Before the Rain Read Free Page B

nowhere.
    Before she rang the doorbell, a short, stocky woman wearing curlers and a flour-dusted apron stepped out in brown slippers. “Can I help you?”
    “Ms. Mostyn, I presume?”
    The woman’s brow went up and she cocked an arm to her hip. “ Ia , what can I do you for?”
    “I’m Zoe Chantilly, Lucy’s sister. I’m sure she told you I was coming. I’m using the time she had left on her one-year lease.”
    She shook her head. “I dunno. No one mentioned anything of the sort, so it goes.”
    “I’m certain all this was arranged, and I have the printed-out email a Mr. Dylan Mostyn sent to confirm.” Zoe produced the paper from her purse and presented it to the woman. “See.”
    Ms. Mostyn waved the paper away. “I’m sure you’re right. But Dylan will be home shortly, we’ll wait for him.”
    “Wait? How long will he be?”
    “He won’t be long.”
    “I’ve been in Dolgellau for several hours now, and y’all are giving me the runaround. All I want is a hot bath and a hot meal.”
    The woman sniggered. “Dol-gel-laa? I think you mean Doch-ell-aye, lass. The locals will tear you to bits if they hear you call the village Dol-gel-laa.”
    The plump, scowling woman poked her chubby index finger through a curl dangling over her eyebrow and pulled on it. The tendril bounced right back then bobbed with every syllable she spoke.
    “Is that so?”
    “Yes. Now, use your tongue when you’re pronouncing Welsh. Stick it on the roof of your mouth and round out those vowels. Try it. Go on.”
    Zoe twiddled the perfume bottle between her fingers, patience sliced thin. Not that she planned to spray the woman. Not yet, anyway. “Do you have the keys for me, or did I travel all day for nothing?”
    “Calm down. I meant no harm.” Her smirk told a different story.
    “Ma’am, I’m real tired, and I’m pretty darn close to losing my cool.”
    Ms. Mostyn tsked. “Your sister was rude, too.”
    And Lucy said you were cagey.
    Zoe rolled her shoulders to release muscle knots that had been tightening ever since arriving in Wales. So much for a relaxing break. But she realized she’d been less than patient with the woman. “I’m sorry for my bad manners. It’s been a super long day and I really am exhausted.”
    “Of course, I wish I could give you the keys. Only Dylan knows where they are.” Ms. Mostyn gazed toward the front gate of the property and beamed. “Perfect timing, here he is now.”
    Zoe clenched the little bottle in her pocket and craned her neck to see who approached.
    The pickup not worth a shit pulled up around the side and out jumped the Welshman.
    Dylan Mostyn, she presumed. Great.
    What had Lucy gotten her into?
    “Right on time. Dylan will get you sorted out.”
    Mr. Mostyn strode to the door, all catalogue model-esque with his height and muscular body.
    The muddy black-and-white dog skidded from the side of the house, and the man’s face softened. A smile crept over his face.
    The scruffy animal raced to Mr. Mostyn’s feet, then matched his stride while barking out his greeting.
    “ Helo . Dylan. What’s occurring with the cottage? This young girl here says she’s Lucy’s sister and that she’s here for a few months and what have you.”
    “That’s right, Aunty.” He patted the dog on the head, and the animal bounced up his step. “So you found the place, Chantilly. Brilliant.”
    “You didn’t tell me we had a tenant for the cottage, Dylan.” Betty shook her head. “I’d have been more welcoming. Where are the keys?”
    “Hanging by the coat rack in the kitchen. Where we always keep them.”
    Ms. Mostyn smirked. “Oh yeah, I forgot so I did. I’ll go get them. Just a tick.” Betty scurried off.
    Zoe turned to him. “Yes, you might’ve mentioned something, Mr. Mostyn.”
    “To who? You or Betty?”
    “Me.”
    “Yeah, what should I have said?” He raked his thick fingers through his mop, brushed his bangs to the side, and sighed. “I only agreed to let you stay