Oh. My. God.
She’d ripped a large hole on the bottom and smaller ones on either side of the bag for a crude little black dress, which on her five-seven frame was very little.
Audra gave him a hard look, but his almond-shaped onyx eyes remained steady on hers. He didn’t offer even a flicker of reaction. His eyes were really quite striking, and the only part of his face she could make out. When he’d checked her into the rental, she’d been too tired after her flight from California to notice his deep sienna features were half hidden by a thick, unkempt beard. His dark brown hair was twisted into tattered, uneven braids. They hung above broad shoulders clothed in a short-sleeved, dark blue T-shirt. But his eyes . . . they were so dark, so direct, and so wounded. A poet’s eyes.
How could the cabins’ owner allow his staff to come to work looking so disheveled, especially an employee who worked the front desk? Did the clerk think he looked intimidating? Well, she’d been born and raised in Los Angeles. He’d have to try harder.
Without a word, the clerk turned and unlocked the cabinet on the wall behind him. He chose a key from a multitude of options and pulled a document from the credenza.
“Sign this.” He handed the paper to her.
The form stated she acknowledged receipt of her cabin’s spare key and would return it promptly. Audra signed it with relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave her the key.
A smile spread across her mouth and chased away her discomfort. Audra closed her hand around the key and raised her gaze to his. “I don’t know your name.”
“Jack.”
“Hi, Jack. I’m Au . . . Penny. Penny Lane.” When he didn’t respond, she continued . “Thanks again for the spare key. I’ll bring it right back.”
“No rush.”
“Thank you.” Audra turned on her bare heels and hurried from the main cabin. That had been easy—relatively speaking. At times, she’d even forgotten she was wearing a garbage bag and nothing else. It helped that Jack hadn’t looked at her with mockery or scorn. He’d been very professional. Bless him!
Jackson Sansbury waited until his guest disappeared behind the closed front door. Only then did he release the grin he’d been struggling against. It had taken every ounce of control not to burst into laughter as she’d marched toward him, the trash-bag dress rustling with her every step.
He shook his head. She’d been wearing a garbage bag! Oh, to have seen the look on her face when the breezeway door had shut behind her—while she’d been naked in the garage. Jack gripped the registration desk and surrendered to a few rusty chuckles. They felt good. It had been a long time since he’d found anything funny.
He wiped his eyes with his fingers, then lifted the replacement key form. A few extra chuckles escaped. She’d signed this document, as well as the registration, Penny Lane. Jack shook his head again. Did she really expect him to believe her parents had named her after a Beatles song?
Jack lifted his gaze to the front door. She’d given a Los Angeles address when she’d registered. Who was she? And why would someone from Los Angeles spend a month at a cabin in Trinity Falls, Ohio, by herself under a fake name?
“Benita, when you told me you’d made a reservation for me at a vacation rental cabin, I thought you meant one with other people,” Audra grumbled into her cellular phone to her business manager, Benita Hawkins.
Although still tired from the red-eye flight from California to Ohio, she felt much more human after she’d showered and dressed.
“There aren’t any people there?” Benita sounded vaguely intrigued.
“The only things here are trees, a lake, and a taciturn registration clerk.” Audra’s lips tightened. Her manager wasn’t taking her irritation seriously.
“Hmmm. Even better.”
Audra glared at her phone before returning it to her ear. She could picture the other woman seated behind her cluttered desk, reviewing e-mails and mail while humoring her. “What do you mean, ‘even better’?”
“I told you that you needed a change to get over your writer’s block. You’re having trouble coming up with new songs because you’re in a rut. You see the same people. Go to the same places. There’s nothing new or exciting in your life.”
That was harsh.
Audra stared out the window at the tree line. She’d noticed right away that none of the windows had curtains. The lack of privacy increased the cabin’s creepiness factor.
A modest lawn lay like an amnesty zone between her and a lush spread of evergreen and poplar trees, which circled the cabin like a military strike force. In the distance, she could see sunlight bouncing in the lake like shards of glass on the water. The area was isolated. Audra didn’t do isolated. She’d texted her parents after she’d checked into the cabin to let them know she’d arrived safely. Maybe she should have waited.
“This place is like Mayberry’s version of the Bates Motel.” She turned from the window. “How is this supposed to cure my insomnia?”
“Writing will cure your insomnia.”
“Have you been to these cabins?”