The Princess Problem (13 page)

“You needed this break from Christian, anyway. It’ll give you a chance to think things through, right?”

Think things through. Nice. Weren’t engaged couples supposed to be excited? Joyful? Eager? But not them. They needed to think things through. It was depressing.

“Sure,” said Honey. “But not right now. Right now it’s late, I’m starving, and apparently the clients want me to make myself at home, so I’m going to take them at their word. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay. Take care. Call me if things get weirder. Or if you find any diaries or anything.”

“I’m hanging up.”

With the sound of Jessica’s laughter still ringing in her ears, Honey headed down the hall, past a half-bath, an office with what looked like a trophy fish mounted on the wall, and into the kitchen.

It was stunning. Big and spacious, it featured a gorgeous, custom-made, log dining-room table, with cushioned ladder-back log chairs. Taller ladder-back bar stools swept up under a long, black granite counter. The kitchen sported tall, light-wood cupboards and plenty of them. French doors led outside. She really liked the layout of the house. She’d never had a taste for log cabins before, and was surprised she loved the place so much. Despite a surprising lack of frills, it felt like a home.

But to business. What was there to eat in this joint? She opened a few cupboards, hoping to find a box of cereal or the makings for toast. She wasn’t picky.

One cupboard revealed plates, another blue-tinted glasses, and finally she found the pantry. It was big, but half empty and not nearly as well-stocked as she would have suspected for people with grandchildren.

A huge bag of dog food dominated one corner of the floor. She scanned the shelves, but didn’t find any of her favorite cereals, so she lifted a box of Shredded Wheat off the shelf. It would have to do. She was hungry enough that it would probably taste like ambrosia.

Going to the counter, she found a note and lifted it to read. ‘I’ve left a plate of dinner for you in the fridge. Love, M.’

M
, huh? Honey didn’t think the note was from James Bond’s superior, but you never knew. And while the love thing was kind of weird, the plate of food sounded fantastic, so she blessed M and shrugged. Some people signed everything ‘love.’ And this family did want her to stay, so they were obviously a friendly bunch.

Suddenly feeling as if she were being watched, the hair lifted on the back of her neck and she swung and quickly glanced around.

No one was there.

Shaking her head and trying to throw off the sudden uneasiness, she looked in the fridge and found the plate of food, retrieved it and peeled the foil wrap off. Yummy. It was a homemade turkey dinner, with stuffing, mashed potatoes and green beans. These people knew how to live.

After popping it in the microwave, she wandered around while she waited, and finally sorted through a stack of magazines on the counter. She quickly realized they were all
Fish and Game
and
Outdoors
magazines. The Barons were definitely avid sportsmen.

She really wished she knew more about the family and the whole situation. Nick had been pretty closed-mouthed. He wouldn’t say why he wanted the property so badly, but she guessed she’d find out soon enough.

She briefly wondered if she ought to call Christian, but decided against it. He didn’t answer when he was miffed at her, and that only made her miffed at him. Wistfully, she hoped the time away would make him realize how much she meant to him. But she wasn’t going to dwell on that tonight. Especially not while she was hungry and tired. She loved Christian. He loved her and she just needed to keep that in the forefront of her mind.

To distract herself, she retrieved a glass and filled it with ice and water from the door of the fridge, then set it on one of the blue linen table mats. Next she grabbed a paper napkin from the counter and folded it neatly, then tried several drawers before she found one with a fork and knife. She set them out too, neat and tidy.

When the microwave dinged, she hurried over, retrieved the plate and, holding the edges with her palms, sped to the table. “Hot, hot, hot!” She set it down and took a seat.

It smelled divine.

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, she froze, then, heart pounding, slowly turned her head.

A big dog, so black she wouldn’t have seen him if his face hadn’t been pressed right up to the window, looked at her through the glass in the French doors.

She let out a breath and laughed shakily. “You scared me, boy.” 0At least she assumed it was a boy because of its massive size. It looked like a black lab, only bigger than average. She turned back to her food, lifted a steaming forkful of turkey to her mouth, then turned her head again.

The dog continued to watch her.

Remembering the dog food in the pantry, she put her fork down, wondering if he’d been fed. But even if he hadn’t, she realized she didn’t dare. He looked calm now, but she had no idea what he’d do if she opened the door.

She lifted her fork again, blew on the food, and when the dog scratched on the glass, she lowered the utensil once more.

She couldn’t take the poor beast staring at her. Especially since she didn’t know if he were hungry or not.

Moving her drink and utensils to the counter so her back would be to the dog, she went back for the hot plate.

Sitting down on one of the taller chairs, lifting her fork again, she took the first bite. “Ahhhh!” She shot out of the chair. “
Hot
! It’s too hot!” Mouth
burning
, eyes watering, she spit the food into her napkin, grabbed ice water and filled her mouth, but it was too cold after the hot food.

Choking, she dribbled water on the front of her shirt. Setting the glass down, she gulped for air. “Cold!”

Blowing air in and out of her mouth for a moment, she looked down at the food, then at the splotch of water on the front of her shirt. Retrieving another napkin, she wiped her mouth and dabbed at her damp shirt, glad the clients weren’t there. She glanced at the French doors. It was bad enough the dog had witnessed her bad manners.

After a quick search for a garbage can, she threw away both napkins, then looked wistfully at the food. She had no desire to burn her mouth again. Taking a small sip of water, she let it soothe her tongue, then snagged a nearby magazine off the stack on the counter and flipped through the pages.

Luckily she found a funny article in the back, and when she’d finished reading it, tentatively tried the food again.

It was just right.

When dinner and clean up were over, Honey tried to decide what to do. She checked her watch and realized it was almost ten o’clock. She was tired, had been up since five a.m., and wouldn’t mind having an early night. But until her hosts returned home, she saw no choice but to wait. So TV sounded like a good option. How late could they be?

Wandering back into the living room, she peeked out the front blinds, but hers was still the only car parked in the driveway. She wondered if anything could have happened to the Barons. She, more than most people, was well aware that accidents happened. Sometimes tragic ones to innocent people.

She let go of the blind. She was getting morbid and it was time to think about something else.

She turned on the TV, grabbed the remote and tried the favorite settings. They were all set to sports channels. She flipped through true crime, action, weather, commercials, a couple of reality shows, nothing good until she found a romantic comedy.

With a smile, she sat in the biggest of the three log-and-cushion chairs to watch the show. But the chair was big and firm and she couldn’t get comfortable. Her feet dangled and she didn’t want to take off her shoes when the Barons could show up at any moment, so she switched to a different chair.

Better, but the big cushion was a little soft and she sank down into the seat.

“Third time’s a charm.” She moved to the last and smallest chair and settled in.

It was just right.

She pulled the comforter off the back of the chair, it stuck a little, so she gave a tug to free it, then spread it over her knees, and settled back to relax.

A creaking sound accompanied a wrenching, jarring movement, and the chair broke apart, throwing Honey to the floor where she banged her hip. Horror and disbelief rushed through her as, flat on her back, she stared up at the log beam in the ceiling. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Panting a little, she struggled out of the mess and stood. Both hands flew to her mouth and her face burned as she frantically eyed the mess. “
This is unbelievable. How could this happen
?”

The log and cushion chair lay broken into pieces, a few clamps gripping wood in strategic places, and one wood clamp on the floor amid the mess.

Someone had been fixing the chair.

The throw-quilt over the back had hidden the clamps and she must have pulled one loose when she’d tugged on the blanket and her weight had done the rest.

“This is so awful,” she whispered.

Reaching down, she pulled at one piece of wood and it came completely free of the others. She closed her eyes for a moment, then glanced around. “
What do I do
?”

She felt like grabbing her stuff, running out, and leaving forever. She actually stared at the door for a long moment before remembering the glue on the mantle.

Maybe she could fix the chair? Re-glue and re-clamp it? Maybe the Baron family wouldn’t be home for a while longer?

She thought about calling Nick for advice, but quickly threw out the notion. Her boss had sent her to charm them, not to destroy their property.

Her dad? He didn’t know a lot about fix-it stuff, but probably more than she did. Or Christian might be able to help, but again, she knew he wouldn’t answer the phone. She blew out a breath and looked at the mess. This didn’t look like something that could be explained over the phone, anyway.

So what should she do? Leave it and try and explain the cringe-worthy mess to her hosts?

She shook her head once more. She had glue, she had clamps, she had to at least try.

***

Forty minutes later, she was done. The chair was upside down, but back together, and she didn’t dare try to turn it over again. She wasn’t out to hide what she’d done, anyway. She’d glued and clamped the three pieces, and it looked okay. She was going to bed. Explanations could wait until morning.

She stood, and from the higher perspective, the chair looked kind of . . . off.

Tears filled her eyes. She’d just pay for the darn thing. She’d buy them a new one. Even if it was custom-made and ended up costing her two weeks’ wages.

Feeling tired, cranky and frustrated, Honey grabbed her suitcase, and went upstairs to look for a bed. There were four doors, and the first opened into a bedroom overlooking the front yard. She flipped on the light and peeked inside.

A queen-sized bed, a nightstand with a picture of a group of kids, an alarm clock, and a book. A rocking chair sat in the corner. There were no personal effects, but the gorgeous cream-colored quilt on the bed was obviously handmade and sported ducks, coyotes and pine trees. It definitely looked like a guest room.

She walked in, dropped her purse and suitcase, sat on the bed and bounced on the mattress. There wasn’t much give. In fact, it was hard.

She sighed. This night just kept getting better and better. She turned her head to the open closet door, and shot back off the bed. Clothes hung in the closet, and boots and shoes neatly lined the floor. She quickly gathered her things and left the room.

The second door led to a big bathroom with a tile floor, a vanity with matching basins and silver-framed mirrors, and both a shower and a jetted tub. Nice. Very nice. She could picture herself taking a bubble bath, but not tonight. Not when her hosts could come home at any moment.

Going to the third door, she went inside, flipped on the light and looked around. A huge, foam cushion chair dominated the floor. Playstation paddles led back to a box on top of a television, and a shelf with DVDs was attached to the wall. It was conceivable that it could be a guest room. Children would certainly enjoy sleeping on the giant, oversized cushion.

Going inside the room, she set her things down and gingerly sank down on the foam-filled suede. It was very soft. She lay back and wiggled. Perhaps it was too soft. She really couldn’t see herself sleeping there the entire night. There was no blanket and she felt as though she might sink right inside and suffocate. Getting up, she hoped for better luck with the last door.

Pushing it open, she went inside and breathed a sigh of relief. A king-sized bed dominated the room and a few hunting trophies graced the top of the dresser, but no family pictures or anything like that. A gray quilt spread over the bed. Nice, but spartan. Out of the three,
this
had to be the guest room.

Dropping her purse and bag, she sat on the bed. The mattress was
much nicer
. Kicking off her shoes, she sank full length on the bed, pressed her face into one of the pillows and sighed. It was better than nice. Not too hard, not too soft, it was just right.

Rolling off the bed, she retrieved pajamas and toiletries and headed for the bathroom. At this point, she didn’t even have a desire to meet up with the owners until morning. If she’d blown the deal when she’d broken the furniture, tomorrow would be soon enough to find out about it.

She brushed her teeth, pulled her thick hair back into a ponytail, washed off her makeup, and accidentally drenched the front of her hair in the process. She dried her face with a towel, and quickly patted her hair but it was too late. It started to curl. The tiniest hint of moisture and she frizzed out. It had taken her forever to straighten it that morning. Tears pricked her eyes again. Frizzy hair was the final straw.

Wasn’t it enough that she’d worked a full day, had a fight with Christian, driven three hours, and then all the problems she’d encountered here at the client’s house? Not to mention she was starting her brokerage class in the morning, and was completely stressed out about that? And now curls?