Lately, he'd called a lot more often than usual.
Today would be very different, however, because we'd be face-to-face for the first time. For half a second, I stalled this confrontation while trying to picture what he looked like. Mark and I had always spoken on the phone. He called me out of the blue one day, declared his need for an accountant, and proceeded to tell me about every business venture he'd ever started. For a man that hated details, he had a mind like a steel trap.
Plus, I'd seen his tax returns too many times. He was overly generous on charitable contributions—to the point he sabotaged any profit from his company. A bit of a bleeding heart, really.
Blonde, I'd guess. He sounded nice enough on the phone, so probably straight-laced, with short hair like a businessman and clean dress. He was single—at least his tax returns weren't filed jointly—and had no other income besides his own. Slight of frame, maybe. Like Ryan Gosling?
With a jolt, I shook my head. No, I had to stop assigning actors to everyone I met. It just . . . made people easier to approach.
With a shove, I forced myself out of my little car and into the pounding rain. It slammed into my shoulders while I shut the car door, then skirted the edges of a dirt pathway filled with water. Mud squished under my shoes as I hurried under an eave and forced myself to knock. The only thing that kept me moving was momentum. If I thought too hard about this, I'd just leave.
Ten seconds after I knocked, the door flew open. Out of sheer nerves, my heart fell all the way to the pit of my stomach.
And then I burst out laughing.
A tall, broad-shouldered bear of a man glowered at me. He had brown hair, almost black, that stuck up in odd angles from the back of his head. His beard hadn't been trimmed in days. He wore no shirt and gray sweat pants with a pair of flip flops on his feet. My glance was quick, but he certainly wasn't slight or business-like in any sense of the word.
The man had muscles.
A hibernating bear came to mind first. Hardly Ryan Gosling. Hardly what I always pictured on the other end of the phone. Somehow, though, this was better. First, who would mess with me if that scowl came to the door? Not many. Second, I could fit his voice with this guy.
This was a wild Mark Bailey.
Quickly, I drown my amusement in the face of his dark annoyance. Now that I thought about it, this may not even be Mark. He spoke about a brother, JJ, often enough. Behind him was a warm-appearing cabin, with a snapping fire that let out heat. A trickle of rain ran down my back, and I shivered.
"Are you lost?" he asked.
"No, I . . . I'm looking for Mark Bailey."
His eyebrows lifted. When he said nothing more, I realized that was the only response I could expect.
"Are you Mark?"
He nodded. I rolled my lips to school my laugh. No, I couldn't laugh at him again. He'd hear the wild hysteria. The tinge of desperation and fear and uncertainty that belied everything in my life now. Then he'd turn me away.
"I . . . I'm . . ."
My name hovered on the end of my tongue. Stella Marie. Did I dare say Marie? I'd always run my accounting business through my middle name—didn't want the world to know my first name, felt too much like an invasion—so the two names together may not clue him into who I was.
But maybe the sound of my voice and the name Marie would get him to thinking.
In a perfect world, I'd get through this confrontation without him knowing who I was. Mark tried to hide it, but he was always frustrated with me. Didn't like when I curbed his wild ideas with sound financial sense. If there was one thing Mark felt like he didn't have, it was time. He was in a hurry for everything even though he was what, 31? Two years older than me?
Money didn't always run at the same speed as Mark, and that galled him to no end.
"My name is Stella Marie," I finally said. Grandma had named me. You are Stella Marie, she always said. Not just Stella. Be proud of your heritage. So it felt strange to hear Stella without the Marie.
Even now.
His gaze tapered further. I swallowed a squeak of fear and the desire to ask if I could come inside. No, of course, I shouldn't ask that. I wouldn't let me inside if I were him. He hadn't let go of the door, giving me unparalleled access to his abs. By sheer willpower, I kept my gaze on his face.
"What are you doing here, Stella Marie?"
"I . . . I need some help. I heard you might have a cabin to rent."
Confusion clouded his annoyance. "Who told you that?"
No one, I thought. Just the hope deep in my heart and what I know of your world.
"Oh, just driving through town." I waved an airy hand in the vague direction that I thought Pineville would be. "I need a place to stay and I'm willing to pay cash. Maybe just for a month or so?"
His brow furrowed.
Please, I thought. Please don't care about these details. You never have before . . .
"Who in town told you to come here?"
Dagnabbit. Of course, he had to ask questions now of all times. The conversation we'd had a few months ago when he said he wanted to start a ride-a-horse operation ran through my mind. He hadn't asked how much it cost to keep a horse alive or pay vet bills or bring hay into his canyon or any of that.
No, he just found a horse he thought was handsome and wanted to try it out. Thankfully, I'd backed him out of the idea. He hadn't been happy at the time.
Now he had to know who sent money his way? Mark needed money as desperately as I needed to
