A shiver crept down her spine. “This house is in the middle of nowhere.”
Alastair’s only response was a light snore. Jet lag had caught up with him, and he’d fallen asleep two hours ago. Still, she was glad he was there in the passenger seat and she wasn’t alone. In a dark, creepy forest.
For the hundredth time, she glanced at the GPS that came with the rental car. It claimed she was right on target. Then why was she feeling so uneasy?
Another shiver skittered across her skin, raising the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. She turned on the heat. Ever since they’d entered the forest, she’d become increasingly on edge. Her nerves tingled, as if she expected something to happen around the next bend.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and gasped when a shadowy form moved across the road. Her heart lurched, then settled back down as she realized it was just a deer. Thank God it had jumped onto the road behind the car and not in front.
With a tightened grip on the steering wheel, she glanced again at the rearview mirror. What the hell? There was a whole herd of deer in the road. Looking at her.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Too much caffeine. That had to be it. She glanced at the huge cup of coffee in the cup holder. She’d gulped it down to make sure she stayed awake.
It had been a horribly long day, starting with their flight from London to New York City, a train ride to White Plains, and then a rental car for the trip to the foothills of the Adirondacks. They should have spent the night in Albany. They were both exhausted, but for some strange reason, the owner of the house had insisted on meeting them at ten o’clock tonight, so they had pressed on to make the appointment.
She’d felt fine for the first part of the drive. She loved to travel and see new places, and the Hudson Valley had been lovely. But then the sun had set, and they’d left the main road to enter a forest that seemed endless. She hadn’t passed another car in over an hour.
The road curved back and forth around the foothills, like a dark ribbon that had caught her and was pulling her deeper and deeper into the forest. Definitely dark and creepy, but oddly enough, she felt more excited than afraid. She felt . . . compelled.
She drove up a steep hill, cresting it just as the nearly full moon emerged from clouds. Moonbeams shot out, illuminating the forest before her as if an artist had painted the treetops with luminous silver. Her breath caught, and her foot lifted off the accelerator. For just a second, it felt as if time stretched out, as endless and ancient as the woods.
It was beautiful. More than beautiful. It was . . .
She shook her head. Sleep deprivation was making her imagine things. She’d never lived in a dark and creepy forest. She’d always been a city girl.
Alastair stirred in the passenger seat. “Sorry, luv. Didn’t mean to conk out on you.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s bloody hot in here.”
“Sorry.” She turned off the heat. “The forest was giving me the willies.”
He peered out the side window. “Blimey. Where the hell are we?”
Elsa smiled to herself. Whenever Alastair was half asleep his Cockney accent slipped through. But as he became more awake, he sounded increasingly like Mr. Darcy. “The town of Cranville should be coming up soon. Then it’s another ten miles to the house.”
“Excellent.” Alastair stretched. “Perhaps the town will have an inn.”
“You know, it might be hard to get supplies out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“It could prove difficult, I give you that. But so far, all of our shows have taken place in metropolitan areas. I believe it would behoove us to try a different locale.”
Elsa’s mouth twitched. He was now in full Darcy mode. He’d probably want to stop in Cranville for tea and crumpets. “Well, if it would behoove us, then we’d better do it. I haven’t been behooved in years.”
He snorted. “Naughty wench. Ah, I see lights ahead.”
She slowed the car as they entered the town of Cranville. Most of the businesses were closed for the night.
“Aha!” Alastair peered out his window. “An inn. Of sorts. And it has vacancies. A bit rustic looking, but I’ve seen worse.” He turned to face front and blinked. “Where did the town go?”
“That was it.”
“Blimey.” He cleared his throat. “I daresay this location will be a challenge.”
With a smile, she nodded. She was used to challenges. It had been a challenge to work with Alastair at first. He was slim and fine-boned and, to be honest, prettier than her. The wardrobe department loved him because he looked so dapper and elegant in a designer suit. With her, they highlighted her size and shape, usually with shorts that displayed her long legs and tight T-shirts that hugged her chest. Short-sleeved T-shirts, since they always made sure that the strange red birthmark on her shoulder was covered.
Alastair’s sandy hair was always perfectly cut and groomed, while her long hair was so wild that the makeup artists had surrendered in despair and pulled it back into a ponytail. The end result: Alastair looked like he traveled in a chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce, and she looked like she’d arrived in an old pickup truck.
Even Alastair’s movements were graceful, while she felt huge and cumbersome. At six foot two, she was three inches taller than Alastair. Four inches taller than Oskar. In the very first episode of
It had hurt. But she had smiled and done her job. After all, where on earth could she get a better job than this? Traveling around the world, transforming ruined old houses into masterpieces— it was a dream come true.
The show’s producers loved the irony that the big, tough guy on the show was the girl. That’s why they had hired her. For the first time in her life, her size had worked to her advantage. She was a lucky girl. A very large and lucky girl.
She sighed. Would there ever be a time in her life when she didn’t feel large? Didn’t feel like her entire identity centered on her size? Even the fan mail she received came from other large women who praised her, not for her building skills or talented woodwork but for being bold enough to show off her size. As if she had any choice? No diet on earth could make her shorter.
After another five minutes of driving, the GPS system guided her to take the next left. She turned onto an even narrower road. The forest crowded in, thicker than ever. Darker. Creepier.
Three minutes later, she turned right onto a gravel road. Tiny pebbles pinged against the underside of the car, and she slowed to a crawl.
“I think we’ll have to surface this driveway.” Alastair leaned forward as they came around a bend and the forest stopped. “There it is!”
Elsa’s breath caught. It was larger than she’d expected. And even more beautiful than the photo the owner had e-mailed them. “It’s magnificent.”
The two-story gatehouse sat at the end of a circular drive. The forest had been cleared around it, but the yard was overgrown and wild.
“Look at the cupola on top.” Alastair grinned. “I love it! It reminds me of Monticello.”
“Yes.” Elsa nodded, smiling. “It’s very . . . stately. And elegant.” She pulled to a stop parallel to the house and pointed at the floodlights on each end. “They have a generator. That’s good.”
Alastair peered out his window. “Redbrick, colonial Federalist style. We’ve done just about every architectural style but that one.”
“And it would behoove us to do something different,” she added with a wry smile.
“Precisely. We need variety.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “I can’t wait to see the interior. When is the owner supposed to arrive?”
Elsa glanced at the clock before turning the car off. “We have ten minutes.”
He opened his car door. “I need to make a pit stop in the woods, if you catch my drift, and then I’ll take a look around.” He grabbed a flashlight, then stepped out, his feet crunching in the gravel. “Text me when the owner arrives. What was her name again?”
