Lover Beware

Patrick for company. Now the house seemed to echo with emptiness, the sense of being cut off from everyone and everything intensified by the loss of the phone.
    A sweep of headlights briefly illuminated the kitchen, throwing the potted plants that lined the window into stark relief and giving a ghostly cast to the room. Above the whine of the wind, she thought she heard tyres crunching on gravel.
    Grabbing the torch, she flicked off the beam, took a hold of Jess’s collar, and slipped out the door, bracing herself against the full brunt of the wind where it slammed into the east side of the house, and shivering as she was instantly soaked by the thin drizzle that was being driven in horizontal gusts. Outside, the sound of the wind was eerily amplified, rising to a high-pitched animalistic howl that tightened the skin all along the length of her spine. She wasn’t normally this nervy, but then she wasn’t in the habit of receiving midnight visitors either.
    As she edged around the corner of the house to see who it was, Jess lunged free of her hold and shot straight down the steps and out to the drive, which meant that whoever the intruder was, he would probably be licked to death before he could get to the house. At the same time, it occurred to Jane that a murderer wouldn’t be likely to have his lights on, but with the power and the phone out, she wasn’t taking any chances.
    And as isolated as she was, a convoy of murderers could turn up and it wouldn’t matter how many lights were blazing; she couldn’t expect any help from anyone but Rider who, from all accounts, was too busy with his new girlfriend to notice what was happening to his neighbour.
    Wiping moisture and wet strands of hair from her face, she peered in the direction of the drive. Movement registered out of the corner of her eye, as if someone was walking toward the kitchen rather than the front door. The flicker of movement was followed by a gravelly curse, then the rattle and clang of tins as the bucket came down. She heard something that sounded suspiciously like a groan, but the sound was muffled and indistinct.
    Gripping the torch, she peered around the corner of the house. The faint wash of the light from the kitchen windows flowed over a familiar male form.
    Switching the torch on, she hurried forward, knelt on the wet grass, and began dragging the tangle of cans and rope off Rider, her hands feverish. The bucket must have caught him on the head, knocking him out.
    In the dim light his eyes flickered, and his gaze locked on hers, narrowed and glittering. “Since coming back I’ve been arrested, cuffed, and fingerprinted, tortured by spending four hours solid with Tucker and Zane Parker.” He lifted a hand to his head and winced. “Now, I’ve been attacked by a bucket. Whoever said Tayler’s Creek is Sleepy Hollow lied. It’s a war zone.”
    The bite to his words barely registered beyond the fact that his irritation told her that he was obviously okay. She swatted his hand aside. “Let me see.”
    The lump was situated in the centre of his forehead. Unexpected amusement quivered through her. When she was a kid the bucket trap had never netted much success. Obviously her targets had all been too short. Rider, at around six-feet-two, was the perfect height. The bucket had caught him clean—right between the eyes.
    He pushed himself into a sitting position and fingered the lump. “Oh yeah, you got me good. I saw stars.” His gaze swept her, still glittering, and not a little irritable. “You’re getting wet.”
    Understatement of the universe. Already her shirt was clinging to her skin, and her hair was sopping. Retrieving the torch, she got to her feet. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Rider, there’s a storm; everything’s wet.”
    His teeth flashed white in the dim light as he eased to his feet, stumbling slightly as he straightened, as if he was having trouble orienting himself. “Some things look better wet than others.”
    Her amusement was replaced by a spurt of anger, and she was glad she’d resisted the urge to grab his arm and steady him. Rider had obviously come to check on her because the power and telephone were out, which was nice. Very neighbourly. She was sorry he’d gotten hurt, but obviously the bucket hadn’t hit hard enough to anaesthetize his libido. “I saw Marg Tayler in town yesterday,” she said pointedly. “She said you were involved with someone.”
    “Did she, now?”
    Fury flickered at the