Tymber Dalton (6 page)

And time away from Matt would give her time to think clearly, to make sure this was the right decision.

It took her all of the three weeks she had to get packed and organized for their trip. Steve had rented the house for six months. While Sami wasn’t looking forward to a hot Florida summer, she enjoyed Steve’s slightly improved mood. With the secrets out in the open, Steve acted somewhat his old self again, and Sami tried to put his sour disposition behind her. He wasn’t totally back to normal, but at least he wasn’t picking fights or being nasty as much as he had been.

Unfortunately, his libido didn’t improve either.

The drive down wasn’t bad. Except for several rest stops to stretch the horses, they drove straight through. Matt had meetings in Tampa in a few weeks and would drive down in Sami’s Explorer with another trailerload of items.

He would also bring Pog, their five-year-old yellow Lab. Sami didn’t like saddling Matt with the rambunctious dog, but she’d never trailered the horses more than a few miles and knew her nerves would be taxed enough by the trip without an eighty-pound bundle of hyperactive dog, too. She’d miss him but trusted Matt to take good care of him.

Sami drove the last leg of the journey on Tuesday evening while Steve navigated from the maps provided by the real estate company.

“It’s right off the interstate. The exit’s only a few miles ahead,” he said.

The sun sank dangerously low on the horizon. “I hope so. I don’t want to hunt around in the woods for this place after dark.”

She followed Steve’s directions to a service road encircling a hotel, ending at a gate with a cattle guard crossing. Slowing, she carefully bumped across the rough surface and rolled to a stop in front of the gatehouse.

She climbed down from the truck and stretched, her spine popping. Steve went to the ranger shack while she checked the horses. Their nostrils flared as they sniffed the strange air.

“I know, boys. Just a few more minutes. I hope.”

A brown wooden sign with yellow lettering read “Withlacoochee State Forest—Croom Motorcycle Area.” She looked down the road. It was deep, sandy clay loam, loose and dry, deeply rutted by hundreds of vehicles, trailers, dirt bikes, and ATVs. A quarter mile ahead, the road climbed in what she considered a steep grade for the conditions. She was grateful for the truck’s four-wheel drive package. Which led to another thought as she watched a truck towing a small motorcycle trailer slough past her through the deep sand and charge up the grade—how would they drive that without beating the horses to death?

Steve walked around the back of the trailer while Sami watched the truck’s banzai run as it fishtailed in the sandy loam. Behind Steve followed a man wearing a green Department of Forestry uniform and baseball cap.

“Sami, this is Tom Jenkins, the head park ranger. We were talking about the horses—”

She pointed at the hill, where the truck and trailer disappeared over the top. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll ride them in.” The trailer was a four-horse slant, but they’d filled the front two stalls with items they brought from Ohio, not to mention enough feed and hay for the horses for a week. It was heavy even without the horses.

“Um, Mrs. Corey, in all honestly, it’ll be difficult. There’s still a lot of bikes around this time of day. Your horses are liable to spook.”

Sami was exhausted, pre-menstrual, and in no mood to debate the issue. She’d already unhooked the back door. “You let me worry about it. Steve, get me Mutt’s saddle and both bridles out of the front.”

If it wasn’t so late and she didn’t have a government employee as a witness, she’d strangle Steve. He mentioned nothing about an off-road ATV park when he talked up the house’s benefits. Ten acres in a state park with miles of trails, that’s what he’d said.

Steve talked with the ranger, getting detailed directions. From her best guess they still had an hour of daylight, but it would be darker in the woods. Ten minutes later she swung into the saddle and Steve handed her Jeff’s reins. “Let’s go,” she said.

“Okay, hon.”

He got into the truck and dropped it into four-wheel low. Building up speed before the grade, the truck’s engine revved and strained as he gunned it, the wheels spinning a few times and fishtailing, the trailer bouncing, but Steve made it up the hill without getting stuck. Once he reached the crest he waited for Sami to catch up.

That was the worst. It took ten minutes at the horses’ walking pace to reach their driveway, a winding dirt track disappearing into twilight gloom through the slash pines and scrub oaks. Sami didn’t know if it was the horses’ jumpiness or her nerves, but she felt relieved when they emerged in a large, mostly cleared, fenced-in property. The gate was off, but leaning against a nearby post.

The house stood guard over all, with a small barn about fifty yards away. Lights shined in the house, and a Jeep was parked out front.

Steve climbed out of the truck as Sami rode up. “Are you sure this is it?” she asked.

He nodded, consulting the sheaf of papers in his hand. “The agent said he’d meet us.”

The front door opened and a young man walked down the porch steps to meet them. “Hi, I’m Andy Wilson.
You must be the Coreys.”

Steve shook hands, making the introductions.

Andy nodded to Sami. “I’ve got all your paperwork, and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The man, maybe in his early twenties, seemed nervous and in a hurry.

Sami wouldn’t be rushed. “I’d like to put the horses up first.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll show you where the lights are.” They followed him to the barn, Steve taking Jeff’s reins from Sami. Andy fumbled inside the barn doorway for a moment, as if reluctant to step inside the building, and the lights came on. It was a four-stall stable with a tack room, old and in desperate need of a good cleaning, but sturdy.

Dispensing with the horses’ normal grooming, she made a quick safety check of the small corral adjacent to the barn and turned them out until she could attend to them properly. Andy seemed relieved to return to the house, but from his nervous demeanor she suspected he wouldn’t relax until the property disappeared from his rearview mirror.

Sami sympathized—she felt it. An unsettled atmosphere, almost like an impending rainstorm despite the clear dusk sky. A feeling of being watched.

Or, maybe just exhaustion from a long trip.

The house was ugly. She couldn’t soften that impression, and it didn’t help her mood. It looked like a Queen Anne–style, two stories, and what appeared to be a large attic with a windowed corner turret. The clapboard siding was a dark gray color, maybe faded from black, or mildewed from white. It had promise, but only with a lot of TLC and elbow grease. A newer screened porch wrapped around the entire first floor, and a carport with a storage room extended off the kitchen.

“Are those basement windows?” she asked as they climbed the porch stairs.

Andy looked where she pointed. “Oh, yes. This area is very high and dry, unlike most of the state.”

They walked into the kitchen. It was clean, but Sami didn’t see many redeeming features beyond that. Fifties-style enameled-steel cabinets covered the walls, and an ugly but serviceable dinette with four mismatched chairs sat in the center on the faded and scratched white-and-green checkerboard linoleum. A new refrigerator, stove, and microwave still bore manufacturer stickers. Andy pointed out the basement door, which she first assumed was a pantry.

“How old is the house?” she inquired.

He consulted the notes. “Um, built around 1908. It’s been renovated several times.”

“Renovated?” Steve doubtfully asked.

Andy laughed. “Yeah, I know, but at least the electric and plumbing are up to date, and it’s got a two-year-old central heat and air system. The washer and dryer are downstairs, brand new.”

He consulted the paperwork. “There’s also a new diesel emergency generator. It’ll power the house, the AC, and the well pump. There’s a phone in the hall, that’s the only one, but there are several phone jacks and you can get DSL connected. No cable, but there’s a satellite dish. The details on activating the service are in the information packet.”

The living room furniture appeared newer than the kitchen dinette by maybe a decade. Serviceable, but ugly. The hardwood floors were polished to a rich glow, and the dark-green area rug looked old, but clean. Beige curtains didn’t detract from the beautiful, pecky cypress paneling. An imposing, rustic stone fireplace dominated an interior wall, dark and sooty. In one corner, a large bay window, complete with window seat, invited thoughts of relaxing evenings. Through another doorway was a large room, empty except for a battered antique sideboard in desperate need of a good polishing.

“Some areas of the house are better than others,” Andy said. “Did I mention it’s for sale?”

Sami glanced at Steve, saw his interest piqued.

“How much?” Steve asked.

Andy consulted his notes. “Five hundred thousand, but they’ll take offers.”

Sami’s bullshit meter buzzed. No real-estate expert, but she knew the price was too low considering the location and acreage. She steered Steve away from the subject as well as down the hall. Past the staircase, a door on the right opened on a room a little smaller than his office at home, equipped with a mammoth antique desk that took up an entire corner.

“Hey, it’s perfect.” He opened the curtains. “I can see the whole back of the property. All I need is a bookcase.”

“Isn’t that a neat desk?” Andy asked. “It belonged to the original owner, George Simpson. It’s pretty banged up, but I bet it’d be great refinished.”

Sami turned. “Can you show me the rest of the house? I’m sure you want to get out of here.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

Sami, practically dragging Steve, followed Andy as he finished their downstairs tour. Another room—sharing a closet wall with what was now Steve’s office—empty, but could be used as Sami’s office. And a full bathroom, complete with claw-legged tub and brand-new toilet.

Upstairs appeared in better shape, with new wallpaper and mattresses in two of the four bedrooms. The master bedroom had an attached bathroom with shower, while the other three bedrooms shared a large, recently renovated guest bath. The guest bathroom backed against the master bath and separated the master bedroom from the furnished guest room. New peach-and-cream-colored tile, highlighted by mosaics, lined the wall surrounding a deep, sunken whirlpool bath, complete with gleaming brass fixtures. A separate shower, modern low-volume toilet, and ceramic pedestal sink completed the ensemble.

They would use the other two bedrooms for storage. They contained a conglomeration of furniture, including a bookcase Steve claimed for his office.

“The last residents started renovating and finished this before they moved,” Andy said.

More alarms went off in Sami’s mind. “Why would they start all this work and move?”

Andy shrugged. “I wasn’t managing the property then, but apparently they had some personal issues and backed out of their purchase agreement. It was owner financing. So it’s for sale again. They’re renting it to pay the taxes and insurance.”

“Why so cheap?”

“I think because she’s older, and her son’s pressuring her to sell. You know, this whole area has a fascinating history. I haven’t lived here long. I’m sure you could look up more information at the library.”

“I might do that,” Sami said.

He showed them how to open the attic stairs, then led them downstairs to go over final details. She watched Steve take in their new surroundings. Sami knew that look.

Steve had already fallen in love with the house, no doubt scheming to talk her into buying. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the lack of money argument. If there wasn’t a toxic waste dump or a gateway to Hell under the basement, it was a pretty sweet deal.

“If you need anything,” Andy said, “the contact numbers are in the folder. Enjoy your stay.” They watched his taillights disappear into the rapidly descending darkness.

“Well, what now, Boy Genius?” she asked Steve.

“I guess we unload.”

“What’s this ‘we’ stuff?
You
unload. Everything into the living room. I’ve got horses to take care of.” She stopped by the trailer for hay and feed, then traipsed through the yard to the corral.

Both horses nervously circled, their ears constantly flicking back and forth like furry radar. They anxiously nosed her when she walked through the gate.

“Easy, boys,” she soothed, putting their buckets down and finding a hose to fill the trough. Steve dropped the trailer and unloaded their things into a pile in the middle of the living room. There were still plenty of boxes in the back of the truck and in the front of the trailer—their luggage, laptops, printers, files, notes, office supplies, and assorted items they didn’t want to be without for six months.

Sami located their overnight bags and found towels and linens in an upstairs closet. “I’ve got dibs on the upstairs tub,” she declared. Five minutes later she was soaking to ease her sore back. When she finished, she found Steve downstairs, showered and changed.

He studied the information packet. “There’s a grocery store nearby.” He picked up two key rings, handed her one. “I’d like to get enough for breakfast.” They left all the lights on to help them find the house again, and carefully made their way down the driveway. Sami felt a perceptible pall lift, as if emerging from a dark cloud when they spotted the interstate running parallel to the park’s main road.