What's in a Name? Read Free Page B

and
stretched out her arm, extending a large Maglite.
“Whistle.”
    He accepted the light, letting his
fingers brush over her hand before her words registered. “What? Did
you say ‘whistle’?”
    “ Yes. Most wildlife
wants nothing to do with humans. Make noise. They’ll know you’re
coming and leave you alone.”
    “ Thanks. I
think.”
    He clicked on the bright beam and swept
it back and forth across the driveway as he started for the cabin.
Nothing seemed unusual, but how would he know? Every now and then
he stopped, shone the light into the bushes and up into the trees.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. At least he thought it
was an owl. Trees creaked. Bushes rustled. Or things in the bushes
rustled. But nothing came scurrying across the roadway, or swooping
down from the sky.
    The trees that lined the path brought
images of the haunted forest in one of the few books he’d owned as
a kid. It had scared him then, too—or his brother had when he’d
read it to him with melodramatic sound effects.
    Whistle? A lost cause. His mouth was
too dry to manage more than a feeble note, but he figured his
singing would scare the hell out of anything lurking in the trees.
He burst into a shaky but loud rendition of Bad, Bad Leroy
Brown .
     
    * * * * *
     
    Kelli watched as Blake worked his way
down to the cabin, sweeping the flashlight up, down and around.
Afraid of a little wildlife. Drop-dead, soap-opera-star gorgeous.
Chamomile tea, for God’s sake. He was probably gay. Heck, even his
hair looked better than hers did. The thought of Windsor under her
roof became a little less intimidating.
    She wondered if he was really going to
whistle. Instead, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown floated through the
air. She caught herself before she laughed out loud. Windsor’s
off-key singing would definitely keep the critters at bay.
    She absently rubbed her hand where
Windsor’s had touched her when he took the flashlight. A frisson
ripped through her. It had been an uncallused hand, with very
well-tended nails.
    Her mouth dried up. There was no reason
a handyman couldn’t be gay, but soft hands? Her brain whirled. It
made no sense. Undercover cop? Private detective? Didn’t fit. They
wouldn’t be spooked out here.
    Was he really going out there to keep
the project supplies safe? Or using the cover of the bikers to do
some sabotage of his own? Whoever Blake Windsor was, he was not
going to stop Camp Getaway from opening on schedule. She darted
into her room and retrieved her thirty-eight from the nightstand
drawer.
    She pulled on her parka, stuffing her
revolver into the pocket. Moving through the shadows alongside the
road, she approached the cabin, sticking to the cover of the trees.
A faint glow filtered through gaps in the plywood-covered window
openings. A moment later, Blake came out, picked up one of the new
windows propped against the exterior wall, and carried it inside.
He returned for another and she noticed the heavy work gloves on
his hands. So, he protected his hands. A fragment of tension
dissolved.
    Reminding herself it was for the kids,
she stepped forward. “What can I do?”
    He jumped but recovered quickly,
flashing her a smile. “I’m just moving everything inside. These are
custom windows. If they break, you’ll be behind schedule.”
    “ It’s good to know you
take your work seriously.”
    “ No point in doing a
job if you can’t do it right.”
    She reached for a window. Good grief,
she didn’t want to like this guy.
     
    * * * * *
     
    “ I never had my tea,”
Blake said when they were back in the house. “Please join me. It’ll
warm you up.” He gestured to the chairs beyond the counter. “Have a
seat. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”
    Kelli hadn’t spoken a word while they’d
worked and he’d backed off trying to engage her in conversation.
But he’d made progress and wasn’t going to lose what little
advantage he had.
    She hesitated and he found another mug
in the cabinet.