He's the One Read Free Page B

was tall and thin, with short, dark hair. I pegged
     her for one of those people who live on granola and will risk their lives to protect
     owls and old-growth timber.
    I nodded. I had no purse, and no luggage. I’d just ridden into town on a horse, and
     I was trying to hold my clothing together. I didn’t feel talkative.
    Suddenly, she smiled and put out a hand in greeting. “Nancy Beeks,” she said. “Welcome
     to the Lakeside.” She ruffled through some papers and slapped a form down on the counter,
     along with one of those giveaway pens that run out of ink when you write the third
     item on a grocery list. “You’re in Room 7. It overlooks the lake.”
    After glancing back over my shoulder to make sure no one was about to step into the
     office and get a good look at Victoria’s Secret, I took a risk and signed the form.
     “My stuff will be arriving shortly,” I said, in an offhand attempt to sound normal.
    “Sure,” Nancy said. Then she frowned. “What happened to your pants?”
    She’d probably seen me on the front of Tristan’s horse, and I didn’t want her jumping
     to any conclusions. “I—sat in something,” I said.
    She nodded sagely, as though people in her immediate circle of friends sat in things
     all the time. Maybe they did. Country life can be messy. “I could lend you something,”
     she offered.
    I flushed with relief, claiming the key to Room 7 with my free hand. “I would really
     appreciate that,” I said. There was no telling how long it would be before my car
     was delivered, along with the suitcase.
    “Hold on a second.” Nancy left the desk, and disappeared into a back room. I heard
     her feet pounding on a set of stairs, and she returned, handing me a pair of black
     polyester shorts, just as a minivan pulled into the gravel parking lot out front.
    I practically snatched them out of her hand. “Thanks.”
    A husband, a wife, and four little kids in swimming suits got out of the van, stampeding
     for the front door. I eased to one side, careful to keep my butt toward the wall.
     Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Nancy grin.
    “Heck of a mess out on the highway,” the husband announced, as he stepped over the
     threshold. He was balding, clad in plaid Bermuda shorts and a muscle shirt. The effect
     of the outfit was brave but unfortunate. “Cattle all over the place. We had to wait
     at least twenty minutes before the road was clear.”
    “Where’s the pool?” one of the kids yelled. All four of them looked ready to thumb
     their noses and jump in.
    Their mother, a harried-looking woman in a saggy sundress, brushed mouse-brown bangs
     back from her forehead. “There isn’t a pool,” she told the children, eyeing me curiously
     as I sidestepped it toward the door, still keeping my back to the wall. “You can swim
     in the lake.”
    “Excuse me,” I said, and edged past her to make a break for it, the borrowed shorts
     clutched in one hand.
    Room 7 was around back, with the promised view of the lake, but I didn’t bother to
     admire the scenery until I’d slammed the door behind me, peeled off my ruined slacks,
     and wriggled into the shorts.
    Only then did I take a look around. Tile floors, plain double bed, lamps with wooden
     bases carved to resemble the chain-saw bears I’d seen in the gas station parking lot.
     There was a battered dresser along one wall, holding up a TV that still had a channel
     dial. The bathroom was roughly the size of a phone booth, but it was clean, and that
     was all that mattered. I wouldn’t be in Parable long. Sit in on the negotiations,
     sign the papers, and I’d be out of there.
    I splashed my face with cold water and held my hair up off my neck for a few seconds,
     wishing for a rubber band.
    Going to the window, I pulled the cord and the drapes swished open to reveal the lake,
     sparkling with June sunlight. There was a long dock, and I could see the four little
     kids from the office jumping into the shallow