Storming the Castle (Dale Series) Page 2

“It varies. During hunting season, I’m usually full up in the main house and rent out both cottages, but this is the off season, so I have plenty of room at the inn.”

  “How many guest rooms are in the main house?”

  “Four.”

  If she ended up renting those rooms, plus the other cabin—sorry, cottage—there could be a minimum of five people in his business. Fuck. “How much do you rent the rooms for?”

  “Off season? The guest rooms are seventy-five dollars a night, which includes breakfast. The cottage is a hundred a night or six hundred for a full week. I gave you a special rate because you’re renting for two months.”

  “How much?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How much am I paying for two months?” he practically growled. He had a headache, and her chattering wasn’t helping.

  “Don’t you know?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

  “Oh. Your check was for four thousand dollars. I already cashed it.”

  He ignored her while he did some math in his head. “I’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars if you don’t rent any of the rooms or the other cottage while I’m here.” It wasn’t as much as she’d make if she rented everything, but it was more than she’d probably make in the off season, if he’d done his math right.

  “What?”

  “Fifteen grand, cash, so I can have absolute privacy.”

  She’d stopped dead in her tracks, the flashlight held loosely in her hand left her face in the darkness. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes. It’s a win-win. You’ll make some easy money, and I’ll be left alone.”

  “Fifteen thousand dollars. In cash. Just like that?”

  “I can have it delivered tomorrow. C’mon, Mrs…?” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know her name.

  “Adams. Faith Adams,” she said faintly.

  He wished he could see her face. Most people would jump at the chance to make money and not have to work for it.

  “I have two reservations for the first week of July.”

  “Cancel them. Tell them there was a water main break or something.”

  “We have well water, there is no water main. But I could book them in the bed and breakfast in town and pay the difference.”

  “Do that.”

  She was quiet again, and he hoped she was considering the benefits of his deal. Finally, she said, “Okay. But you have to pay the difference between the seventy-five dollars a night I usually charge and the hundred and fifty Claire in town charges a night.”

  Did she think he wouldn’t? “Done. Is this my cottage?”

  “What? Oh yes.” She lifted the flashlight and crossed to the door. “It isn’t locked, but here’s the key if you need it. We don’t have much of a crime problem in Dale, but I know some folks are more comfortable with a locked door.” She flicked a switch, flooding the room with light, and placed the basket on a table the size of a postage stamp along with the key. She gestured to the steep stairway on his right. “The bedroom is up there, the bathroom is tucked back to the right, and you can see the kitchen and living area. We don’t have cable, but the wifi password is on a card in the welcome basket.”

  “Great.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “I left the house number and my cell number on the card with the wifi along with my email address, in case you need anything.”

  “I won’t. Good night, Mrs. ah…”

  “Adams. Miss Adams. Good night then.”

  He felt like an ass forgetting her name after she’d just told him, but his head was pounding and he just wanted to be alone. As soon as she left, he locked the door behind her and took a look around. Damn, he’d stayed in hotel rooms bigger than this. Of course, in those hotels he was surrounded by people, and he’d had to worry about the other guests taking pictures of him and selling them to the gossip rags.

  Little Miss Goldilocks didn’t seem to recognize him at all. Out here in the sticks, they probably didn’t listen to his type of rock. Of course, he didn’t look like a badass rocker anymore, either. He’d ditched his ripped pants, motorcycle boots, chains, and earring, and was dressed in regular jeans, hiking boots, and a T-shirt.

  He’d also cut his hair, and it no longer brushed his shoulder blades. He ran a hand over his head, then searched until he found a mirror at the bottom of the stairs. Shit, his hair hadn’t been this short since he’d graduated high school and left his father’s place.

  The sergeant insisted on military regs, but there was no way in hell Sam would ever go back to a buzz cut. He turned his head so he could look at his reflection from different angles. With it trimmed closely on the sides and slightly longer in the front, no one would recognize him.

  Maybe being out in the sticks would help him get rid of the red eyes and the puffy face, too. Hell, while he was at it, he might try to get back into shape so he didn’t have a fucking heart attack the next time he went on stage.

  Just the thought of doing another tour had him reaching for the flask he’d stashed in his duffle bag.

  No.

  He held the container of Jack Daniels and watched as his hand shook. What the fuck was wrong with him? He hadn’t been here half an hour yet, and already he was looking for a crutch.

  Sweating, he opened the flask and dumped the contents down the sink. The seductive smell almost made him stop and drink the last few drops, but he didn’t. He was here to clean up his act and find his music again. He couldn’t do that if his head was in a bottle.

  He had two months. Two solid months with no distractions, no people, no parties, just him and his guitar. If he couldn’t get his head out of his ass in two months, he was no better than his father accused him of being.

  Chapter Three

  By seven o’clock that morning, Faith had a load of laundry going, breakfast dishes done, and two batches of layered brownies cut and individually wrapped. She’d finished her first two cups of coffee and was just pouring creamer in the third when Mary Ellen drove up.

  Piper shot out the back door before Faith could warn her to wait until the van stopped. “Be careful, Pip!” she called as she followed her blond-haired whirlwind outside. The van had barely rocked to a stop before Emily was bursting out of the backseat. The girls ran to the swing set Faith’s father had made last summer talking a mile a minute.

  “Lord, you’d think they hadn’t seen each other in a month instead of less than twenty-four hours. What on earth do two five-year-olds have to talk about so desperately?” Mary Ellen said as she joined Faith on the porch.

  “I’m not sure I want to know. World domination, probably.”

  “Heaven help us.”

  “Do you have time for a cup of coffee? There’s more in the pot.”

  “No, I’ve got to get to the store. Thank you for taking Em today. My regular babysitter had to take her mom to the doctor’s in Canton, and Bill had to go to the station early today.”

  “You know it’s no problem, we love having her. Are you all set with the boys? I don’t mind watching them, too, although they’d probably be bored as all get out here.”

  “I farmed them off on play dates already. I’m going to owe at least a week’s worth of babysitting by the end of the summer.”

  “Don’t be silly, we all need a hand sometime.”

  “I know, but with three, it seems like I always need a hand.”

  “I hear you. Oh, let me get you those brownies. I just wrapped them up.”

  “Great. I’ve got a check for you right here. You made two batches, right? They’ve been selling like hot cakes. The ladies of the Garden Club made me promise to get you to make them for their next bake sale.”

  “As long as I don’t have to join the Garden Club, I’ll make them all the brownies they want.”

  “Sounds fair. Those brownies are so good, it’s sinful.”

  “How come everything that tastes good is so bad for you? Wh
y can’t broccoli taste as good as brownies?”

  “I know, right? I don’t care if they’re good for you or not. They’re my number one seller. Oh, speaking of sinning and the Garden Club, did you hear Pansy Campbell might be getting married again?”

  “Is this her third husband?” Faith asked as she brought out the bag of brownies.

  “Fourth. Only this time, instead of going for old and rich she caught herself a younger man.”

  “Get out. Where’d she meet him?”

  “Rumor has it she went on some Cougar Cruise and hooked herself a boy barely out of college. I guess after having sugar daddies for so long, she wants to be the sugar momma this time around.”

  “Mary Ellen, That’s terrible. I shouldn’t encourage you to gossip.”

  “Honey, I don’t need any encouragement to gossip. I love it like a fat man loves cake. I figure I don’t have the time or energy to go out drinking and smoking, so if gossip is my only vice, well, it gives the good ladies at Dale Baptist something to feel superior about.”

  Faith laughed so hard she almost spilled her coffee. “Oh God, I don’t know what I’d do without you to keep me entertained. You’re better than HBO.”

  “I do what I can. Now, I can pick Em up around two and take her back to the store with me, or Bill can pick her up on his way home from work around four. What works better for you?”

  “Four o’clock is fine. I hate making you come all the way out here if you don’t have to, and the girls always want more time together.”

  “Are you sure? I see you have guests,” she said, waving her hand toward the shiny black SUV. “I don’t want Em to get in the way.”

  “She won’t. In fact, this guest wants to be left alone, so having Emily here will keep Piper occupied and out of mischief.”

  “In that case, why don’t you have Piper sleep over? Em’s been bugging me forever to have her spend the night.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Just pack her a bag and send her when Bill comes. I’ll bring her back sometime tomorrow.”

  Faith thought about the somewhat imposing Mr. Castleton and decided keeping Piper away wasn’t such a bad idea. “If you don’t mind, that would be a huge help.”

  “No problem at all. So who’s the new guest? Another bird watcher?”

  Faith hesitated a bit before answering. If Mr. Castleton really wanted to be left alone, the last thing he needed was for Mary Ellen Michaels to get interested in him. She had a nose for gossip stronger than any bloodhound in Georgia.

  “No, this one is a writer and needs his peace to create.”

  “Anyone famous?”

  “No one I’ve heard of before,” Faith answered honestly.

  “Didn’t you have a whole group of them last spring?”

  “No, that was a book club. They were actually a lot of fun, but man, those ladies could drink. I haven’t seen that much wine consumed since the last Founders’ Day picnic.”

  “Sounds like my kind of weekend. Okay, I better get going or I’ll never get the store opened on time.” She waved to Emily, who was standing at the top of the slide. “Bye, baby girl. Daddy will get you this afternoon. You mind Miss Faith, ya hear?”

  “Yes, Momma,” Emily called as she slid down the green plastic slide.

  “I guess it was too much to ask for a kiss good-bye. All righty then, I’ll talk to you soon. Call my cell if you need anything.”

  “Will do. Take care.”

  Faith waited until Mary Ellen’s van was out of sight before heading into the house. She put the check for the brownies in the envelope to go to the bank and rinsed out her coffee mug. Before she could head to the laundry room to switch the loads, she heard Sadie barking as another car pulled up the drive.

  Who could that be? It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.

  She waited on the porch with Sadie as a white delivery van stopped and a uniformed driver got out.

  Huh? She hadn’t ordered anything recently, and even if she had, it would come to the post office, not her house. No one delivered this far out in the sticks.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, keeping Sadie close. She shot a glance at the girls, but they had disappeared into the playhouse.

  “I have a delivery for a Faith Adams.”

  “That’s me, but I didn’t order anything.”

  “Can I see some ID?” he asked.

  “Sure, one second. Sadie, stay.” Faith hurried inside and grabbed her purse.

  When she returned, the driver was clicking on an electronic pad and hadn’t moved from his spot by the van. “Here you go,” Faith said as she handed over her license.

  He scanned it, then handed it back to her along with the pad. “Please sign in the box. You can use your finger.”

  She tried to read the manifest but he took the pad back before she could finish seeing anything more than her name and address.

  The driver went to the back of the van and entered a code to unlock the door. Anticipation had her practically bouncing on her toes. Maybe her parents sent her something as a surprise? That still wouldn’t explain the special delivery.

  “Here you are, ma’am. Have a nice day.” He handed her a padded envelope and hopped into the van before she could do more than smile and nod.

  What on earth?

  She carried the envelope into the kitchen and got out a pair of scissors. Once she got the first envelope opened, there was another one secured with a zip tie. This was the craziest thing. She cut the zip tie and finally got the thing open.

  And darn near had a stroke right there in the kitchen.

  Cash. Stacks of crisp bills.

  Ohmygod! Her brain completely shut down as she stared at the money. She’d never seen this much money in one place in her life. Even when Matthew was alive, they’d never had this much ready cash on hand.

  Her hands shook as she pulled out a stack of bills and started counting. It took her two tries before she could get her neurons working enough to add and multiply.

  Fifteen thousand. Right there on her kitchen table. Holy cow.

  Whoever Mr. Castleton was, he was as good as his word. How he’d gotten the money here this quickly, she had no idea. The banks weren’t even open yet. Maybe delivery companies had that much cash on hand all the time? She wouldn’t want to be driving around with that much money on her, that’s for sure.

  Oh God. She had fifteen thousand dollars on her right now. She looked at her watch and realized the bank wouldn’t open for almost an hour. It was an hour and half ride to Canton. The sooner she got there, the better. She stuffed the cash back in the envelope, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door, her heart racing. “Girls! Come on. We’re going to Canton. Mommy needs to go to the bank.”

  The two girls came out of the playhouse. “Can we go to McDonald’s?” Piper asked.

  “You betcha. And maybe we’ll even go to the movies, too. How does that sound?”

  The girls let out a squeal and ran to her late model pickup truck. Faith’s hands shook as she buckled them into their booster seats. She kept an extra one since Emily so often rode with them. She’d be a wreck until she got the money safely in the bank. But after that, she’d take the afternoon to treat her little girl.

  …

  Sam woke up, and the only sound he heard was the hum of the air conditioner. Dappled sunlight streamed through the blue-checkered curtains, forming weird patterns on his naked chest. Slowly, he rolled out of bed and waited.

  He had a nagging headache, but his ears weren’t ringing, and his body didn’t hurt. Hell, compared to how he normally awoke, he felt like he could run a marathon. Crossing the room to the window—which took all of three steps—he looked out for his first real glimpse of his home for the next two months.

  Trees, trees, and more trees. He couldn’t even see the main house from here. He knew it wasn’t far away, he’d walked from the parking area to the cottage in less than five minutes, but from this angle, it felt like he was the onl
y human for miles.

  Maybe he was. It was damn quiet out there. Good. That’s what he wanted. He didn’t need people fawning over him, managing him, he needed space for his creativity to come back.

  God help him if it didn’t.

  He shook his head as if the motion would shake the thought out of his mind. He couldn’t think like that. First, he had to get his body healthy and clean, then his muse would come back.

  He almost knocked himself unconscious on a low beam as he went down the stairs from the loft bedroom. The cabin was tiny. The bathroom was smaller than the closets in his Malibu Beach house. Of course, he hadn’t been in the house more than a handful of times in the last year and half, so who knew how big they really were? Buying it had been Bridgette’s idea in the first place.

  God, Bridgette, what a fiasco that was. The black-haired, blue-eyed supermodel was every man’s wet dream, until he got to know her. Now, she was a recurring nightmare.

  There was no way in Hell she’d find him here. He laughed out loud at the thought of her expression if she saw the cabin.

  He opened the fridge, still chuckling to himself as he tried to picture Bridgette here in the back end of beyond. Who would admire her? He grabbed an apple and bit into it while he searched for something more substantial for breakfast. What time was it anyway?

  A clock in the shape of a teapot hung above the sink, and he swore under his breath as he realized it was almost four in the afternoon. He’d slept for close to sixteen hours.

  Damn it. One of the signs of alcohol withdrawal was excessive fatigue. Was he really that addicted to booze? Dave had assured him he wasn’t an alcoholic, but Dave was paid to make Sam’s life easier. He wasn’t a reliable judge.

  He sat heavily on the couch and tried to breathe. It scared the shit out of him that he might end up like some of the washed-out rockers he used to idolize, slurring and mumbling their way through songs that were popular a decade ago because they hadn’t written anything new in years.

  His headache intensified, and he realized part of it was probably because he hadn’t had any caffeine yet. It took a little searching, but he found the coffee beans and the grinder. The coffeemaker itself probably cost less than half a pound of the beans, but it would do the job. Soon, the scent of Columbian ambrosia wafted through the kitchen.