Read While You Were Writing: Watkin's Pond, Book 2 for Free Online

sheer ridiculousness of the situation—
    “Fine.”
    Although she’d thrown out the gauntlet, she hadn’t really expected him to pick it up. “Why did you say the things in the house weren’t yours? Whose are they, if not yours?”
    The baring of his teeth made her close her eyes. She knew before he spoke what his answer would be.
    “That’s two questions. Are we doing two for two, then?”
    Filling her mouth with another bite, even though her heart hammered in her chest, gave her a moment more to think. Chewing slowly, she rinsed it down with water. How bad could his two questions be anyway? It wasn’t like she had anything to hide, and if she did, he wouldn’t know enough to ask pointed questions this early on. “Yes, two for two.”
    “Because it still doesn’t feel like they’re my things. And my mother’s.”
    The rapid-fire response sent the gears of her mind whirring. She could look up his mother on her tablet when she got upstairs, possibly unravel part of the mystery of Radcliffe McQueen and—
    “Now, for my questions. Why are you here?” He drained his water and raised a brow.
    Sighing, but foreseeing that question, she answered him with the honesty he’d asked for. “I’m an artist, like I said, by trade. My real calling, though, has been helping people. I’ve been doing it for years, travelling around the country and finding people—like yourself—that are hiding from reality, that want to be part of society, but for whatever reasons aren’t sure how or don’t think they can. I help them find a reason to trust people, to laugh and to love and to move on. I consider it personality renovating.” Smiling at him, she waited for the typical response, but he didn’t give it to her, instead sneering at his empty glass.
    “I’ll have more questions about that, but I think I’m starting to get a better picture. You think you’re going to help me, save the ogre from the swamp, so to speak.”
    “Is that your question?” she countered.
    He shook his head at her. “Oh no, Sheri. You’re not getting off that easily.”
    A shiver of desire chased up her spine at the way he rolled her name off his tongue, only to be followed lightning fast with a tremor of unease. “So what is your second question?” Maybe his mother had some criminal record? There had to be some reason he felt like the contents of his own home weren’t his…
    She’d almost lost herself to her thoughts again when his chair scraped the floor as he stood. Glancing up at him, she set her fork down. She hadn’t been eating anyway.
    “My second question is what did your fiancé die of, Sheri?”
    Her breath shuddered out and she blinked up at him, unable to speak.
    Asking was akin to admitting he’d researched her, but her expression made it worth it. He knew there was something to the fiancé thread, but the confirmation etched in her suddenly pale features still gratified him.
    Clearing the plates, he began putting away the leftovers without saying more. It cost him nothing to give her a moment to collect herself and might glean him more answers—inadvertent ones in her choice of phrasing and body language.
    “It’s none of your fucking business.” The breathless quality of the words snapped his attention back to her. White-knuckled grip on the table, face still pale, breath rushed. He’d touched more of a nerve than he might have guessed.
    “Again, hate to be redundant, but my house. You can leave.”
    She swallowed hard, didn’t move and closed her eyes. He turned back to the cleanup, finding containers to store the leftover food.
    “I know I’m not supposed to state the obvious, but you’ve been looking me up.”
    “It’s my right. My space, you’re in it.” To him, that said enough. He didn’t allow many to get close to him, physically or emotionally, however nothing about their current situation fit with his normative behavior.
    “Radcliffe, Preston is a very personal piece of my past. I don’t share