Free A Dark Love by Margaret Carroll

light, cocooned inside the lumpy double bed with Pippin nestled at her feet.
    A collection of paperback novels, worn and yellow, was neatly arranged on the nightstand next to an untouched Gideon’s Bible and a hurricane-style lamp that had been in fashion long ago. High up in the corner, where the paneling met the ceiling, was a network of tiny spiderwebs that most people wouldn’t notice. Porter would have noticed. Caroline squeezed her eyes shut against the image and rolled over, rousing Pippin.
    She rubbed the little dog’s chest and kissed him on top of his head. “We’re okay, Pippin,” she whispered. “So far, so good.” But her throat closed around the lie, and tears leaked out, hot and salty, one after another until they soaked a spot on the scratchy pillowcase.
    Pippin pushed his cold nose against her, and this made her want to cry even more. But she did not. Caroline Hughes hated to cry. She was afraid that once she started, she would never stop.
    She went to the bathroom and blew her nose into a wad of toilet paper, showering afterward in the vinyl stall, letting the hot spray wash away her tears. She lathered using the pink sliver of motel soap and put her Capris back on, still grimy from three days’ hard travel, and her T-shirt, now stiff from air drying. She had washed it in the tiny sink last night with the bottle of traveling shampoo she had bought in CVS drug store.
    The smell of coffee and frying bacon wafted through the house. Pippin raced ahead of her through the hall, where sunlight dappled the faded carpet runner and a brilliant sky showed through the windows.
    “Breakfast is served,” Maebeth said by way of greeting.
    Caroline hesitated, her stomach rumbling so loud she was certain it would wake the retrievers, who were dozing in a corner.
    “It’s included in the room rate,” Maebeth added.
    Caroline smiled. “Good.”
    She ate by herself in the dining room, and when she was finished, carried her dirty dishes to the kitchen, where Maebeth was elbow deep in suds at the sink.
    Maebeth looked up, surprised. “Goodness, you don’t have to do that.”
    “I worked in a restaurant for a while, summers in college,” Caroline offered.
    Maebeth continued scrubbing her fry pan. “One thing about this place, we have a tough time getting help. Our kitchen man just quit. They come, they stay awhile, then leave if they get an offer at one of the big resorts.”
    “I could help out,” Caroline said slowly. A flutter of hope, the first she’d felt in a long time, rose inside her. “I could clean rooms or do washing up.”
    Maebeth took her time rinsing the pan, considering things. Alice Stevens was well-spoken and had nice manners. But college kids didn’t often pitch up in Storm Pass, even in summer. There was no nightlife to speak of, no fancy hotel school nearby to grant credit for changing beds at the Burkle’s Inn. Besides, summer was finished. Maebeth glanced at Alice, taking in her tense eyes and hollow cheeks, and got an idea. “Season’s about done so I can’t use you. But I know someone who might.”
    Old Gus Kincaid’s words came back to Maebeth. He had ambled in early this morning just as Maebeth set the coffee on.
    “Sent a customer your way last night,” he said, handing out treats to the dogs before helping himself to a muffin. “She make it here okay?”
    Maebeth nodded. “I appreciate the business, Gus.” As if there was someplace else within thirty miles, other than his son’s hunting cabin.
    Gus took another bite of muffin. “Nan Birmingham needs some help out at her place, I expect.”
    “Is that right?”
    He nodded. “Filled her tank yesterday. First winter at the ranch since the Colonel died, you know. Her niece is after her to move to Florida for the winter, but you know Nan.”
    “Yup,” said Maebeth. “Everyone knows Nan.”
    Gus thanked her for the muffin and left.
    That had been the extent of their conversation, but it occurred to Maebeth that Gus