Chapter 6: The Cottage

Peg got the notice on Monday morning.

The man who owned the building under the diner was a friend of Dalton's.

His letter said no tenants in the upstairs room, fire code, forty-eight hours.

Peg read it twice, said a word I'd never heard her say, and tore it in half.

"I'll fight it," she said.

"You'll lose the diner," I said. "That's what he wants."

"Then you'll stay at the ranch," Boone said from the door.

He had been standing there a while, with his hat in his hand and a look I was starting to know.

"No," I said.

"There's a cottage across the yard from the house. Orrin lived in it for thirty years. It has a door that locks."

"Boone, I'm not moving in with your family because your brother is a snake."

"You're not moving in with my family," he said.

"You're moving into a cottage with a lock on the door."

"I'll sleep in the main house."

I looked at Peg.

Peg looked at the ceiling.

"Fine," I said. "For a week."

It was a small log cottage with a stone fireplace and a kitchen the size of a closet.

The window looked straight at the main house.

I put my duffel bag on the bed.

It looked very small there.

That night the heater died.

I stood in my coat in the kitchen, watching my breath, when a knock came at the door.

"I heard it from the yard," Boone said. "Let me look."

He came in with a toolbox and knelt in front of the old wall unit with a flashlight in his teeth.

I stood behind him with my arms folded, watching the muscles of his back move under his flannel shirt.

I should have been thinking about the baby.

I was thinking about the cabin.

"You don't have to do this," I said.

"I know."

"I mean it. I can call someone in the morning."

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