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Inch by cautious inch, she sat up to peer into the darkness, but only the clock on the bedside table had any substance. Twelve thirty-six, it declared precisely in bilious, luminescent green.
Another soft groan floated into the darkness and Marlie gasped, yet squint as she might, she couldn’t see a thing.
Clutching the blankets to her chin, she considered hurling them over her head. Hey, it worked, didn’t it? Certainly the maneuver had taken care of monsters when she was a kid.
The eerie sound began again, starting on a soft note then gathering strength for another stretch of oral misery. Yep, she was heading under the covers.
Suddenly, however, the building ooo-ooohs snorted and strangled and gasped themselves into an explosive and decidedly damp Ker-choo!
Ghosts don’t sneeze!
Without thinking, Marlie reached out a hand and switched on the bedside lamp.
The room was empty.
Her gaze swung to the door, but the chain was still on, the deadbolt still in place. The room’s one window was up, but only about three inches, the exact amount Marlie had raised it. Surely no self-respecting intruder would come through a window, then close it behind him once he was in the room. Besides, she was on the second floor.
The second double bed, a match to the old-fashioned iron one she slept in, was a mess of sheets and blankets, the way it had been when she arrived only a half hour before. Marlie hadn’t minded.
Her friend Jill’s blithe assertion that she wouldn’t need reservations had been sadly mistaken. A large amateur astronomy group was in the area and the stargazers who weren’t camping filled every available room in town.
Marlie had tried every hotel in Fort Davis, but only Ann, the desk clerk at the Hotel Limpia, had taken pity on her after one look at Marlie’s exhausted face.
By chance, the Limpia did have a room, Ann told her. It seemed its former occupant had checked in but left the room almost immediately. Unfortunately, he’d been involved in an automobile accident and was now in the hospital.
Since the room had been secured with a credit card but not actually paid for, Marlie could have it if she didn’t mind it being briefly used by someone else and therefore not in the hotel’s usual pristine condition.
Marlie didn’t mind, but would the former occupant?
Ann had laughed, saying the man was a local and an old school friend who would like even less being charged for a room he didn’t use.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Marlie took it.
When she was shown to the room at the end of the old-fashioned hall upstairs—a double; the man, too, had taken what he could get—a duffel bag still sat on the floor beside one of the two beds. The bed itself was heavily disarranged, but when Ann went to straighten it, Marlie told her not to bother. She would be sleeping in the other one anyway.
The desk clerk left, taking the man’s bag and toiletries with her and giving a last apology for the used towels in the bathroom. There were clean ones in the cabinet.
By then so tired she felt like a wet noodle, Marlie simply pulled off her clothes, slathered herself with lotion and tumbled into the untouched bed. She was not so exhausted, however, that she hadn’t known for a positive fact there was no one in the room but herself.
Yet the moan had sounded so close.
Slowly, cautiously, Marlie leaned over the edge of her bed to peer under it.
Nada. Not even a dust bunny.
But while she was bent over, practically standing on her head with her rump still on the mattress, another massive sneeze made her jump so hard she had to catch herself to keep from tumbling onto the floor. She whipped upright, only to hear a sniff of what clearly had to be congestion…then, incredibly, the sound of someone honking into a handkerchief or tissue.
Another moan, a short one this time. A sigh. Another sniff.
Silence.
And there was no one but herself in the room!
Absolutely stunned, Marlie leaned slowly back against the pillows—and reality struck.
This was an old hotel, built around the turn of the century, Ann had said. Old hotels had thin walls. A man—it was definitely a masculine sneeze—in the next room had a cold and didn’t mind moaning and groaning about it.
Mystery solved.
Letting out a relieved sigh and feeling a little foolish, Marlie clicked off the lamp and snuggled back under the warmth of the covers.
But just as her eyes drifted blissfully shut, she heard a sniff and another low moan, though now the sounds seemed muffled, as if whoever it was had turned his face into a pillow.
Thanks be for that, Marlie thought sleepily, and did no more thinking at all until she awoke early the next morning to the sound of birdsong and what Fort Davis called traffic.
Caid swung his legs over the side of the bed and immediately clutched his head with both hands to keep it anchored to his shoulders.
God, it hurt. He probably had a mild concussion.
Too bad. He didn’t have time to see a doctor. What would a doctor tell him anyway but to stay quiet, drink plenty of liquids, etcetera, and don’t take any naps? But, though he didn’t remember actually getting into bed, he had slept and hadn’t wakened up dead, so no problem there except the headache from hell.
And his allergies giving him fits.
The thought of breakfast made him queasy, but he’d find coffee and an aspirin at The Drugstore before heading on to the bank and his appointment with Miles Durig.
When he stood, however, the room tilted and it took a moment of standing with his eyes squeezed shut before the floor settled down.
When he could open them, the first thing his gaze landed on was the clock. Holy smoke, it was 9:05! He was already five minutes late.
Where the hell was his duffel bag? He needed fresh clothes. The shirt he’d worn yesterday had bloodstains all over the front and shoulders. So where was his bag, dammit? He’d left it by the bed before going back to the ranch yesterday afternoon.
Striding to the old-fashioned wardrobe, swallowing bile induced by his pounding head, Caid yanked open one of its two doors.
What the hell? Clothes hung there but, since he didn’t wear skirts, they damn sure weren’t his. And his bag wasn’t there.
This was his room, right?
Yes, he’d used his key to get in. It had to be his room. There was his hat, still hanging on the corner of the mirror where he’d forgotten it yesterday.
Hell of a thing, a rancher forgetting his hat.
He opened the other door and was relieved to see his jeans and bloodstained shirt hanging just where he’d placed them, his boots side by side on the closet floor with his socks inside them and his briefs in the plastic bag supplied by the hotel. The bag with his change of clothing, however, wasn’t there.
Well, hell. He hated to wear dirty clothes, but he didn’t have time to track down his bag. By now, everyone in Fort Davis knew about the accident anyway. The town was like that.
The three cowboys who’d given him a ride into town had stopped at the sheriff’s office and Caid, hardly able to speak because his head hurt so badly, left them to make the report while he crossed the street to the hotel. Sheriff Elan knew where to find him if he needed more information.
Elan’s secretary would have typed up the report first thing this morning, and by now everyone and his dog would be discussing it anywhere in town serving breakfast.
All of which meant Caid and Durig could have a friendly chuckle over his bloodstained shirt without Caid doing any unnecessary explaining, and then they could settle down to business. No problem.
Since he’d showered last night, all he needed was a quick shave and he was outta here. His kit was in the bathroom so at least he knew where that was.
The bathroom, however, produced another surprise. For one thing, there were women’s toiletries all over the counter. For another, it had the steaminess of recent use. And for a third, damn it all, his kit was nowhere to be found.
To hell with it. He didn’t have time now to get huffy with the staff or find out what in blazes was going on, but they were damn sure gonna hear from him later.
Eyeing the proliferation of feminine articles, Caid used what he could. He wasn’t about to use the woman’s toothbrush, but he used his finger and her toothpaste, then shaved himself in record time with her pink disposable razor.
Grimacing, he put on his socks, stepped into yesterday’s briefs and jeans and tugged on his boots. He was avoiding putting on his blood-soaked shirt and he knew it, but he had to wear something.
He glanced at the closet door. All he’d seen earlier was feminine clothing, but maybe her husband’s things were hidden among the frills. If so, he’d borrow a shirt and explain later. For that matter, once he had the loan against the sale of his five hundred acres, he’d buy the guy a new one.
The closet held nothing but feminine disappointment. As Caid went to close the door, however, his gaze fell on a long, brown-plaid sleeve.
Hmm. Pulling out the garment, he held it up consideringly and found a woman’s cotton jacket with western shirt styling. Best of all, it was huge, extra-wide shouldered and boxy, with detachable shoulder pads.
In seconds, Caid had the pads out and the shirt on. Not too bad, he thought, eyeing himself in the mirror. The shirt was tight across the shoulders maybe and pulled a little at the chest, but it was clean.
He rolled the too-short sleeves up his forearms, snagged his hat and headed out the door. He had to shoulder his way through a lobby full of milling tourists, but finally stood on the Limpia’s front porch in the bright morning sunshine.
Inhaling deeply, he grinned. Nowhere in the world had summer mornings like the Davis Mountains.
But that deep breath played hell with his delicate head, and when he went to put on his hat, he found he couldn’t tolerate that either. Fortunately, the bank was just across the square from the hotel.
He wished he’d had time for a cup of coffee, but Durig would give him one.
Two hours later Caid was back at the hotel, dismayed, disbelieving and totally disturbed. No one had given him a cup of coffee.
Hell, no one had given him the time of day.
Marlie had breakfast at The Drugstore, the oddly named restaurant across from the hotel, then shopped a little before returning to her room to change into hiking boots. The state park three miles out of town had a couple of good hiking trails, she’d been told.
Driving to the park, admiring the mountain scenery and shallow, sun-sparkled Limpia Creek running beside the highway, Marlie did her best to forget the last semester of school where she was counselor at Martinez High in San Antonio. And since hiking was right up there with sweaty necks on Nicholas’s hate list, she managed to keep him out of her thinking, too.
That evening when she walked into the lobby of the hotel, she was pleasantly tired and pleasantly full, having had dinner and watched the sun set at the restaurant in the park.
Ann smiled at her in greeting. “Good evening, Ms. Simms. How was your day?”
“Wonderful, thanks. This is a beautiful area.”
“It is, and I say it as one who’s lived here all my life. Is everything all right in your room?”
“Everything’s fine. It took me a while to get used to the thin walls, but I suppose that’s a minor price to pay for the hotel’s history. The man in the next room kept me awake for a while with his moaning and sneezing. Sounds like he’s coming down with a cold.”
“I’m sorry,” Ann apologized. “We’ve never had anyone complain about noise through the walls before. Actually, they’re pretty thick. I’m even more surprised because there are two maiden ladies in the room next to yours, both probably in their seventies.”
“One of the sweet things has a sneeze like a water buffalo,” Marlie replied with a grin. “But once I knew where the sound came from, I had no problem sleeping through it.”
She glanced around the deserted lobby. “After the crowd this morning, it’s certainly quiet now. Where is everyone?”
“Out looking at the stars. Most of them won’t be in till the wee hours.”
“Then would anyone mind if I browse the hotel bookshelves and read for a while in the parlor?”
“Not at all. We want our guests to feel at home.”
“Be right back,” Marlie said as she headed up the old-fashioned staircase to pull off her hiking boots.
When Caid heard a key rattle in the lock, he turned away from the window and his perusal of the street below to deliberately step toward the center of the room.
The door swung open and a woman entered, switching on the overhead light as she did so. His roomie, apparently.
Somewhere between mid-to late-twenties, she had short tousled brown hair, a snub nose with a dusting of freckles across it, a generous mouth, and eyes that he couldn’t tell the color of but which were bordered with thick lashes the same shade as her hair. She was a little on the short side perhaps, but feisty with it, he could tell.
The woman was just plain cute, he thought, the kind of cute that in a puppy would make him want to take her home.
She also completely ignored him. A strange man stood in the middle of her hotel room and she didn’t so much as back up a step.
Caid rubbed a tired hand over his mouth and jaw. He’d been getting the same reaction all day…or lack of it. People he’d known all his life looked through him as if he wasn’t there. He’d gotten right in Durig’s face at the bank and yelled at him, but Durig hadn’t even blinked.
After failing to get anyone at the bank to notice him, Caid went to The Drugstore to buy aspirin and get a cup of coffee. Though he sat at the counter right in front of the kid behind it, no one waited on him. He finally dropped change by the cash register, took a bottle of aspirin off the shelf and left to walk to the garage where they’d towed his truck.
The vehicle was a mess and certainly not drivable, but when Caid tried to talk to Jimmy to get the lowdown on repairs, the garage owner ignored him, too. An oil stain had better conversation.
Totally frustrated and even more totally bewildered, Caid used a public telephone to call the ranch. He didn’t like what happened then, either.
“This is the Rollin’ M,” Waldo snarled, his usual way of answering the phone.
“Waldo, it’s Caid. I need you to drive into town and pick me—” Caid began.
“Hello? Hello?”
“It’s me,” Caid said loudly. “Turn up your hearing aid, dammit. I need you to…”
But he was speaking to a dead phone. Swearing, Caid dug into his jeans for more change and punched in the ranch number again.
“Rollin’ M, and buster, you better have somethin’ to say. I ain’t got time for this,” Waldo spat.
“It’s Caid. Can you hear me? I need—”
The response was an earful of profanity that would make a stevedore blush.
“It’s me!” Caid yelled at the top of his lungs. “Listen up, Waldo. I need—”
Dial tone.
Defeated, Caid replaced the receiver.
