Something warm was lying alongside her.
Hannah slowly opened her eyes, feeling disoriented. The room was full of light. The door was all wrong. Where was she?
She heard a light snuffle, then a sigh and her heart jumped again as she sat up, pulling her blankets up and around herself.
A pair of brown eyes, almost buried in long brown hair stared back at her. A pink tongue hung out of its mouth.
Scout. The dog angled its head to one side, as if studying her.
“I’m guessing you’re used to sleeping here,” she said, reaching out to stroke its head. “But I’m afraid that you’re going to have to get unused to this. I don’t share my bed with anyone, or anything. Period. You understand?”
The dog turned his head, as if listening for something only he could hear.
“More coyotes out there?” Hannah fondled his ears, smiling.
But the dog jumped off the bed and stood by her bedroom door, whining.
Hannah got up and checked her watch. “Six o’clock? Are you kidding me?” It was too light for six o’clock. It was too early for six o’clock.
She trudged to the door, opened it, and the dog scampered out of the room, his feet pounding down the stairs.
“Hey, there, Scout,” she heard Ethan whisper.
“You don’t need to be all quiet. I’m awake,” Hannah called, pushing down her annoyance that he had gained entrée into the house yet again.
“Good morning,” Ethan yelled from below. “I’ve just come to get my dog.”
“I thought I locked the door,” Hannah yelled back, her anger from the previous night spilling over into her voice.
“Why don’t you come down here so we don’t have to yell back and forth at each other,” Ethan shouted.
“No.” Bad enough that he had seen her in her ratty housecoat last night. She wasn’t about to repeat the performance. Next time he saw her, she was going to be fully dressed.
“If you want eggs for breakfast, you’ll have to wait,” Ethan said.
“For what?”
“I have to gather them yet.”
“From where?”
“The grocery store.”
“What?”
“I’m kidding. I have to get them from the chickens.”
Hannah pulled her housecoat closer around her and shook her head. Egg-laying chickens? What was this, the Waltons come to life?
“Do you want some milk?” he asked.
“No. Thanks. Eggs will be fine though.” She didn’t want to contemplate the milk’s origin. She waited until she heard the door close then hurried downstairs and, even though Ethan had the keys, she locked it once more. Maybe he would get the hint.
She pulled aside the thin curtain covering the window of the door and watched as Ethan strode across the yard, his hands in his pockets, his stride sure, his dog trotting alongside him, looking up with what looked suspiciously like adoration.
A man and his dog. A man in charge of his world.
A pain in the neck.
Hannah scurried upstairs and showered. She pulled her still-damp hair back and covered it with a bandanna. Makeup? Nope. She was out in the country and she wasn’t going to dress up for some Neanderthal who broke into people’s houses and scared them half to death.
She returned to the bedroom and finished unpacking the precious few clothes she had taken along. Hannah had left a message with her landlord to get Lizzie to pack up her stuff and put it in storage. That was the least her supposed friend could do for her. There was no way she was going to call Lizzie herself. Not now. Maybe never.
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