With mosquitoes and probably bears.
Maybe even wolves.
She plopped onto the old plaid couch, which smelled of mildew. Everything up here smelled horrible.
“I have to go,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
“What am I supposed to do now?” she demanded, and even she didn’t like her tone.
She was never one of those women who nagged, until she was. She had so much work to do back in Philly, a caseload that would keep two associates busy, and an entire law firm to run. Plus she’d been counting on vacation sex, and lots of it. After all, a girl had needs.
“You should just take the weekend. Enjoy yourself.”
“How can I enjoy myself? I didn’t bring any work.”
He chuckled. “That’s the point. Don’t work. Enjoy yourself.”
“I didn’t even bring a book.”
“So download one.”
“There’s no Internet. There’s almost no cell reception. There’s not even a telephone, a television, or a radio.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d listened to the radio, but still. “It’s hell on earth. With bears.”
“Did you see a bear?” His tone turned serious. “Are there bears?”
“Probably. I bet the bears get lousy reception, too.”
“But it looks beautiful in the pictures. Is it beautiful?”
“It’s dark.” She threw up her hands, resigned. “I should just go home.”
“I think you should stay and relax.”
“The only place I feel relaxed is a courtroom.”
“Really?”
“Have we met?”
He paused. “Maybe you need to think about that, babe.”
“Oh, I do?” she shot back, then, on impulse, hung up the call and tossed the phone on the couch. She’d be damned if she’d be lectured by the man who was standing her up.
This sucked, there were no two ways about it.
She and Declan were crazy about each other, but the problem was their schedules, and the lives of two trial lawyers didn’t leave time for much frolic and detour.
She folded her arms, fuming. Then glanced at the phone, waiting for Declan to call back. If he did, she’d hang up on him again. She certainly did not need him telling her that she needed to relax, work less, and not stress. She’d heard it all before, and he was just as much of a workaholic as she was. Maybe not quite as much, but still, he worked hard too. And they both owned their own law firms, so he was no more mellow than she was.
Maybe a little.
She glanced at the phone but it didn’t ring, and she found her gaze flitting restlessly around the room. There was a living room/kitchen combination with mismatched plaid furniture and a battered coffee table that held an old book of crossword puzzles, but otherwise no reading matter. The wood floors looked splintery, and the walls were paneled with grooved knotty pine, like somebody’s basement from the 1960s. The kitchen cabinets had been painted pukey yellow, and the kitchen was stocked with only the barest essentials. She’d arrived in the daytime and sat on the back deck, sipping a Diet Coke, enjoying the scenery and waiting for Declan’s call announcing his imminent arrival. Now, as the sunlight faded, the cabin and the woods began to feel sinister.
She glanced again at the silent phone.
Maybe he couldn’t get a call through. She thought about calling him back, but decided against it. He should call her back, if anybody should call anybody. She stewed, arms still folded. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to relax. It was just that if she were going to take the weekend off, she wanted to have fun.
She stood and walked to the sliders that faced the deck to lock up for the night. She glanced outside and noticed lights in the cabin through the woods to her right. So at least there was one other person in the world. She wondered who else was stupid enough to come here. Probably another silent auction winner.
Then suddenly, she realized she’d forgotten something.
Her dog, Max, was gone.
IT WAS HARD TO SEE in the dark, but Corey was certain it was a ravenous wolf running toward him. Or his wife’s lawyer with a subpoena. Hard to tell the difference—even in broad daylight. Actually, it was a dog, specifically a golden retriever who scampered onto the deck, his bushy tail wagging frantically, his wet nose to the deck as if he’d gotten the scent of some animal.
Maybe a bear.
He felt a bit silly for thinking a wild animal or an assassin had been stalking him. But better to imagine the worst than to experience it. A little paranoia is a good thing. Keeps you from relaxing too much.
Keeps you alive.
He dropped to one knee and called out, “Come here, buddy.”
The retriever trotted over, his pink tongue lolling out of a broad smile. The dog was panting heavily, obviously overexerted, and the next thing he knew the dog stuck his muzzle between Corey’s knees, slobbering all over his baggy cargo pants.
He buried his fingers in the dog’s thick scruff, warm with sweat. “You chasing rabbits?”
A bark answered.
“You need a drink?”
More barking.
“Dewar’s and water?” He thought the retriever’s ears perked up, so he commanded, “Sit.”
The retriever instantly plopped his butt on the deck, his tail still wagging like a windshield wiper.
“Good dog.”
He wouldn’t have minded the companionship for the week, but he guessed that the obedient retriever belonged to somebody. He felt around the dog’s neck, finding a collar. He took his cell phone from his pocket, navigated to flashlight function and shined it on the nylon collar, locating the tag, which he read.
“Max.”
The dog barked in recognition.
“Last name?”
Nothing.
“Date of birth?”
A curious look.
“Any prior arrests?”
More silence.
“Don’t lie to me, Max.”
The dog barked.
So it had come to this.
Talking to a dog.
He looked closely at the tag and saw the owner’s name. Bennie Rosato. There was no address, but there was a phone number with a 215 area code, which was Philadelphia. The dog certainly had not walked here from Philly, so the owner had to be in the area.
He sat cross-legged on the deck, looking into Max’s big liquid eyes. The dog stared back as if to say, You’re a nice human, but I’m lost and looking for my owner.
He punched Bennie Rosato’s number into his phone and petted the dog while it rang in his ear. There was static on the line, which meant that cell reception was weak. The call went to voice mail and a default computer voice said, “You have reached the cell phone of Bennie Rosato. Please leave a message at the beep.”
He waited for the signal, then said, “Mister Rosato, my name is John Corey and I think I found your golden retriever, Max, at Lake Wha . . . the lake. He’s safe and sound. Call me at this number.”
He hung up and said to Max, “That should do it.”
It was possible that Max would run off again. Then when Mr. Rosato called, he’d have to say, Sorry, pal, your dog skipped out. So he went inside the cabin and found a ball of twine in a junk drawer. He returned to the deck and tied the twine around Max’s collar and started to tie it to the rail. Then he had another thought.
“Maybe you could find your owner. You’re a retriever. Right?”
A bark seemed to agree with the observation.
“Okay, let’s take a walk while we’re waiting for the phone call.”
With Max at the end of the makeshift leash, he stepped from the deck and allowed the dog to lead him toward the lake. Then they turned left toward the other lit cabin a few hundred yards away. The shoreline was rocky and strewn with glacial boulders, and Max seemed easily distracted by any scent that he picked up, so they weren’t making much progress.