The Imposter Marin Montgomery (rom com books to read TXT) 📖

remind myself to call Doc Marshall and have him examine it. It might actually heal on its own, though I’m sure I’ll have a scar.

When I pad across the hallway to my room, there’s a mug of tea on the nightstand, piping hot, along with some toast.

Deborah must’ve limped up the stairs to put them there.

My stomach grumbles, and I can’t remember my last meal. I quickly dry off and put some comfortable sweats on.

Even though the shower helped, I feel drained, and sitting back on my bed, I devour the tea and toast, almost burnt, just the way I like it. It alleviates one of my needs, and after my hunger is satiated, my need for sleep overcomes me.

Jumpy about leaving my bedroom door unguarded, I gently close the door and turn the flimsy lock before bed.

Later that night, I’m awakened by the sound of thunder booming outside my window—sheets of rain pound at the glass, hell bent on making their way into my room.

I’m groggy and disoriented; my head hurts worse than it would from a typical hangover. It’s like I’ve been drugged.

My purse and phone are gone, along with Deborah’s medical records. I wonder if they were missing after my shower.

And what about my laptop?

Perturbed Deborah would take my stuff without asking, I shuffle down the stairs. Narrowing my eyes at the clock on the microwave, I’m stunned it’s 8:00 p.m. already. That was quite the nap, though desperately needed after not getting any rest the night before. I feel bad for people who sleep in their vehicles and are confined to the cramped quarters.

I hear light steps, and Deborah walks into the kitchen. In a perfectly normal voice, as if nothing untoward happened last night, she asks, “When did you get home?”

In horror, I realize she might not remember . . . but maybe that’s not a bad thing right now.

“Late morning,” I offer, trying to discern her temperament. I scrunch my face. “But you brought me tea, and I never left again.”

She bites her lip but says nothing.

“By the way, what did you do with my purse?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“My purse and phone are gone,” I say irritably, “not to mention I still can’t find my laptop.”

Deborah fingers her necklace chain. “Why would I have your purse and phone?”

“They disappeared out of my room, and you were the only one in there.” I sigh. “Look, if this is payback because you blame me for the dress . . .”

Taking a deep breath, I focus on Dr. Alacoy’s words. The last thing I want to do is stir the pot and cause Deborah to become unhinged. I’ll look through the house myself. My laptop, phone, and purse have to be somewhere.

“I have no idea why you think I’d go upstairs today. My hip’s killing me.”

“But you brought me tea. And toast.”

“I did no such thing. We’re out of bread.” She looks at me like I’m crazed. “Remind me to get a loaf next time I go to the store.”

“I must’ve dreamed it.” I shrug.

“You’re probably hungry. Let me see what I can scrounge up.” She claps her hands together. “I swear, it’s like I go grocery shopping and then the food just disappears.”

“With one extra mouth to feed, I guess it must seem that way.”

“Uh-huh!” she hollers from the walk-in pantry. “This is quite the storm, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” I stare out the kitchen window at the darkened sky.

“I found something,” she says triumphantly, appearing beside me with a protein bar.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” I stare at the expired label on the wrapper. “Maybe go get you groceries?”

“Oh, that reminds me.” She waves a hand in the air. “Honey, can you do me a favor?”

Still staring outside at the inclement weather, I half listen.

“Would you mind feeding Esmeralda?” my mother asks. “I don’t want to go outside in this storm.” She groans as a flicker of lightning dances across the clouds. A couple seconds later, the rumble of thunder follows. The last thing I want to do is go outside right now, but I love a good rainstorm, and we get so few in the desert.

“Yeah, sure. Stay inside,” I say. “Mind if I borrow a raincoat?”

“Should be one in the pantry.”

Shrugging into a tan jacket, I shove my feet into a pair of bright-red rain boots that are directly underneath the coat.

She hands me a bowl of wet cat food and offers me a flashlight. “I know it’s dark out there. You’ll probably need this.”

“Thanks.”

“Make sure you find her. She needs her strength. I know she’s gonna give birth any day now.”

CHAPTER 44

Sibley

As soon as I open the screen door, a blast of wind hits me straight on. The rain lessens visibility, and I’m forced to step into puddles that go ankle deep.

When I reach the barn, the lightning streaks the sky in a bolt of bright-white illumination. Inside, I smell mildew, since the roof and walls aren’t as secure as they once were; the floor is already damp.

I search for Esmeralda, but she’s either hiding or on the prowl.

Yelling, “Kitty, kitty,” I set the obnoxious-smelling fish-flavored cat food down, then pause to see if she will come running. She’s big and bloated, carrying a litter of kittens, and I doubt she moves at the same speed she once did. When she doesn’t appear after a couple of minutes, I grab the bowl.

Maybe she’s hiding in the toolshed.

When I can’t find her burrowed there, I head to the root cellar.

I managed to wrap the chain back around the door handles yesterday, but for some reason, the two doors are wide open, the dirt steps and sod walls naked to the elements. I don’t want the cellar to flood, primarily because of the number of canned jars of food that still need to be moved from below.

Hesitating as another flash crosses above my head in a zigzag pattern, I yank the hood over my drenched hair.

The metal handle is slippery as