Chapter 20 Louise
LOUISE
It was almost noon by the time we finally reached Shadow Creek Resort.
It had taken over three hours with all the stops we had to take for Ryder to clear fallen limbs and debris.
I was starving and so thirsty, I’d considered sucking the ice off Prudence’s mane.
My headache had reached epic proportions.
I was dreaming of funnel cakes and hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps when we finally crested the hill and I saw the resort. My salvation—and it was glorious.
The main building was a multistory log cabin with soaring peaks under blankets of snow.
Around it, dozens of small log cabins nestled between the trees, gray smoke rolling from the chimneys.
A river split the grounds, feeding into Otter Lake not far away, according to the website.
Cars and trucks were barely visible under the snow, and based on the lack of tire tracks, no one had come or gone from the resort since the snow started.
Ryder led me to the freshly swept stone steps at the entryway. This time, I didn’t hesitate or wait for help. I practically threw myself off the horse.
Remaining on his horse, Ryder bent over, unclipped my bags from the saddle, and handed them to me.
“Thank you.”
He dipped his chin.
We stared at each other for a moment, but when neither of us spoke, I squared my shoulders, turned my back, and started up the steps.
As I pushed through the lobby doors, I looked over my shoulder and met Ryder’s gaze as he watched my every move from atop his magnificent black horse. I stumbled over the threshold.
“Howdy-do there, miss.”
The barrel-bellied receptionist wearing a pair of coke-bottle glasses smiled around the dip in his lip.
“Name’s Earl.” He gave me the once-over, slow and steady like his accent.
I glanced over my shoulder again. Ryder was gone.
“I take care of the grounds around here,” Earl said. “But today I’m helping out at the front desk ’cause Paula’s stuck at home on account of the weather. Her kid’s sick too. So she says, anyway. I swear that boy catches everything under the sun. Anyways, what can I help ya with?”
“I’ve got a reservation.”
“Well, that’s good ’cause we’re booked solid. Even got a couple staying in one of the owner’s personal rooms. Name?”
“Louise Sloane.”
“Louise. My great-granny was named Louise.”
Of course she was.
“Louise Sloooane,” he drawled as he slowly punched the keyboard with one finger. One. Finger.
I’d plotted Earl’s death, resurrection, and then death again by the time he finally looked up.
“Well, Lou, hate to tell you this.” He sucked back a spit. “Your room was given away this morning.”
“What?”
“Yep.” He tapped the computer screen that I couldn’t see. “’Cording to this, your reservation was for last night, and you didn’t show. We had two people stranded here on account—”
“Of the weather, yeah, got it. Are you serious?”
“’Fraid so. One got your room, and the other—”
“The owner’s personal room. Got it. Do you have any other rooms available?”
“No, ma’am. Booked solid.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Earl, I’ll sleep in a broom closet. I’m not kidding.”
“No, ma’am. We got nothin’.”
I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to process the amount of crap that had been dumped into my lap in the last twelve hours.
“Earl . . .” Desperation thick in my voice, I said, “There’s got to be something. Do you have any place I can stay here at all? Anywhere?”
He shrugged. “You can stay with me.”
“No—No, thank you. I mean, do you have any place for me to sleep here at the hotel? Is anyone leaving today? I’ll wait. You don’t even have to clean the room. I’ll take it as is.”
“Ain’t nobody leavin’ today. Roads are too bad. Supposed to get another few inches on top of what we already have.”
“Oh my God,” I muttered, shaking my head.
I had no car, no hotel, no cell-phone reception, nothing.
“You can use the office bathroom back here to, uh, do whatever women do in bathrooms.”
“Earl.” My head tilted to the side. “Be honest. Do I really look that bad?”
“Kinda.”
I sighed.
“And the restaurant’s open, of course,” he said. “Maybe git you a bite to eat until someone can come git ya.”
Right. Whoever can come git me. Thanks.
I inhaled deeply. “Thank you, Earl. I’ll take your kind offer to use the bathroom for now.”
I’d sleep in the damn lobby until a room came available, because, what were my other options?
Earl led me behind the counter to a short hallway lined with offices. I glanced in each doorway, casing each room for a spot to sleep if I needed to. He motioned to the door at the end of the hall.
“Have at it. Spray is under the sink.”
“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
I locked myself in the bathroom, leaned my weight against the door, and began to cry.
I wasn’t a crier. Usually, I got mad when I was upset.
That day, though, I’d reached my breaking point.
I wasn’t good on little sleep, and I certainly wasn’t good on little food.
I also wasn’t good at pushing the visions of dead bodies out of my head—or very, very sexy cowboys, for that matter.
My hands curled to fists at my sides. Determined, I pushed off the wall, sucked back the snot, and made my way to the mirror. Bracing myself on the sink, I loathed the reflection staring back at me.
Puffy bags accompanied tired brown eyes—the color of poop, according to the mean girls in the elementary school cafeteria. My hair, the same color, was frizzed with tangles and knots. But my bangs—the ones I’d cut myself—were the worst of it. What was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking, and that’s the point. I never thought things through. And it was exactly that kind of carelessness that landed me in my current predicament.
Dammit, Louise. Grow up.
As I gripped the sink, staring back at myself, I thought of my life. I was thirty-one years old, living paycheck to paycheck in a one-bedroom apartment that smelled like cheese. No husband, no boyfriend, no friends-with-benefits, no kids, no dogs, no cats. No book clubs or wine clubs.
My days were spent alone, working tirelessly to keep my photography business afloat. I loved what I did, but where was I going with it? How was this job ever going to pay for a house? When was I going to turn into a real adult?
I never went to college, mainly because at eighteen I had no direction.
I still didn’t. I also grew up dirt poor, the only child of an alcoholic father who lived off the government, and a mother who’d waitressed at the same diner for two decades.
So I got a job at the local newspaper, which turned into a career in photography.
Somewhere over the years, my life had turned into the same boring routine. Morning, work. Night, work. Later night, wine, then bed. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
I’d thought about getting a dog to talk to, or maybe a cat, but I figured they deserved more than the kind of life I could provide.
Then I thought of the way Ryder had dismissed me at first glance.
Why did that bother me so much? Why did I care?
Maybe because I hadn’t been on a date since stonewash denim was in style.
But let’s be honest here. It wasn’t like the guys were knocking down my door, anyway. I was never the girl who oozed sensual confidence. I was always the wallflower who tripped over the chair on the way to get there.
I’d had sex with two men in my life. One time each.
The first, the loss of my virginity, was in the back of an extended-cab Chevy during a drive-in movie.
The second time was a decade later, after my landlord came in to change a lightbulb.
I made a joke about how many landlords it took to screw in a light bulb, and five minutes later, I was bent over the countertop.
This was the extent of action in my life, until the day I found Kara Meyers murdered in the mountains of Berry Springs.
With that morbid thought, I pushed away from the sink, my thoughts narrowing onto one focus. The entire reason I was in the small redneck town of Berry Springs.
Find the bastard who did it.