Read Online Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series) by Tracie Ingersoll Loy - Free Book Online
Authors: Tracie Ingersoll Loy
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simple as a toilet, Cassie muttered a pep talk. She’d already had her cry. It wasn’t like she had to run into the woods or use an outhouse. If she had to, she would just use the damn thing and deal with it in the morning just liked she planned to with everything else.
From the looks of things, not much had been changed, so she prayed the bathroom situation still prevailed. Holding the little plate with the candle, Cassie headed down the long dark hallway off the kitchen. The main floor had one bathroom and two bedrooms. Upstairs was identical, but a loft had been added. She placed the plate on the bathroom sink counter and opened the closet door. On the floor sat four gallon plastic jugs of spare water, just in case the power went out. Never before had she appreciated Mike’s consistency, but she did now. She finished up in the bathroom and returned to the main room.
Her back and shoulders ached from being chilled. The short drive in the warm car had barely made a dent in how miserable she felt. If she was ever going to warm up, she needed to get a fire going. With the flue open to the wood burning stove, Cassie rolled up old magazines and stuffed them between the dried split logs. She blew little puffs until they all caught fire. Shadows caused by the flames of the fire danced around the room, darkening the back wall with the stairs that headed up to the loft. Cassie thought about going up but didn’t want to leave the warmth.
Tucked under the stairs, her Dad had built a storage closet. Her mother had complained she couldn’t see a thing because it was so long and deep. Hence rule number two: use the flashlight but put it back. The light was dim but good enough. On the back wall were cubbies stuffed with rolled up sleeping bags. She wondered if hers still existed. Down in the lower left hand corner she found her name made by a label maker affixed to the wood. She grabbed the bag, returned the flashlight, and retraced her steps. The fire roared, but the room still had a chill. Cassie shook out the sleeping bag and placed it on the old Chesterfield sofa where she planned to sleep.
Unable to shake the cramped feeling that had settled in her shoulders, she knelt in front of the wood burning stove. The heat felt good but didn’t relieve the ache. At this point, Cassie knew of only two things that would help: a long hot shower or alcohol. Since a shower was out of the question, she headed to the kitchen in hopes of finding Mike’s stash of anything. Just like her dad, he kept it above the stove in a high cabinet. Just like her dad, he liked a good Irish whiskey. She didn’t. His wife Marliss liked port and specifically, Cockburn.
“It’s pronounced coh-burn, Cassie, not cock-burns.”
At this point, Cassie didn’t give a rat’s ass how to pronounce it; she was just glad to see Marliss had stocked up. There were many things about Marliss she didn’t care for, but her taste in alcohol was not one of them. In Marliss’s snooty British voice, she had informed Cassie that a bottle of decanted Cockburn port should be finished in one setting with lovely dinner guests. Port was to be drunk only with the ideal glass to maximize the tasting and drinking experience.
Cassie hated to inform the perfect Marliss she would not be using the ideal glass this evening, but might or might not finish the port in one setting, still maximizing the drinking experience. Cassie grabbed the bottle of Cockburn’s Fine Tawny, a regular glass, and headed to her sleeping bag where she stripped down to her bra and undies and crawled in.
Snuggled into the down bag, surrounded by the memories of love and comfort of her childhood, she finally felt warm and relaxed. The low embers of the fire lulled her into a sleepy state, but it was the half-finished bottle of port that knocked her out.
Chapter Nine
J ack Wyatt and his former boss, retired Navy SEAL Commander Kip Hendricks, finished up dinner with Dan Williams of the Canadian Border
From the looks of things, not much had been changed, so she prayed the bathroom situation still prevailed. Holding the little plate with the candle, Cassie headed down the long dark hallway off the kitchen. The main floor had one bathroom and two bedrooms. Upstairs was identical, but a loft had been added. She placed the plate on the bathroom sink counter and opened the closet door. On the floor sat four gallon plastic jugs of spare water, just in case the power went out. Never before had she appreciated Mike’s consistency, but she did now. She finished up in the bathroom and returned to the main room.
Her back and shoulders ached from being chilled. The short drive in the warm car had barely made a dent in how miserable she felt. If she was ever going to warm up, she needed to get a fire going. With the flue open to the wood burning stove, Cassie rolled up old magazines and stuffed them between the dried split logs. She blew little puffs until they all caught fire. Shadows caused by the flames of the fire danced around the room, darkening the back wall with the stairs that headed up to the loft. Cassie thought about going up but didn’t want to leave the warmth.
Tucked under the stairs, her Dad had built a storage closet. Her mother had complained she couldn’t see a thing because it was so long and deep. Hence rule number two: use the flashlight but put it back. The light was dim but good enough. On the back wall were cubbies stuffed with rolled up sleeping bags. She wondered if hers still existed. Down in the lower left hand corner she found her name made by a label maker affixed to the wood. She grabbed the bag, returned the flashlight, and retraced her steps. The fire roared, but the room still had a chill. Cassie shook out the sleeping bag and placed it on the old Chesterfield sofa where she planned to sleep.
Unable to shake the cramped feeling that had settled in her shoulders, she knelt in front of the wood burning stove. The heat felt good but didn’t relieve the ache. At this point, Cassie knew of only two things that would help: a long hot shower or alcohol. Since a shower was out of the question, she headed to the kitchen in hopes of finding Mike’s stash of anything. Just like her dad, he kept it above the stove in a high cabinet. Just like her dad, he liked a good Irish whiskey. She didn’t. His wife Marliss liked port and specifically, Cockburn.
“It’s pronounced coh-burn, Cassie, not cock-burns.”
At this point, Cassie didn’t give a rat’s ass how to pronounce it; she was just glad to see Marliss had stocked up. There were many things about Marliss she didn’t care for, but her taste in alcohol was not one of them. In Marliss’s snooty British voice, she had informed Cassie that a bottle of decanted Cockburn port should be finished in one setting with lovely dinner guests. Port was to be drunk only with the ideal glass to maximize the tasting and drinking experience.
Cassie hated to inform the perfect Marliss she would not be using the ideal glass this evening, but might or might not finish the port in one setting, still maximizing the drinking experience. Cassie grabbed the bottle of Cockburn’s Fine Tawny, a regular glass, and headed to her sleeping bag where she stripped down to her bra and undies and crawled in.
Snuggled into the down bag, surrounded by the memories of love and comfort of her childhood, she finally felt warm and relaxed. The low embers of the fire lulled her into a sleepy state, but it was the half-finished bottle of port that knocked her out.
Chapter Nine
J ack Wyatt and his former boss, retired Navy SEAL Commander Kip Hendricks, finished up dinner with Dan Williams of the Canadian Border
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