back abruptly and opened my eyes. I was lying on the bed, in what I had already begun to think of as my cabin. I suppressed the urge to scream, reliving the moment before the loop, seeing this man in my cabin.
I swallowed hard and looked to my left. And there he was—all large and broad-shouldered.
He sat in a chair at the kitchen table, his head bent over a small sketchbook. He was drawing intently. He hadn’t yet realized that I was awake. I again swallowed back the urge to scream.
I watched him for a second, his large hand gracefully shading his picture. I looked at the line of his profile, his shock of blue-black hair. He was younger than I had first thought, not too much older than me. And somehow hedidn’t seem quite as menacing now. But I was still scared. I glanced at the door. I could be there in six steps if I had to, out the door. Had Dad tracked me already?
I swung my legs onto the floor, cleared my throat. Part of me wanted to yell at him to get out. Part of me knew I needed to thank him for … what? “Um …” I stood up from the bed, eyeing the door again. “I don’t know you.”
I startled him. He stood up immediately, his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you. I—”
“It’s okay,” I said, relaxing a bit, shaking my head. I rubbed at my temples and between my brows. My knees shook. “I figure if you had wanted to kill me or worse, I’m sure …” I let my voice trail off. I was so exhausted from the loop, from my trip. My knees buckled, and he crossed the room in a beat to steady me.
“I’m okay,” I said, resisting his hand, his help.
“Clearly,” he mumbled.
He turned and reached for his hat on the table. I was relieved that he was going to leave. “Mr. Genk gave me the keys this morning,” I explained to him. “Did you just have the wrong cabin or …?”
He looked at me then. Our eyes met for the first time. He started to say something, but then thought better of it.
He shook his head and hid his eyes once again under the brim of his hat.
He turned toward the door, then turned back one moretime. “I reckon you had some sort of seizure. Are you epileptic? I—” He shoved his notebook and pencil in his pocket. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I answered. “You don’t know my father, do you?”
He cocked his head to the right a bit. “I just had to make sure you were okay before I left. I—”
“Thank you,” I said. “It happens sometimes. I’m fine, really.”
“You almost cracked your head on the threshold.”
“I’m really fine,” I said, and averted my eyes. “I wasn’t expect—”
“I apologize that I used your cabin,” he began. His voice was surprisingly low, gruff. “No one was here, and I—”
So he was a squatter. I knit my brow then, began to bite my thumbnail. “Huh,” I said, giving up and sitting back down on the bed. I was exhausted.
“I’m sorry, miss,” he said. “I’ll get out of your way here.” He took a few steps and grabbed the doorknob.
“So you are the artist?” I asked, putting some pieces together.
“I am,” he said, glancing at the drawings on the windowsill.
He turned the knob and left then.
I settled back onto the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. I let out a sigh, a lonely and quiet sound in the now-empty cabin. The air settled down without my visitor.
I closed my eyes against the headache swelling behindthem. I waited a few seconds and then got out of bed and turned the dead bolt on the lock. I pulled one of the kitchen chairs over and secured it under the knob, just like they do in the movies. I didn’t really think it would be much of a deterrent, but at least I would hear someone who tried to get in. At least it would wake me.
So this guy was not a cowboy–bounty hunter sent by Dad, or so it seemed. But I wasn’t taking any chances.
No more surprises today.
I flopped back onto the bed and thought of my loop. I shoved my hand into my jeans
I swallowed hard and looked to my left. And there he was—all large and broad-shouldered.
He sat in a chair at the kitchen table, his head bent over a small sketchbook. He was drawing intently. He hadn’t yet realized that I was awake. I again swallowed back the urge to scream.
I watched him for a second, his large hand gracefully shading his picture. I looked at the line of his profile, his shock of blue-black hair. He was younger than I had first thought, not too much older than me. And somehow hedidn’t seem quite as menacing now. But I was still scared. I glanced at the door. I could be there in six steps if I had to, out the door. Had Dad tracked me already?
I swung my legs onto the floor, cleared my throat. Part of me wanted to yell at him to get out. Part of me knew I needed to thank him for … what? “Um …” I stood up from the bed, eyeing the door again. “I don’t know you.”
I startled him. He stood up immediately, his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you. I—”
“It’s okay,” I said, relaxing a bit, shaking my head. I rubbed at my temples and between my brows. My knees shook. “I figure if you had wanted to kill me or worse, I’m sure …” I let my voice trail off. I was so exhausted from the loop, from my trip. My knees buckled, and he crossed the room in a beat to steady me.
“I’m okay,” I said, resisting his hand, his help.
“Clearly,” he mumbled.
He turned and reached for his hat on the table. I was relieved that he was going to leave. “Mr. Genk gave me the keys this morning,” I explained to him. “Did you just have the wrong cabin or …?”
He looked at me then. Our eyes met for the first time. He started to say something, but then thought better of it.
He shook his head and hid his eyes once again under the brim of his hat.
He turned toward the door, then turned back one moretime. “I reckon you had some sort of seizure. Are you epileptic? I—” He shoved his notebook and pencil in his pocket. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I answered. “You don’t know my father, do you?”
He cocked his head to the right a bit. “I just had to make sure you were okay before I left. I—”
“Thank you,” I said. “It happens sometimes. I’m fine, really.”
“You almost cracked your head on the threshold.”
“I’m really fine,” I said, and averted my eyes. “I wasn’t expect—”
“I apologize that I used your cabin,” he began. His voice was surprisingly low, gruff. “No one was here, and I—”
So he was a squatter. I knit my brow then, began to bite my thumbnail. “Huh,” I said, giving up and sitting back down on the bed. I was exhausted.
“I’m sorry, miss,” he said. “I’ll get out of your way here.” He took a few steps and grabbed the doorknob.
“So you are the artist?” I asked, putting some pieces together.
“I am,” he said, glancing at the drawings on the windowsill.
He turned the knob and left then.
I settled back onto the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. I let out a sigh, a lonely and quiet sound in the now-empty cabin. The air settled down without my visitor.
I closed my eyes against the headache swelling behindthem. I waited a few seconds and then got out of bed and turned the dead bolt on the lock. I pulled one of the kitchen chairs over and secured it under the knob, just like they do in the movies. I didn’t really think it would be much of a deterrent, but at least I would hear someone who tried to get in. At least it would wake me.
So this guy was not a cowboy–bounty hunter sent by Dad, or so it seemed. But I wasn’t taking any chances.
No more surprises today.
I flopped back onto the bed and thought of my loop. I shoved my hand into my jeans
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