This was going to be one very long night indeed.
* * *
Cora dragged the last of her suitcases into the guest bedroom. It was small and sparsely furnished. She’d expected nothing less from Stig. He wasn’t the warm and cozy type. Actually, Cora was pleasantly surprised not to find a military-style rack complete with itchy wool blanket and paper-thin sheets. The full-sized bed offered a comfy pillow-top mattress and nice fluffy white comforter. Pale blue walls added a soothing effect she desperately needed.
Her tummy clenched at the thought of having to tell Stig about the mess she’d created. Heat flooded her cheeks. She could imagine the disapproving expression he’d wear. She’d often seen a similar look on Hector’s face. Neither man had been programmed to take risks or take the plunge into the unknown in pursuit of a dream. Cora, on the other hand, thrived on uncertainty. She liked taking chances. Sometimes they turned out fine and sometimes…well…they didn’t.
Hunger pangs twisted her belly. When had she last eaten? Oh right. That gross drive-through burger joint about five hours ago.
Cora left her room and carefully tiptoed past the door she assumed led to Stig’s room. The last thing she wanted to do was disturb him. For a second there, she’d thought he was really going to refuse her entrance to his house. Her gut told her there was something more than a headache causing his weird behavior.
Her first instinct? That he had a lover in the house. The very thought of another woman, naked and sated in Stig’s bed, had soured her stomach. From the first time she’d spied Stig Wyvern six years earlier, she’d been smitten with her older brother’s friend. A college freshman, she’d been smart enough to realize a war-hardened marine like Stig wouldn’t be interested in her. It hadn’t been easy to ignore her raging crush but she’d done it. The last thing she’d wanted to do was embarrass herself or him or Hector. Even though she’d managed to suppress her strong feelings toward Stig, there was no denying the spark of jealousy that had burned her at the thought of him with another woman in his secluded cabin. Realizing her first instinct was wrong had been quite a relief.
So what the hell was his problem? Clearly he wasn’t comfortable with her in the house. Hopefully it really was a headache and not something else. If Stig put her out, she’d be on the streets by the end of the week. The cash in her wallet was running low and there was no one else she trusted to keep her safe.
Down in the kitchen, Cora took a few moments to investigate the cabinets and fridge contents. The pantry shelves were well stocked and her mind raced with possibilities for the morning. Her grandmother had always preached the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If there was one thing Stig had always loved, it was Cora’s baking and cooking skills. Considering she desperately needed his help, she’d bake, sauté, fricassee, braise, and roast every recipe in her mental cookbook.
But for tonight a sandwich would suffice. Cora made quick work of assembling her dinner, grabbed a chilled can of fizzy soda from the fridge, and sat at the sturdy wooden table. Her fingertips brushed over the smooth grained tabletop. She marveled at the exquisite craftsmanship.
Stig’s skill as a woodworker was well known. When he’d retired from the Marine Corps, he’d turned his hobby into a thriving business. Cora had seen the adjacent workshop as she’d pulled into the gravel driveway. From what she understood, almost all of his business came from online orders. It seemed client interaction was low on his list of priorities.
Apparently Stig was quite content with his loner status. That was something she’d never understood about him. He’d enjoyed spending a day or two with them in San Antonio whenever Hector invited him down but he always seemed so restless and uneasy, as if he couldn’t wait to escape. He thrived on the solitude of his woodsy fortress. The city seemed to sap him of his vitality.
Cora mused on his oddness as she cleaned up her dishes and swept away the crumbs on the counter and table. There was something about Stig that wasn’t quite right. She used to think it was the effect of all those tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, maybe some post-traumatic stress disorder, but the more she was around him, the less she thought that was the answer.
Clearly he had some lingering issues from his time at war. Hector had been the same way. The nightmares of those days in the violence-fueled desert had driven her brother toward the alcohol and drugs that had eventually led to his demise. Stig, on the other hand, seemed able to master the horrors of war in a way Hector simply never could.
Cora often thought she glimpsed the tiniest bit of guilt reflected in Stig’s eyes whenever they spoke of her brother. No matter how many times she assured Stig he hadn’t failed Hector, she could tell he didn’t believe it. Stig had taken Hector’s car accident incredibly hard. As far as Cora could tell, Hector had been Stig’s only real friend, so the loss must have been as unbearable for him as it had been for her.