Page 9 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“Nice try, Emma-brat.” He booped her on the nose but kept his hand well away from her belly. “I know a trap when I see one.”

Unaffected by his refusal to take the bait, Emma jumped off the swing, trotted down the steps and across the sidewalk, pausing at the street, then crossing to make her way up the B and B steps. Obligingly, Mildred opened her door just enough to let the cat inside.

“Fine,” Steven muttered. “I’m fine.” He sipped his cold tea as the swing slowed to a creaking stop.

With the cat gone, and then, shortly after everyone had gone inside, Lucky coming out to move the car into the parking lot and carry in luggage, there didn’t seem to be much more point to staying out on the porch in the failing light.

Steven sighed and pushed to his feet. His stomach gurgled, protesting the overabundance of tea and lack of solid food.

“Fine.” Taking his mug, he went to the door, which, for one heart-stopping moment, refused to open for him. He yanked harder, the door squalled loudly against the frame as it popped open, and Steven breathed again.

“Don’t do that shit to me, house,” he grumbled as he wandered inside to the kitchen. A glance through the fridge full of condiments and raw vegetables had him settling on a microwave supper from the freezer.

He got about halfway through the meal before it felt like the salt was sucking all the elasticity out of his arteries and he had to put it aside. With a sigh, he pushed the wheeled TV tray away from the tiny couch in his father’s office, then stretched out his legs.

“Maybe I should get a dog.”

Faintly, he heard the lock on the front door of the house click.

“Very funny,” he told it. “But this is a big place. Plenty of room for a pet.”

The back door closed with a thump.

“The other two aren’t coming back, you know. Not really. Not once Steph buys that little house she wants, and you know she’s going to. A pet would make it less lonely for both of us. It would be good company for me after everyone else moves out, and for you. You know, when I go out and leave you alone.”

The lock clicked open with a hopeful snap.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. Pushing to his feet, he picked up the half-finished meal. “Better deal with this, I guess.”

The house’s attention followed him from room to room, dimming lights as he left and brightening when he reached the kitchen. The back door opened for him when he tied up the kitchen garbage to put it out. On the porch, the light brightened to near daylight incandescence. When he came back in, the door swung ever-so-slowly shut, and took a long, agonizing minute to finally clasp.

“Thanks.” He absently patted the door.

As he was glancing around the kitchen, trying to decide what to do next, a bell over the opening between the kitchen and the office dinged. There were three of them there. One labelled SHOP, one JAKE, and one LABYRINTH OF DOOM, all with Sharpie-written yellow sticky notes. It was the shop bell that had rung, and Steven hurried to the front of the building to greet the couple he’d seen leaving the B and B earlier.

“Evening.” He grinned at them, and they smiled and nodded back. “I’m Steven. Just let me know if you have any questions or want something specific.”

“Thanks. I’m Becky, and this is Josh. We’re staying across the street. At the B and B.”

“It’s a great little place. Lucky and Kreed are fantastic hosts.”

“The food is so good,” Becky gushed.

Josh had wandered off to look through a rack of back-dated Motorcycle Mojo issues. “Hey, Beck, I don’t have this issue.”

“But do you need it?” She half grinned and rolled her eyes to Steven, then turned to Josh, who proceeded to defend his need for All The Issues.

Steven let them debate in peace, while he opened a battered box at the front counter and proceeded to inventory the vintage Harlequin Romances inside.

By the time they left, he’d emptied the box, then refilled it with their purchases—fully a third of the Harlequins and over a dozen old motorcycle magazines. Part of him wondered if the items would appear on eBay in a few weeks, but a larger part of him didn’t care. The money in his till from the sale would pay a bill or two, and that’s all that really mattered to him.

Once he’d watched them haul their finds back across the street to the Oaks, he turned out the shop lights, flipped the OPEN/CLOSED sign and locked the outer door.

“Another day, another dollar.” He patted the front counter, and the till jingled faintly. He pulled out the drawer, taking it with him to the kitchen, locking the door between the shop and his living quarters behind him, then sitting to count out the float for the next morning.

He’d finished balancing the receipts, updating the books and making the deposit bag when his twin sister, Stephanie, let herself in the back door.

“Hey, Sis.”