Sore. “Fine. You don’t need to coddle me.”

“Maybe I like coddling you.”

She tried to catch his gaze but it was already on the house, his anxiety apparent. He held her hand as they skirted snow piles.

Kyle said, “Stay here,” and snagged a shovel from beside the front door. He chiseled and scooped until he’d created a walkable path. Then he took her hand and led her up the steps. He inserted the key in the door.

The waft of air from the house was decidedly musty. Celia’s first thought was that all houses inhabited by older folks always smelled the same.

The front door opened into the living room. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture. An old-fashioned high-backed couch in a hideous plaid pattern and a reclining chair patched with duct tape. Two TV trays flanked the easy chair; one held a remote control and a copy of TV Guide. The other had a box of tissues, a glass of water, a coffee mug, and several pill bottles. On the left and right sides of the couch were open built-in shelves, loaded with magazines, knickknacks, shotgun shells, and small hand tools. Both the couch and the chair faced an outdated square-box television. The oatmeal-colored carpet was badly stained. A dirty path led from the front door around the edge of the wall.

Kyle crossed to the first doorway.

Celia followed and peered around his arm. The galley-style kitchen filled the entire length and ended in a large eat-in nook. “I like that.”

“Probably be all right once this shit is cleared out.” Stuff was heaped on the kitchen counters so she could scarcely tell what color they were. The stove and oven combo was a burnt orangish red, the dishwasher was avocado green, and the refrigerator, which looked fairly new, was white. The double-sided enamel sink was piled to the windowsill with dirty dishes and smelled to high heaven.

“That’s disgusting,” Kyle said.

“He was a widower. He probably only did dishes when he ran out of clean ones. Maybe when he went to the hospital he expected to be coming back that same day.”

Kyle gave her a soft look and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks.”

This unsure, sweet Kyle was throwing her for a loop. She headed through the next doorway at the far end of the living room.

Not a traditional hallway at all, but more of a large square, with each door inset and then offset at an angle, which made the area seem spacious. She counted six doors and opened the first one on the left. A smallish bedroom. Packed with crap. The second door opened into a full-size bathroom, done completely in pink and black tile straight from the 1950s. Pink toilet, pink sink, and a pink bathtub.

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle said.

“I think it’s awesome. Very retro.”

“It’s awesome if you’re a girl who f**kin’ loves pink. That is so not a dude’s bathroom.”

“It looks plenty dirty enough to be a guy’s bathroom to me.”

Kyle laughed.

The third door was to a closet, also piled with junk.

The fourth door led to another bedroom, larger than the first, with a desk, a computer, and lots of boxes.

The master bedroom was behind the fifth door, a surprisingly large space, big enough to hold a king-size bed with room for dressers and a small sitting area. Celia spied another door inside the room and found another bathroom. No bathtub but a decent-size tiled shower, a vanity, and a toilet. She withheld her snicker until Kyle popped his head in. “Seriously? Another goddamn pink bathroom?”

“But this one is pink and turquoise, not pink and black.”

“Who the hell ever thought that’d be a good combination?”

“Mrs. Townsend, evidently.”

The last door opened to the basement. Nothing had been done to this part of the house besides designating a laundry area. Given what they’d found in the rest of the house, she’d expected the space to be chock-full of stuff, but it was disturbingly barren.

“Kinda spooky down here,” Kyle said. “Let’s go back up.”

Once they were upstairs, Kyle inspected the living room, specifically the temperature controllers. “It’s not ice-cold in here, but it’s not warm. And I don’t know why one of these reads sixty degrees and the other reads zero.”

“Maybe one’s a heater control and the other is an air conditioner control?”

“Good thinking, but no. There’s another source of heat. Maybe a main source. Maybe geothermal or something.” He muttered and poked around.

Celia wandered to the kitchen, took in the huge mess, and shuddered. “Are we staying here tonight or driving back into Rawlins?”

“I planned on staying. But I’d understand if you…”

“If you’re staying, I’m staying. We’ll need to eat. In order to eat, I’ll need to fumigate this kitchen. But there’s so much stuff stacked everywhere. What do you want to do with it?”

Kyle stared at her for a moment. “No freakin’ clue. I’m all ears if you’ve got an idea.”

“We should sort through it, I guess. Make a pile of things to save and one to toss. I’ll tackle what I can of the kitchen, if that’s all right.”

“I feel so guilty for making you help me with this at all, but I honestly don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

Her heart seemed to skip a beat at his admission. It skipped another ten beats when Kyle moved closer.

“Is this house more or less than you thought it’d be?” he asked.

Tags: Lorelei James Blacktop Cowboys Western
Source: readsnovelonline.net