CHAPTER FIVE
Michaela sulked in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon. She knew she was sulking, but didn’t care. Why shouldn’t Trisha leave? she told herself. She ignored the little voice that asked why exactly should Trisha leave? The cabin didn’t belong to either of them.
Finally, as the sun sank below the lake, and the crackling of the fire in the living area drew her, Michaela stood in the doorway and looked at the woman in question, sprawled on the couch, cigarette in one hand, book in another. Trisha didn’t lookup. Michaela bit her lip.
‘What are you reading?’ she asked after a minute.
Trisha glanced over. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s talking again. Have you decided I can stay yet?’
Michaela walked over to the fire and put another log on it, stirring the flames until they reached little tongues of fire out at her. She turned around. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re right, neither of should have to leave.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not our place. I guess we could both stay.’
Trisha cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘My word, Sherlock, how generous of you to allow that we can both stay.’
Michaela groaned. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I was a bit of a bitch to say you should go. Can we leave it at that?’
Trisha stretched on the couch, sleek and languid. ‘Sure, apology accepted. This time,’ she said, and a sly smile slid onto her face. ‘How about you fix us some food and I’ll fix us some drinks?’ She stood up and moved close to Michaela. ‘I might even be persuaded to remember your name if you’re nice to me.’ She smoothed down Michaela’s collar then walked away, throwing a grin over her shoulder.
Michaela smacked herself on the head. ‘How come I always get stuck with kitchen duty?’ she complained.
Trisha walked back in holding a bottle of bourbon aloft. ‘We don’t want to mess with a good thing, baby,’ she said. ‘You’ve already proved you can do the food thing,
and honey,’ Trisha waggled her eyebrows in a parody of suggestiveness, ‘honey I know I can do the drinks thing.’
Michaela groaned. ‘Better make mine a double then,’ she said. ‘What’re you wanting to eat?’
Trisha plucked a crystal tumbler from a display cabinet and poured a generous measure of bourbon.
Michaela eyed it. ‘Mixer?’
Trisha handed the glass over and came back with lemonade.
Michaela held out the drink. ‘Ice?’ she asked.
‘You like it all, I see,’ Trisha said, disappearing back into the kitchen. ‘I’m spending more time in the kitchen that you so far.’
Michaela followed her and waited while Trisha got the ice cubes. Her glass tinkling, she tipped it toward Trisha in a toast. ‘All or nothing,’ she said.
Trisha laughed. ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Now tell me where that gorgeous accent of yours comes from.’
‘New Zealand,’ Michaela told her, taking a sip of her drink. ‘Whoa, that’s one mean drink,’ she said.
‘Better get on with the food then, baby,’ Trisha said, filling her glass. ‘Then you can tell me all about yourself, Sherlock.’
Michaela considered the fact that she was fairly well drunk. She giggled as she tried to find the couch to sit on. Trisha was fumbling around with the stereo.
‘Ah-ha!’ she crowed. ‘Listen to this! We can dance to this, Whaddaya say?’ Michaela groaned and collapsed back against the cushions. ‘I’d have to have feet to dance with,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I can find them.’
Trisha laughed and came over to pull her up. The sounds of Gary Miller’s band playing ‘In the Mood’ swelled out into the room. Michaela fell giggling against the other woman.
‘You have to be fucking joking,’ she stuttered.
‘No kidding. Come on Sherlock, dance with a woman won’t you?’
They swayed around in front of the fire. Michaela struggled to concentrate through the alcoholic haze, thinking she was doing a pretty good job as they boogied to the music. The song ended and something quieter came on. Michaela pulled Trisha closer and leaned against her.
‘You want to be Watson to my Sherlock?’ she whispered into Trisha’s hair.
They swung almost gracefully around.
‘Shit! What the hell is that?’ Trisha’s fingers tightened on Michaela’s arms.
Sudden goosebumps climbed up Michaela’s neck.
‘What?’
‘Look,’ Trisha hissed, pulling Michaela around to look out the window. ‘That’s fucking freaky.’ Her fingers tugged at Michaela’s sleeves. ‘What is it?’
Michaela stared through the window, feeling suddenly, frighteningly sober. She grabbed Trisha’s hand and stumbled forward to have a closer look. ‘What is it?’ she echoed.