Kristen Ashley - The Gamble

“There she is,” he muttered but he looked bizarrely pleased.

“Who?” I snapped again.

He ignored my question and informed me humiliatingly, “Last time I saw that body of yours, baby, you lifted your arms for me yourself.”

I did do that, I remembered.

“I did not,” I lied.

“You did.”

“I was in the throes of a fever!” I said, my voice getting loud.

“You still did it.”

I threw a hand out. “Okay, fine, you’ve seen me naked. That doesn’t mean we know each other.”

“Slept with you too.” My mouth dropped open and he asked, “Do you remember that?”

“No,” I whispered but I did.

“You wouldn’t let me go.”

Oh my God. I remembered that too.

“I will repeat, I was in the throes of a fever.”

“Don’t care what you were in the throes of, you take care of a sick person, you sleep with someone, you get to know them.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“You don’t!”

He rocked back on his heels and told me, “You got a borin’ life so you got a wild hair up your ass, you’re out here on some adventure, timeout, because you got a fiancé at home who doesn’t give a shit about you.”

My head jerked and I stared. I didn’t remember telling him that. Any of it. Most especially about Niles.

“He gives a shit about me,” I whispered.

“Then why hasn’t your cell rang in two days?” he asked.

“I –”

“And why you been awake and functioning for at least half an hour and you haven’t phoned him?” he went on.

Drat!

Max leaned into me and I watched with not a small amount of fascination as his face grew soft. His face was always amazing, soft it was something else entirely and that something else was even better.

“You’re half a world away, Duchess, you been sick as a dog and your man doesn’t contact you? Even not knowin’ you’re sick, a man gives a shit, he phones.”

He, unfortunately, had me there.

Therefore, I just stood there staring at him not knowing what to say.

Max wasn’t so uncertain.

His hand came out and grabbed mine, lifting it between us, his fingers in my palm, his thumb toying with my diamond engagement ring.

“I was your man, you were halfway around the world from me, honey, I’d fuckin’ phone you,” he said quietly.

“Niles is reserved,” I whispered.

“Niles is an ass,” he returned and my brows drew together.

“You don’t know him.”

“I know men and I know he’s not reserved, he’s an ass.”

I pulled my head together, my hand from his and snapped, “Yes? And how do you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen you naked, I’ve seen you sweet, I’ve seen you unsure and I’ve seen you riled and, seein’ all that, I know, you were half a world away from me, I’d fuckin’ phone.”

“Perhaps that’s not the kind of relationship Niles and I have,” I suggested snottily but his words hit me somewhere deep, somewhere I didn’t know I had.

“You on a timeout?”

“What?”

“If you told me you needed a timeout, first, I wouldn’t fuckin’ let you have one, second, I wouldn’t give you reason to fuckin’ want one, last, you took off anyway, I’d fuckin’ phone.”

My head tilted to the side and I felt my body start warming up not, this time, with fever.

“You wouldn’t let me have one?”

“Fuck no.”

“Ergo, you would not be my man.”

“Ergo?”

“It’s Latin, it means ‘therefore’.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, “I gotta go.”

“Hang on,” I snapped. “You may think you know me but I was delirious. I didn’t get to know you.”

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

“So you think you’re leavin’?” He switched the subject.

“I am leaving,” I declared, happy to be on this subject.

He stuck his hand in his front jeans pocket, pulled out the keys to the rental, dangled them in front of me for a brief flash then his hand closed around them and he shoved them back into his pocket.

“Be hard gettin’ down the mountain on foot, carryin’ that huge-ass suitcase of yours, which weighs a goddamned ton, your overnight bag, your purse and a shitload of groceries,” he informed me.

“Give me those keys,” I snapped.

“I’d tell you to go for them, honey, but don’t have time to play.”

At his words, my mouth dropped open again, he grinned, chucked me gently under the chin with the side of his fist (yes, I will repeat, he chucked me under the chin) and then he walked away.

I stood staring at the space he used to be in then, when I heard the front door open, I ran to the railing.

“Max!” I shouted.

“Later, Duchess,” he called, a hand up, two fingers flicking out, he didn’t even look back.

Becca looked back though, and up. She gave me a wince-I’m-sorry-face and a finger wave and I knew she heard everything. I’d totally forgotten she was there.

Then I watched Max throw his now black leather jacketed arm around her shoulders and I wondered who Becca was and what she was to Max who was just upstairs, semi-fighting with me and also, if I wasn’t wrong, and I didn’t think I was, flirting with me in a rough, macho, mountain man kind of way

They talked for a few seconds at the side of her car then they separated. Becca got in her sporty, red, mini-SUV. Max got in his black Cherokee. They both drove away.

I looked down at the bottom floor and saw my cranberry juice, my coffee and my untouched oatmeal all sitting on the bar.

Then I looked out the window at the wilderness.

The internet advertisement for the A-Frame said it was fifteen miles away from the nearest town, secluded, quiet, the perfect holiday destination for a calm, relaxing, peaceful getaway.

The Nightmare Holiday Destination if you had to walk fifteen miles to town carrying a suitcase, an overnight bag, a purse and a shitload of groceries.

Tackle a problem prepared, Charlie advised in my head and I nodded like he was there with me.

Then I walked downstairs, heated up my oatmeal, warmed up my coffee and sat at the stool, preparing to tackle my problem.

After I ate, I did my dishes, Max’s dishes, wiped down the counters, found the extra sheets in the closet and made the bed. Then I found the utility room around the corner from the recess in the living room. The dirty sheets were on the floor. As the advertisement said, washer and drier but also a bunch of man stuff that needed to be organized.

I let that stuff be. I put the sheets in the washer.

I packed my bags and decided that Max could have the groceries. He and Becca and the unknown Mindy could have a party. I didn’t care. I was out of there.

Then I poured myself another cup of coffee and found the phonebook. It was thin; I’d never seen a phonebook so thin.

I realized why it was thin when I looked up taxi companies. There was only one. But one was enough.

I went to Max’s phone, pulled it out of the receiver and punched in the number.

“Thrifty’s,” a woman answered.

“Hello, my name is Ms. Sheridan and I need a taxi to town.”

There was a pause and then, “Nina?”

My body jolted and then I froze with the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” the voice called.

“Um… yes?”

“This Nina?”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Welp, Max called, said a lady with a fancy accent by the name of Nina would call, askin’ for a taxi. You’re a lady with a fancy accent and you’re askin’ for a taxi. Get some of those callin’ with British accents, not a lot. So I’m takin’ a wild guess. You Nina?”

I wondered if I could make it to Denver then to England before anyone discovered Max’s body. Then I wondered if anyone would bother with extradition if they figured out it was me who did the deed. That was a lot of paperwork for one big, tall, domineering, jerky mountain man. Then I wondered, considering Max was so tall and big, how I’d kill him.

Then I decided, poison.

Then I answered, “Yes, I’m Nina.”

“Max said you been down with flu, girl, you need to rest,” the woman advised me.

“I thought I’d check into a hotel room in town.”

She hooted in my ear but said no actual words.

“What?” I asked.

“Girl, Holden Maxwell quarantined me to his house and he was in it, I wouldn’t go lookin’ for no hotel room.”

I felt my brows draw together. “Who’s Holden Maxwell?”

“Who’s Holden Maxwell?” she repeated.

“Yes. Who’s Holden Maxwell?”

“Girl, you’re livin’ with him.”

His name was Holden? What kind of name was that? No wonder he called himself Max.

I decided not to ask about the origins of Max’s name or explain the fact that I was not living with him and told her, “Well, he isn’t actually here, so I’m quarantined alone.”

“Oh, he’ll be back.”

I didn’t doubt that.

“Since you probably know where he lives, will you please send a taxi?” I asked.

“Nope,” she answered.

I was silent a beat, mostly shock, a little anger then I repeated, “Nope?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause Max says you need to rest.”

Yes, definitely poison.

“I’ll pay double.”

“You still gotta rest.”

I was seeing red again, I ignored it and offered, “I’ll pay triple.”

“Triple shmiple. You gotta rest.”

“Listen –”

“Come into town with Max when you’ve recovered. I’ll buy you a beer.”

Did she just tell me she’d buy me a beer? How did we get from me ordering a taxi to her buying me a beer?

“What?” I asked.

“Name’s Arlene. Come to The Dog. Show you the town only locals know.”

“But –”

“Gotta go. Get some rest, you hear?”

Then she hung up.

I stood staring at the phone buzzing at me. Then I beeped it off and put it in the receiver.

The internet advertisement didn’t say word one about nutty townspeople. Not word one. If it did, I definitely would not have hit “book now”.

I looked back through the phonebook. No more taxi companies. There were three rental agencies but they rented ATVs and snow mobiles. I didn’t think that would help.

It was either walk, when I felt like taking a nap, or I was stuck.

Which meant I was stuck.

Which meant I needed to take a nap so I could be energized and clearheaded when I plotted Holden Maxwell’s murder.

Before that, I had one more thing to do.

I went to my purse, grabbed my cell and saw the battery was low. I also saw I had a number of texts, all from friends, not one from Niles.

I climbed the spiral staircase, went to my overnight bag beside my suitcase, dug out the charger and the converter, attached them and plugged them into the wall. Then I pulled the cord and phone with me and sat on the bed. Then I went to my contacts and hit Niles’s number.

He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Niles?”

“Nina?”

I tried to figure out how I felt about his voice coming at me over the phone and I couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t relief or welcome familiarity it was just… well, familiarity.

Then I tried to figure out how I felt about his voice coming over the phone not sounding relieved that I was calling from half a world away. Just sounding like Niles and I was at the store asking him what he wanted for dinner. I couldn’t figure that out either.

“Hi, I’m here,” I told him.

“That’s good.”

“I’ve been here for –”

“Listen,” he cut me off, “I’m about to go into a meeting.”

“What?”

“I’ve got a meeting.”

I shook my head. “Niles, I just wanted to tell you, I’ve been sick.”

“Yes, you said you thought you were getting a sinus infection.”

“Well, it was worse than that.”

“You sound fine.”

I did. Miraculously, outside of being tired, I felt pretty good. My throat didn’t hurt, I wasn’t coughing though my nose was still kind of stuffy.

“I’m better now.”

“That’s good.” He sounded distracted. “They’re waiting for me.”

“Okay,” I said. “Do you want me to call later?”

“Later?” Now he sounded perplexed, as if he didn’t understand the concept of later.

“Later, tonight, when you’re home.”