cluster.
Alec shut off the engine and got out. He held out his hand to help me out. Naturally I scooted the other way, as the big man was already out and heading for the trunk. I forgot about my ankle and nearly took a header when it promptly gave out.
So much for making a dash. I caught myself on the open door and when Alec came round and silently held out an arm I snapped, “In about two seconds I’m going to yell and scream.”
“This is an inn. A public one,” he said with strained sounding patience. “The idea is to hold a consultation in comfort before we progress any further.”
Comfort. “All right. Consultation I’ll go for,” I snapped, still hanging on the car door. “In comfort. I’ll wait here while you set it up,” I said in an unsubtle attempt to test the boundaries of the apparent truce as I propped my throbbing foot in the doorframe of the car.
Alec’s answering smile was ironic, but he only lifted his head and said something to the other man somewhere behind me before walking off to the inn’s entrance. I leaned my forearms on the top of the car door and put my chin on my folded fingers as I breathed deeply of the heavy, wet-grass-smelling air. The trees and plants around the perimeter of the building and parking lot were pleasingly green and newly washed.
The car shifted as the trunk clunked down. The burly man hove into view, muscling two handsome suitcases and a matching overnight case tucked under a massive arm. He trod on around the side of the building without a glance in my direction.
Aware of my total lack of kick-butt chick ingenuity, I did not even check to see what Mr. Big was up to. My foot hurt so much I wouldn’t be able to outrun a one-legged rooster. Talk? All right. I can’t run, but I can talk. And he won’t like what he’s going to hear.
So I bolstered my courage with this stirring resolution; secretly, I was heartened to see that my first (and, I hoped, last) taste of Durance Vile was to take place here and not in some sinister old castle with five centuries of mildew and no plumbing.
The Gasthaus appeared to be clean and prosperous. Two of the three floors sported rows of bright-flowered window boxes.
Comfort . . .
And then I remembered my suitcase, lying in the middle of some soggy field. “Crap, crap, crap,” I moaned.
Right on cue Alec reappeared. His brows quirked at my exclamation, but all he said was, “I’ve engaged three rooms. This place is said to have fairly decent food. There is only one bath in the second story, which is where the rooms are, but,” he smiled, “you shall have it first.”
I let go of the car door, stepped away and slammed it shut with a thrust of my hip. As Alec extended a hand I shrugged away. “No, I’ll walk, I’ll walk.”
He fell in step beside me as I limped painfully across the parking lot, around the corner of the building, and past a row of windows, each framing patrons seated at tables. I made the mistake of glancing inside. Sure enough, every single person at every single table seemed to have nothing to do but get an eyeful of my mud-crusted form.
I sneaked a glance at Alec’s sharply averted face. From the set of his shoulders, the muscle in his jaw, I could tell he was trying his best not to laugh. Argh.
Inside we were greeted with a heavenly aroma of fresh bread, braised onions, and beef stew. We crossed an old-fashioned, painfully clean lobby, off of which was the dining room full of hungry travelers ranging from yammering toddlers to stolid oldsters.
Alec said, “Stairs this way.”
“Wonderful.” I eyed the pretty folk-pattern tiled steps as if they were a pit of snakes. There was a good sturdy rail, at least, so my progress up the steps was no harder than it had been from car to front door.
On the first landing I paused to rest as three people came down from above and passed me by, then I made a depressing discovery: true to the European way of counting, the second floor was, in fact, the
Alec shut off the engine and got out. He held out his hand to help me out. Naturally I scooted the other way, as the big man was already out and heading for the trunk. I forgot about my ankle and nearly took a header when it promptly gave out.
So much for making a dash. I caught myself on the open door and when Alec came round and silently held out an arm I snapped, “In about two seconds I’m going to yell and scream.”
“This is an inn. A public one,” he said with strained sounding patience. “The idea is to hold a consultation in comfort before we progress any further.”
Comfort. “All right. Consultation I’ll go for,” I snapped, still hanging on the car door. “In comfort. I’ll wait here while you set it up,” I said in an unsubtle attempt to test the boundaries of the apparent truce as I propped my throbbing foot in the doorframe of the car.
Alec’s answering smile was ironic, but he only lifted his head and said something to the other man somewhere behind me before walking off to the inn’s entrance. I leaned my forearms on the top of the car door and put my chin on my folded fingers as I breathed deeply of the heavy, wet-grass-smelling air. The trees and plants around the perimeter of the building and parking lot were pleasingly green and newly washed.
The car shifted as the trunk clunked down. The burly man hove into view, muscling two handsome suitcases and a matching overnight case tucked under a massive arm. He trod on around the side of the building without a glance in my direction.
Aware of my total lack of kick-butt chick ingenuity, I did not even check to see what Mr. Big was up to. My foot hurt so much I wouldn’t be able to outrun a one-legged rooster. Talk? All right. I can’t run, but I can talk. And he won’t like what he’s going to hear.
So I bolstered my courage with this stirring resolution; secretly, I was heartened to see that my first (and, I hoped, last) taste of Durance Vile was to take place here and not in some sinister old castle with five centuries of mildew and no plumbing.
The Gasthaus appeared to be clean and prosperous. Two of the three floors sported rows of bright-flowered window boxes.
Comfort . . .
And then I remembered my suitcase, lying in the middle of some soggy field. “Crap, crap, crap,” I moaned.
Right on cue Alec reappeared. His brows quirked at my exclamation, but all he said was, “I’ve engaged three rooms. This place is said to have fairly decent food. There is only one bath in the second story, which is where the rooms are, but,” he smiled, “you shall have it first.”
I let go of the car door, stepped away and slammed it shut with a thrust of my hip. As Alec extended a hand I shrugged away. “No, I’ll walk, I’ll walk.”
He fell in step beside me as I limped painfully across the parking lot, around the corner of the building, and past a row of windows, each framing patrons seated at tables. I made the mistake of glancing inside. Sure enough, every single person at every single table seemed to have nothing to do but get an eyeful of my mud-crusted form.
I sneaked a glance at Alec’s sharply averted face. From the set of his shoulders, the muscle in his jaw, I could tell he was trying his best not to laugh. Argh.
Inside we were greeted with a heavenly aroma of fresh bread, braised onions, and beef stew. We crossed an old-fashioned, painfully clean lobby, off of which was the dining room full of hungry travelers ranging from yammering toddlers to stolid oldsters.
Alec said, “Stairs this way.”
“Wonderful.” I eyed the pretty folk-pattern tiled steps as if they were a pit of snakes. There was a good sturdy rail, at least, so my progress up the steps was no harder than it had been from car to front door.
On the first landing I paused to rest as three people came down from above and passed me by, then I made a depressing discovery: true to the European way of counting, the second floor was, in fact, the
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