Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
“Hey,” Taryn called as the door groaned open. The woman looked over her shoulder, her expression back to the familiar one of worry it always wore. Taryn walked up while she climbed into the truck, leaning an arm against the top of the door. She used her chin to gesture at the back seat. “You the only one we got here that buys that powder.”
In the seat, the woman tensed. She didn’t speak right away, and the gaze she fixed on Taryn made her believe she’d just asked something very, very wrong.
“You best be glad ‘bout that,” she told Taryn finally. The way her voice had gone low left her uneasy. “In fact,” she added, face more serious than Taryn had ever seen it, “if you notice anyone else start buyin’ it–you let me know. Y’hear?”
Taryn looked at her strangely and chuckled.
“I ain’t the sort to go ‘round discussin’ people’s purchases with others, Miss,” she said.
“I said you let me know.”
The grin faded from Taryn’s face, and she pushed back off the door frame.
“You’re serious, ain’t you?” she asked, eyeing her.
The woman stared for a couple seconds, then pulled the door shut with a clank. The truck roared to life and she leaned toward the passenger side, rummaging through the glove box for a moment. The window rolled down, and before Taryn realized what was happening, she’d thrust a business card into her hand.
“That’s my phone number,” she explained, eyes flicking to the card and back to Taryn’s. She nodded at it. “It’s a landline. Only way you gon’ reach me. Leave a message if I don’t answer. Keep callin’ and leavin’ ‘em ‘til I call back.”
Taryn’s mouth opened and closed a few times, confused and troubled by the odd exchange. She blinked down at the card. She recognized the name of the farm.
When she looked back up, the woman was still watching her.
“You tol’ me last week you don’t gotta drive far,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She held up the card. “But this is the ol’ Sterling place. That’s thirty miles from here.”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout that,” the woman warned, shaking her head and dropping the truck into gear.
“‘Bout your lyin’, you mean?” Taryn asked with a frown.
“Ain’t important.”
“You lyin’ ‘bout something small like that sure make it seem important.”
“You just worry ‘bout that powder, an’ tellin’ me if it ain’t me buyin’ it.”
Taryn held her gaze, then shrugged and shoved the card into her jacket pocket.
“Fine,” she said, tugging her beanie lower on her head. “I don’t know what you on about, but if I see anyone else buyin’ it, I’ll give you a call.” She pulled a face, wondering if she’d misinterpreted the woman’s nature and questioning if she just might, in fact, be crazy.
“You promise?”
The way she asked it–quieter again, and very worried–gave Taryn pause. Her own face softened at the edges, and she nodded.
“Sure, Miss,” she told her, smiling again. “Yeah. I promise.”
“You keep your promises?”
“Sure do,” Taryn said with a stern nod, almost offended by the implication she wouldn't.
“Good.”
Taryn chuckled again, stepping back.
“You drive safe, now,” she said.
“I will,” the woman replied. Then, with a smirk of her own, “That’s a promise.”
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Synopsis:
Taryn Monroe prefers simplicity–her place in the mountains, the predictable rhythm of her job at the mill, and the peace that comes with keeping to herself.
Every Tuesday, a woman shows up at precisely fifteen minutes to close. Taryn doesn’t know much about her–just the rumble of her truck, the way she never wastes words, and the peculiar gallon of sulfur she buys each week.
Then one Tuesday, she doesn’t show up.
Taryn tells herself to leave it alone, that it’s not her business and the woman can handle herself. But when she overhears an argument and starts asking questions, she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong–and her life becomes anything but simple.
Something wild is living in the barn at Wardenwood Hollow. Something keeping the woman bound to the old Sterling farm.
And Taryn may be her only chance to break free.
On the dryer, the old tabby cat she’d inherited with the apartment was coiled tight into a wad of scraggy fur on a pile of clean clothes she’d folded and forgotten to put away. He purred in his sleep, oblivious to her presence in his soundless, elderly world, so she tapped twice on the fabric to let him know she was home. He blinked and unfurled, long and ribby, mouth gaping open in a nearly-toothless yawn. She held out her hand and he bumped his head against it, then turned in a circle and curled back up on the clothes.
“Rough day?” she asked him, smirking as she rolled the towels and laid them in the cabinet beneath the sink. “Must be nice, freeloadin’ like you are. Ain’t even got the good graces to hear me when I’m talkin’.”
From the medicine cabinet, she pulled out the bag of prescription cat food, dropping a couple scoops into the bowl she kept on the shelf behind the washer and dryer, then wetting it with water from the sink. The tabby watched her, blinking slow and uninterested as she worked, then yawned again when she was done.
For a few seconds, Taryn stood there with her hands on her hips, same as she always did, waiting for the cat to decide whether or not to waste the food, same as he always had.
“Heck with ya,” she said after a minute, then flipped the switch for the fan and the light over the tub. “But I ain’t leavin’ it out all night this time. You damn near put me in an early grave dumpin’ that last bowl while I was sleepin’.”
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Synopsis:
Taryn Monroe prefers simplicity–her place in the mountains, the predictable rhythm of her job at the mill, and the peace that comes with keeping to herself.
Every Tuesday, a woman shows up at precisely fifteen minutes to close. Taryn doesn’t know much about her–just the rumble of her truck, the way she never wastes words, and the peculiar gallon of sulfur she buys each week.
Then one Tuesday, she doesn’t show up.
Taryn tells herself to leave it alone, that it’s not her business and the woman can handle herself. But when she overhears an argument and starts asking questions, she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong–and her life becomes anything but simple.
Something wild is living in the barn at Wardenwood Hollow–something keeping the woman bound to the old Sterling Farm.
And Taryn may be her only chance to break free.
"He asked about you," Eva said, rubbing one arm and then shoving a hand in her pocket. "Who you are, why you care."
"I don't like bullies, is all," Taryn replied with a frown, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Ain't need no more reason than that."
"He says you got a mouth on you. Says you oughtta learn when to shut it."
Eva looked at the ground as she said it, kicking at the gravel with the toe of her boot.
"That what he said?" Taryn asked, and she almost grinned as she leaned back on the column.
"That's what he said."
"And what d'you think Miss Eva Kincaid?"
"I don't think nothin'."
"That means you think somethin'."
Eva looked up, and her mouth and her brows settled into hard lines.
"I think you gone an' pissed off Mister Sterling. An' I think you just might wanna listen to him."
Taryn regarded her. She still wasn't swayed. She could tell Eva knew it, too. She pushed off the column and came a step closer.
"I'll think about shuttin' my mouth when he thinks about keepin' his hands off o' you. You can tell him I said that, too."
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Taryn Monroe prefers simplicity–her place in the mountains, the predictable rhythm of her job at the mill, and the peace that comes with keeping to herself.
Every Tuesday, a woman shows up at precisely fifteen minutes to close. Taryn doesn’t know much about her–just the rumble of her truck, the way she never wastes words, and the peculiar gallon of sulfur she buys each week. Then one Tuesday, she doesn’t show up. Taryn tells herself to leave it alone, that it’s not her business and the woman can handle herself. But when she overhears an argument and starts asking questions, she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong–and her life becomes anything but simple. Something wild is living in the barn at Wardenwood Hollow. Something keeping the woman bound to the old Sterling Farm. And Taryn may be her only chance to break free.