Chapter 10

By the end of those two hours, my stomach started to growl, an audible cry for food. Minestrone soup from a can and two slices of pumpernickel would suffice for lunch. While preparing the meal, using my uncle’s microwave and a bowl, I heard three knocks on the cabin’s front door. I exited the kitchen, thinking Noah Rexington had taken a break from his morning cop duties to check on me, and for a kiss, hug, and whatever else could easily make possible between our naked bodies.

To my surprise, when I opened the door, Noah’s handsomeness didn’t occupy the minimal space near its frame. Instead, a stranger in his early fifties, with ginger-colored hair, intense blue eyes, and an orange beard, stood on the narrow stoop. I guessed him to be about six-two and one hundred and ninety pounds, bulky with muscle, but not obese. Smelling heavy of freshly smoked marijuana, he held what looked like a 30-gauge rifle in his right hand, aiming it into the heavens.

I nodded.

He didn’t.