those blank messages reminded her of calls she received after the bank robbery – nothing but empty space on the other end of the line or, worse, the hushed sound of someone breathing. Had those come from whoever was sending her the anonymous threats? Or were they coincidental?
Maybe there wasn’t really any way to leave a life behind. All a person could do was hope for the best. She doubted there was such a thing as absolute safety. But distance could help, even if only to keep paranoia from overtaking her daily life.
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you. Funny how she’d always found that saying humorous – until it became too real.
As for the debonair guest, maybe she was being too hard on him. It wasn’t fair to associate his behavior with her former company’s snooty clients. Perhaps he just came across as arrogant, but was, inside, as nondescript as Mr. Miller seemed to be.
“Excuse me.”
Molly practically flew out of her chair at the sound of the deep voice. She turned around to find Bryce Winslow standing not quite three feet away, a charming grin stretching from cheek to cheek. Personal space , she chided, silently. Comfort zone . She pressed her back against the desk, trying to give herself breathing room.
“What can I do for you?” She spit the words out with less composure than she would have preferred.
Bryce smiled. “How would you like to help me?”
There’s such a thing as giving too much credit where credit isn’t due. Back to square one; he was arrogant, just as she’d first thought.
Tempted to throw out a smart retort, she reminded herself that he was a guest. Luckily, she also caught herself before seeing the ice bucket in his hands.
“Oh,” she said. I sound like an idiot. I LOOK like an idiot.
“I’ll be glad to fill that for you.”
Another manly grin. “I can do it if you’ll tell me where the ice machine is,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Winslow…”
“Bryce…”
“Yes, Bryce, that’s right. I’m sorry but we don’t have an ice machine.” Molly smiled in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “I’ll fill it in the kitchen for you.” She edged her way alongside the desk and headed for the kitchen. Was she imagining it or had he kept his same position, forcing her to maneuver a way out of the close space? Yes, she had him nailed correctly from the start – self-assured, used to getting his way, used to getting his women.
Molly let the kitchen door close behind her, relieved to have a moment to herself to recover from being startled. Whether it was simply from the unexpected interruption or Bryce’s presence, the effect was the same: her nerves were rattled.
She opened the freezer and filled the bucket, making a mental note to install an ice machine somewhere. Perhaps she could convert a hallway closet that was far enough from guest rooms to avoid disturbing them. The old-fashioned metal ice trays that she’d inherited from Aunt Maggie worked fine, and she kept them filled even when the larger freezer container was full. But it would be better for the guests – and her sanity – to have ice accessible to everyone.
Returning to the front of the inn, she found Bryce leaning casually against the wall next to her desk, arms crossed, one foot kicked across the other. She extended the filled ice bucket toward him and watched him pause just long enough to tease her before taking it from her hands. Whispering a dramatic “Thank you!” he grinned once more before vanishing up the stairs to his room.
CHAPTER TEN
This was not going to be easy. Bryce Winslow shut the door to his room and set the ice bucket on a side table. Fetching ice had only been a convenient excuse to browse downstairs. Luckily, he’d thought to take the container with him, in case he ran into Molly.
He hadn’t expected any of this when he agreed to the job. The description he’d received of Molly was that of fugitive on the run, a hardened criminal. When
Maybe there wasn’t really any way to leave a life behind. All a person could do was hope for the best. She doubted there was such a thing as absolute safety. But distance could help, even if only to keep paranoia from overtaking her daily life.
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you. Funny how she’d always found that saying humorous – until it became too real.
As for the debonair guest, maybe she was being too hard on him. It wasn’t fair to associate his behavior with her former company’s snooty clients. Perhaps he just came across as arrogant, but was, inside, as nondescript as Mr. Miller seemed to be.
“Excuse me.”
Molly practically flew out of her chair at the sound of the deep voice. She turned around to find Bryce Winslow standing not quite three feet away, a charming grin stretching from cheek to cheek. Personal space , she chided, silently. Comfort zone . She pressed her back against the desk, trying to give herself breathing room.
“What can I do for you?” She spit the words out with less composure than she would have preferred.
Bryce smiled. “How would you like to help me?”
There’s such a thing as giving too much credit where credit isn’t due. Back to square one; he was arrogant, just as she’d first thought.
Tempted to throw out a smart retort, she reminded herself that he was a guest. Luckily, she also caught herself before seeing the ice bucket in his hands.
“Oh,” she said. I sound like an idiot. I LOOK like an idiot.
“I’ll be glad to fill that for you.”
Another manly grin. “I can do it if you’ll tell me where the ice machine is,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Winslow…”
“Bryce…”
“Yes, Bryce, that’s right. I’m sorry but we don’t have an ice machine.” Molly smiled in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “I’ll fill it in the kitchen for you.” She edged her way alongside the desk and headed for the kitchen. Was she imagining it or had he kept his same position, forcing her to maneuver a way out of the close space? Yes, she had him nailed correctly from the start – self-assured, used to getting his way, used to getting his women.
Molly let the kitchen door close behind her, relieved to have a moment to herself to recover from being startled. Whether it was simply from the unexpected interruption or Bryce’s presence, the effect was the same: her nerves were rattled.
She opened the freezer and filled the bucket, making a mental note to install an ice machine somewhere. Perhaps she could convert a hallway closet that was far enough from guest rooms to avoid disturbing them. The old-fashioned metal ice trays that she’d inherited from Aunt Maggie worked fine, and she kept them filled even when the larger freezer container was full. But it would be better for the guests – and her sanity – to have ice accessible to everyone.
Returning to the front of the inn, she found Bryce leaning casually against the wall next to her desk, arms crossed, one foot kicked across the other. She extended the filled ice bucket toward him and watched him pause just long enough to tease her before taking it from her hands. Whispering a dramatic “Thank you!” he grinned once more before vanishing up the stairs to his room.
CHAPTER TEN
This was not going to be easy. Bryce Winslow shut the door to his room and set the ice bucket on a side table. Fetching ice had only been a convenient excuse to browse downstairs. Luckily, he’d thought to take the container with him, in case he ran into Molly.
He hadn’t expected any of this when he agreed to the job. The description he’d received of Molly was that of fugitive on the run, a hardened criminal. When
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