.”
She shut her eyes and sighed. “Great.”
“You should probably go to the ER and have them X-rayed.”
“Are knuckles like broken toes and fingers and you just tape them up?”
“Not usually. When the bone is misaligned like yours seem to be, they often need to manipulate them and set the hand in a cast.”
The color drained from her face. “Manipulate them, like as in move the knuckles?”
I nodded.
“That sounds painful.”
It was. Painful as fuck. But her pale face told me I should keep that to myself. “It’s not too bad.”
A noise from the other side of the room caught my attention. I looked over to find Gumby, the killer chihuahua, humping a stuffed animal on the floor. “Uhhh… I think your dog has a new girlfriend.”
The woman sighed. “That’s Kate. She’s not new. Leonardo has been doing that to her for five years. He’s in love.”
“He’s a he, with that sparkly collar?”
“Don’t judge him because he likes sparkly things.”
“Did he tell you he wanted that thing around his neck?”
She scowled at me again. It was oddly cute.
“Is that supposed to be your threatening face? If so, you might want to flip the light off again and go back to throwing punches in the dark.” I looked over at the dog. The thing was really going to town. “Is that…a turtle he’s humping?”
“Yes.”
“Remind me never to bring my pet around yours.”
“Why?”
“I have a tortoise.” I shook my head. “Your dog’s in love with a stuffed turtle?”
She nodded. “That’s why I named her Kate.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Leonardo and Kate—they were in Titanic together.”
“Didn’t one of them die in that love story?”
She looked down at her hand. “Can I wait until tomorrow to go to the emergency room? What time is it anyway?”
“I’m not a doctor, but I probably wouldn’t, and it’s got to be close to three AM by now.”
“Great. I don’t have a clue where the nearest hospital is, and I don’t even have a car. I took an Uber here from the airport.”
The last thing I felt like doing was going to a damn hospital, but I couldn’t let her go alone in the middle of the night. I nodded toward the door.
“Come on. I have a car. I’ll take you.”
“No, it’s fine.” She grabbed a phone from the coffee table and started to push buttons. “I can call an Uber.”
“I’m up now anyway. I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t take you.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t let a woman get in the car in the middle of nowhere with a stranger, not knowing where she’s going.”