A Wifey for the Bad Boy(75)

"Tell me what kind of furniture you're going to buy."

Sara sat in a chair, put the flashlight on the table, propped her legs up on another chair and prepared to be entertained for at least a half-hour. Her friend could talk non-stop about her favorite subject, shopping. A pang of envy poked her heart but she pushed it away. Lucy and Brad were madly in love and getting married in a year. They were closing on a house, planning their honeymoon, and talking about babies. Exactly what Sara had envisioned doing at this point in life, but wasn't. Not even close.

Ten minutes into the virtual shopping trip, Sara's heart finally quit racing. She laughed with her friend about how Brad almost broke a bed by belly-flopping into it. Just as she gathered the courage to brave the dark and head upstairs to her room, the piercing chime of the doorbell made her sit up with a start, toppling over the footstool chair.

"Lucy!" Sara interrupted a dialogue about wood versus faux wood blinds. "The doorbell just rang."

"So go answer it."

"No one is supposed to be here tonight."

"Well look out the peephole and see who it is. Maybe it's a lost traveler."

"We're in the middle of the woods, one three acres, at the end of the road. Lost travelers don't come this way."

"Are you hyperventilating? Hey, you're really freaked out, aren't you?"

"It's still storming and the lights aren't on yet. Shit!" Sara cursed as the doorbell sounded again, the noise echoing through the empty house like a bell in a tomb.

"Call the cops. Now. Hang up and do it."

"Okay, I will. Bye."

"Call me back when they get there."

"I will."

"Be careful."

"I will! Bye." Sara disconnected, then punched in 911, but stopped before she hit the dial button.

What would she say? An unknown person was ringing her doorbell and she was afraid to see who it was? They'd hang up on her. She had to at least look out the peephole. She didn't have to open the door. Pointing her phone and the flashlight, she crept from the kitchen, through the vast living room to the foyer. Had the house suddenly expanded? It took forever, picking her way carefully past the heavy furniture. But she didn't want that doorbell to ring again, so she hurried.

Finally at the door, she put her eye up to the peephole. A man stood on the front porch, sheltered by the overhang, but still dripping wet. As she watched, he raised his fist and banged on the door. Sara jumped back.

"Hello," he called. "Anyone home?"

What in the world would a man be doing, at nine o'clock at night, standing on her father's front porch? Wait, her father had installed an intercom system. Maybe she could find it and figure it out. She shone her flashlight on the wall, trying to locate the box.

"Hey, who's in there? I see a light. Doug, let me in, damn it. I'm soaked." He pounded the door again.

Crap, he saw her. And he knew her father's name. And, he might possibly stand there beating the door until she opened it. Maybe he could hear her through the solid oak.

"Who are you?" she yelled.

"I'm Mathew. Mathew Stephens. I'm here to see Doug. We're going over some work tonight." He held up a briefcase. "Do you speak English?"

Did she what? Oh, he probably thought she was one of the housekeepers. Her dad employed several Hispanic people.

"Yes. I'm Sara. Doug's daughter."

The man cocked his head. "His daughter? I thought you lived out of state."

"I do. I'm visiting.

"Sara, can I come in? It's cold and I'm drenched."

Probably he told the truth. No one would really knock on the front door if they planned to rob a house, right?

Wait. She'd call her dad, see if this guy was legit. "Just a second. I'm calling Doug."

The phone went right to voicemail so she checked the texts. There, one must have come in while she talked to Lucy.

Plane delayed. Just now boarding. Home later.

Coming from the west coast, he wouldn't arrive for another two hours. Sara chewed her fingernail, peering out the peephole again. The guy really looked miserable, stomping his feet and trying to shake off the water.

"Can I see your ID?"

Well, that was silly. He could show her any old identification and she'd never know, as long as he was smart enough to remember an alias. Mathew pulled out his wallet and held up his driver's license. She could barely read it, but it appeared the first name on the card was Mathew.

"How do you know Doug?"

"We're best friends. We met years ago. I've been overseas for a long time, just got back in March. Doug and I are working on a real estate investment project together."

Oh great. Another rich, self-centered guy. Just who she wanted to talk to. But she couldn't leave the dude on the porch for hours. She peered around him. Not much scope from the peephole. Probably why her dad installed security cameras, and maybe they were on a back-up generator and she could view the footage. Was there a generator? She couldn't imagine her father not having one. Something she'd have to investigate for future visits. But not now.