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The Guest Cottage

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Chapter 1

Honest to God, her face felt hot for the entire, too-brief drive to the guest cottage. Why had she assumed Cort Easton would be older? In her mind, the deep, dreamy voice belonged to a guy with reading glasses and graying hair, a retiree renting out property to help make ends meet.

She had not expected a tall, hard-muscled man in his mid-thirties with a stare that could strip a woman bare.

She’d worked for the Heddings family long enough to hold her own with anyone—family, associates, and business adversaries alike—but from the second Mr. Easton introduced himself, she’d lost the power of rational speech.

He had the bearing of a head of state . . . or an old-time warrior. He spoke only when necessary, wore an indecipherable expression, and carried that heavy metal toolbox as if it weighed no more than a basket of flowers.

She hardly noticed the passing scenery, and before she knew it, he was pulling into the short driveway to a house—her house—the incredible little cottage that she’d soon call home.

Suddenly, nothing else existed for her. Heart pounding, she parked next to his truck and stepped out of her SUV in a daze. Oh my, it was even more beautiful than it had looked in the photos. The setting sun was behind them, painting the front of the cottage with a soft golden glow. Three peaks—one over the stoop, another over the main rooms, and a third over the attic—were staggered off center to give the small home more character. Dark olive vertical wood siding paired beautifully with brown shaker shingles and natural stone. Matching the entrance door, double wooden doors at the right would open to a golf garage, and she knew a golf cart was parked inside.

“I love it.” She’d meant to state the words, but instead they emerged as a reverent whisper. Her gaze briefly skipped to Mr. Easton, just long enough to catch what might have been the slight tipping of a smile, there and gone.

“How about I help you carry in your things after I’ve shown you around?”

“That’s not necessary. I can do it.” With renewed purpose, she headed for the front door, anxious to see the interior.

Somehow, he got there before her. He unlocked the door and they stepped into a foyer where the kitchen was visible straight ahead. Glancing to the left, she took in the small dining room, and next to the kitchen was a cozy sitting room.

“Along that back wall, behind the kitchen and sitting room, is the bedroom with a bathroom. From there you’ll find the utility room and a laundry area.”

She bypassed all that to head to the sliding doors all along the wall to the left. From the dining room and the sitting room—and maybe the bedroom, too—she could access a covered porch that had a wonderful view of the lake.

The cottage was so incredible, so perfect, that it overwhelmed her. Getting enough air became impossible, but she would not fall apart in front of her new landlord. No, absolutely not.

To give herself a moment, she went out to the porch, but damn, it was perfect, too. Sinking onto a soft padded chair, she stared blindly at the quickly darkening lake. All her focus was on holding herself together. She clutched her shaking hands together, breathed deeply through her nose, and did her utmost to tamp down the feelings of relief currently swamping her.

She was free of a bad marriage, away from her manipulative in-laws, out of sight of prying eyes. The past no longer mattered. Here, now, was all about her future.

Silently, Mr. Easton slid a paper plate with two slices of pizza onto the small table beside her. He dropped a napkin into her lap, then offered her an open can of Coke, which she automatically accepted. “Be right back.”

She stared at the can in surprise. It was cold in her hand, frosty on the outside, still foaming on the inside. When was the last time she’d drunk from a can? And that pizza . . . Heavenly scents teased her nose and made her stomach growl. She saw melted cheese, pepperoni, sausage, and ham, all perfectly cooked on a golden crust. She took a big drink, gave a quiet burp, then set the can aside and grabbed up the first slice.

Skipping breakfast and only having a protein bar for lunch was clearly not a great idea. As she ate, she watched the surface of the lake and serenity overtook all other emotions. The sun was nearly gone now, and the air cooled even more.

Breathing more easily, she wondered where Mr. Easton had gone. When she heard a soft thump, she knew.

Mortified, she jammed the last of the pizza into her mouth, washed it down with a big drink, and, napkin in hand, headed back through the house.

The front door stood open, giving her a clear view of her Lexus with the hatch open. Mr. Easton took out the last box and started her way.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed to say, stepping out to meet him halfway, looking back and forth from her empty car to the open front door. “I don’t know what came over me. I swear, I didn’t mean for you to—”

“Not a problem.” He went past her as if she weren’t standing there babbling, after eating his food and letting him wait on her.

Groaning, she launched herself after him. “Really, Mr. Easton—”

“May as well call me Cort. Everyone around here is informal.” He went through the kitchen to the bedroom, a room she hadn’t even seen yet, to deposit her last box.

Marlow hurried after him, then drew up short at the sight of all the right boxes placed out of the way against the wall. She’d passed others in the foyer and dining room. To make it easy on herself, she’d marked each box, and clearly he’d paid attention.

“Look around. Take your time. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.” And out the door he went.

Such a remarkable man.

She couldn’t think of a single time that Dylan had hauled a box . . . anywhere. He had hired people for that sort of thing. He would have complained if he’d had to step around a box, much less move it. Not that he hadn’t been fit. He’d gone to the gym regularly and enjoyed golfing, sometimes pickleball, and occasionally tennis.

Though why she was thinking of Dylan right now, she couldn’t say. There wasn’t a single bit of resemblance between him and her new landlord.

A landlord who had put drinks in her fridge and shared his pizza and unpacked her SUV.

Putting a hand to her forehead, she took in the room. Of course, it was lovely, too. It did, indeed, open to the porch, but with French doors instead of sliders. Behind the full-size bed, windows gave a view of a wooded side lot.

The bed sat on a pedestal of white drawers for extra storage. An old-fashioned, floral quilt was topped with a beige knitted throw and fluffy white cotton pillows. After her sleepless night and long drive, her bones wanted to melt at the sight of that cozy bed.

The bathroom was all white tile with beige towels and rugs. Even the laundry room was pretty, with open wood shelving and a stacked washer and dryer.

Unwilling to leave Mr. Easton waiting any longer, she rushed back to the kitchen, and there he was, sitting in one of the chairs at the small square table, devouring his pizza and drinking his own cola.

Trying to correct the already miserable impression she’d made, Marlow retrieved her drink and empty plate from the covered porch, then sat across from him. “Mr. Easton—”

“Cort.”

She paused, but he was correct. They had no reason to be formal. “Please call me Marlow.”

He answered with a single dip of his head.

“Thank you. For the food and the unloading. I’m sorry I put you to the trouble. I’d love to repay you for the pizza.”

“Herman gives me food whenever I work for him. It didn’t cost me anything.”

“Well, that was nice of Herman, but surely you’d planned to eat it, and here I’ve taken half.”

His mouth lifted slightly again before he set another piece of pizza on her plate. “That slice gives you a fourth. As to the cola, I always stock the basics for anyone renting. You have bottled water, juice, and milk in the fridge. Also eggs and a few condiments. Sugar, flour, powdered creamer, salt and pepper are in the cabinet. I put two TV dinners in the freezer, just in case.”

His consideration overwhelmed her as much as the house did. “I thought I’d be able to stop at a grocery store for all that, but then I kept driving and driving without seeing anything but houses. No restaurants or stores of any kind.”

After wiping his mouth, he sat back in the chair, shoulders straight, chin held high.

He had incredible posture, and it spurred her to sit a little more properly when she really wanted to slump into an exhausted heap.

“Home rule-class city means Bramble can govern itself independently of the state constitution or statutes. As long as we keep things within reason, state power doesn’t infringe on the local government. When I moved here to be closer to my mother, it kicked the population up to four hundred and one. That ‘one’ pushed them all over the edge.” Another quick curve of his lips.

Why am I staring at his lips? Marlow lifted her brows and tried to look enthralled by the story, rather than enthralled by his mouth.

“Now the town doesn’t allow any new building. I already had the guest cottage and the lake house, so I can rent them out, but new permanent residents aren’t allowed. The only exceptions to population growth are children being born.” This time he definitely wore a look of humor. “The town allows that.”

They allowed births? She snickered, then laughed, then couldn’t stop laughing. She wiped her eyes twice, pinched her mouth together, even shook her head hard, but it didn’t help.

“Exhaustion,” he diagnosed, as if he were an expert. “It’s funny, but not that funny.”

And for some reason, that only made her laugh harder. She covered her face, humiliated, even as she continued to make those obnoxious sounds.

“You need to get some rest.” He scooted back his chair, regaining her attention. “These keys are yours. I have my own set, but each door has a dead bolt that operates from the inside.”

Meaning she’d be entirely secure. “Thank you.” Another snicker escaped, but she corralled it with a shuddering inhale. “You’ve been incredibly helpful.”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow around noon to go over anything else you might need to know. In the meantime, my number is on the fridge, along with some emergency numbers. Channel guide is by the TV.”

“Oh, I need to give you your check.” She reached for her purse, but he stepped away from the table.

“Tomorrow is soon enough.” He stood in front of her, so tall and rugged, a pillar of strength, stealing her thoughts away before he stepped around her and headed for the front door. “Lock up behind me. And Marlow? Enjoy your first night in the new place.”

* * *

Stretching awake on the supersoft mattress, Marlow breathed in the cool air and tried to orient herself to her new surroundings: well-worn quilt instead of a silk comforter, pale blue walls with pictures of birds instead of rich cream with original artwork. Everything was close and cozy in the twelve- by fourteen-foot room. She liked it far more than the bedroom she’d left, which was more than twice that size.

After all the driving yesterday and getting settled in, as well as her foolish behavior with Cort, she’d slept more soundly than she ever had in her life. She’d never taken a sleeping pill or drunk enough to knock herself out, but she imagined waking up after doing so would feel like this, sluggish and lazy, her thoughts blurred.

Stretching once more for good measure, she crawled out from under the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Brrr, the hardwood floors were cold, and she hadn’t yet unpacked enough to find her slippers. She located thick socks instead, then padded into the tiny bathroom. The tile was icy instead of heated, and the tub wasn’t jetted but sat on four cast-iron legs.

She loved all of it.

Every new, different, and simpler aspect of it all.

Pulling a shawl around her shoulders, she went into the kitchen and started the coffeepot. Keeping the smile off her face was impossible as she tried to decide what to do that day. Exploring seemed like a good idea. After she unpacked, of course. And bought some groceries.

And met with Cort.

She wasn’t sure why, but as she sipped a cup of coffee, she went through the kitchen to the sliding doors in the sitting room. One peek outside and the amazing sunrise over the lake captured her. Holy smokes, she’d never seen anything like it. It was as if a star had burst and poured brilliantly hued watercolors over the calm surface.

There was no hesitation as she opened the door and headed outside. The lake offered a stunning mirrored reflection of orange, yellow, and red.

The dew-wet grass immediately soaked her socks, and her sleep shirt and shorts offered little protection from the chill. Didn’t matter. She couldn’t resist trekking down the slight hill and onto a short dock to take in the view. Holding her warm coffee mug in one hand, cinching her shawl close over her collarbone with the other, she inhaled the crisp, fresh scent of country air. Even the early morning breeze that stirred her hair and set goose bumps over her skin didn’t bother her.

This had to be heaven.

“Hey.”

Nearly leaping out of her skin, she jerked around, spilling coffee everywhere and almost tripping off the dock.

“Careful. This early, the water is like ice.”

“Cort.” He stood on the shore with a fishing rod in hand, his line cast out.

“You’re up early.” His gaze took a two-second trip down her body, then deliberately focused on the lake as he began to reel in his line. “I didn’t expect to see you this soon.”

Mute. She’d gone entirely, ridiculously mute.

Without looking at her again, he said, “The sunrises are something to see. When I first moved here, they drew me out, and now I like to fish in the early morning. It’s so quiet, even the frogs are sleeping.”

The second he mentioned the frogs, she heard a deep-throated rumble begin and had to grin. “Well, they were. I think I woke them up.”

“Maybe.” He kept his gaze on the lake as he cast out again. “You should probably get a jacket. The mornings are still cold.”

“I didn’t think anyone else was around.” She glanced beyond him and saw a tiny lake house and a larger house up on the hill. “That’s where you live?”

“Yes.”

Three houses. Mr. Easton was doing okay for himself. “No one is in the lake house right now?”

He shook his head. “I get weekend fishermen in it off and on, but with only one bedroom with an efficiency kitchen, it’s not big enough for most people who want to vacation.”

A comfortable silence spread over them. Marlow gathered her shawl around her and then carefully sat yoga style on the dock, avoiding the spilled coffee. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Cort repeatedly cast out, then reel in, as the sun rose, shedding a golden gleam onto the water. The mist cleared away, and the air warmed. Her coffee cup, now empty, sat on the dock beside her.

In some indefinable way, it was the perfect morning for the start of her new life. Peaceful but not alone. Company that wasn’t intrusive. No questions, no small talk.

And no pressure.

She’d just about convinced herself to get it in gear when she heard a splash and turned to see Cort reeling in a large fish.

Morbid fascination brought her to her feet. “You got one!”

“A bass,” he said with no real inflection or expression, all his attention on the fish. “A big one.”

Venturing closer, she asked, “What will you do with it?” The poor fish flipped around in the water, trying to escape.

“Dinner.” He glanced at her, then away. “Squeamish about fish?”

“No.” She could almost swear she’d made eye contact with that fish. “I mean, I love fresh fish.” The second the words left her mouth, she wrinkled her nose. “Just not that fresh. Not . . . after watching it fight.”

“They aren’t grown at restaurants.” There was no mocking insult in his words, just fact. “Every bit of seafood, meat, or fowl that you’ve ever eaten was once—”

“Ack.” She covered her ears. “I know, I swear I do, but I like to live with the illusion that everything I consume just appears on my plate.”

Again, without a single note of mockery, he asked, “You’ve never processed the food yourself?”

“Sadly, I was raised upper middle class and then married into wealth. No exposure to anything . . .” She searched for a word and settled on, “Earthy.” The quick flash of his barely-there smile made her feel as if she’d just accomplished something worthwhile.

“I’m not sure a nice upbringing can be considered sad, but I get your meaning.”

Naturally, she wondered about his upbringing, but as he pulled the fish from the water, she concentrated on not looking at it. If she did, she just might cry.

“He’s in the basket,” Cort said. “You can look now.”

Oh wow, so he’d known she was cowering? Another humiliation. “Do you fish every morning?”

“Usually.” His intent gaze, narrowed from the sunshine, moved over her face. “If you plan to visit the dock each morning, I can fish on the other side.”

“I don’t mind,” she blurted too quickly, and then worried that he’d see through her carefree façade to the chaos of her current emotional state.

Pasting on a false but hopefully convincing smile, she said, “It’s so nice down here, I just might make it part of my morning coffee. Next time, with sneakers and a jacket or something, and hopefully I’ll drink the coffee instead of throwing it.” This smile, at least, was honest. “But hey, it’s your property, and I definitely don’t want you changing your habits for me.”

He gathered up his rod, a tackle box, and the basket containing several fish before he spoke. “If I’m here, it won’t bother you?”

“Not at all—as long as I’m not disturbing you.” Marlow couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the corner of his mouth gave another interesting little curl before he faced her again.

“You’re renting the place, dock included. Make yourself at home.”

That told her exactly nothing. So did her presence bother him or not? She was pretty sure she wouldn’t get any answers today. “I should get going. I want to get unpacked and maybe explore the area a little before we meet this afternoon.”

“Need help with anything?”

The man was far too helpful, but she knew it was important to reclaim her independence. She could and would get things done on her own. “Definitely not. You’ve been more than generous with your time.”

As if he’d expected that answer, he nodded. “I should get these fish gutted, then. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”

She watched him walk away, his posture military straight, his short, dark brown hair unmoved by the breeze. Such an interesting person. When she realized she was still standing there staring after him, Marlow quickly got it together. She retrieved her mug from the dock, peeled off her wet socks and used them to wipe up the rest of the spilled coffee, and then did a slip-slide climb up the dew-wet hill to the house.

Energized by plans and her pleasant visit with her landlord, she was anxious to get the house set up to her satisfaction. Not that it wasn’t already incredible, because it was, but she was an orderly person who needed her things where she could easily locate them.

Fresh start, she reminded herself. This was her new beginning, and she’d do it on her terms every step of the way.

End of Excerpt