George woke up first, thank god, with a raging hard on from being pressed up against Scout all night. He carefully extricated himself from her sleeping body, which was nestled trustingly against him. She looked touchingly young in her sleep, lovely soft lips parted slightly, dark, sooty lashes closed against her white skin.
The room looked reassuringly bright and normal in the morning light. The dogs slumbered, taking up way more than their fair share of the bed, legs spread all over the place, tongues hanging out. The bells, which had been so terrifying last night, hung silent over the doorway, and random sunbeams illuminated an exceptionally pretty watercolor of wildflowers that he'd quickly had hung on the day he realized Scout would be sleeping here.
All his efforts to be quiet had been in vain, it seemed; Scout turned and gave a beautiful stretch, her hands pulled into tight fists which she pushed over her head, pulling her pink pajama top up her midriff, exposing the tummy which George found so irresistible. Her eyes fluttered open, and landed on George, and she smiled softly, making George think that whoever got to wake up to that would have to count herself among the luckiest people on earth.
Scout suddenly remembered why George was in bed with her, and the frightening events of last night, her eyes flying to the bells. She sat up, pulling the comforter to her chest as if to protect herself.
"It's okay, you're okay," George soothed, rubbing her back.
She turned wide eyes to him.
"What the fuck happened?" she asked softly.
He shrugged, saying, "I honestly don't know. Maybe something went wonky with the pulls downstairs? Nothing like that's ever happened before. I'll check where they connect later today, though, okay? Maybe just disconnect the whole thing?"
"Oh," Scout said, her disappointment obvious in the one syllable. "They're part of the history of the house, though, part of the charm you were talking about."
George nodded slowly, continuing to rub her back. He felt the same way. But the way they were ringing the night before, so violently, so malevolently. It had been terrifying.
Scout got out of bed, pulling the stool from the vanity over to the doorway, and climbed on it, balancing precariously to examine the bells at closer range. This surprised George. Kelly, for example, would've been cowering in the bathroom, insisting that George disconnect the system immediately.
She reached out a slender finger and flicked one of the bells, which gave a melodious tinkle, not scary at all in the bright light of day, making the dogs wag their tails.
"I don't see anything unusual now," she said, her nose practically touching the bells. "Must be something with the pulls downstairs, like you said," she decided, her no-nonsense, New England upbringing pushing her nighttime vapors away.
"Lots of dust up here, though," she remarked, which made George smile. "Place needs a good spring cleaning, I think, dude."
"I'll get the boys up here, then," he responded from the bed.
She turned to him, eyebrow raised.
"Are you serious right now?" she asked. "What are you, quadriplegic all of a sudden?" At his blank look she clarified, "You can't do a little cleaning yourself?"
He sat up. "I'm a multi-millionaire," he said huffily. "I have people to do those sorts of things for me, as you so astutely pointed out on your first day here."
"George, you can't just hire people to do everything," Scout said as she climbed down off the stool.
"I hired you," he pointed out, getting out of bed. "Working out quite well so far, I think." He smirked at her as he pulled off his shirt.
Scout averted her eyes. She couldn't take his sculpted abs and well-developed pecs this early in the morning. Especially when his beautiful blond hair had that just-slept-on-messed-up perfection going on.
Wowza.
George noticed her look away and quickly went to his own room.
*****************************
Kelly left soon after breakfast, quickly and efficiently loading up her car and zooming down the long drive, throwing a wave over her head. She'd kept her goodbyes friendly and impersonal, perhaps a little embarrassed by her actions of the night before.
George turned to Scout, who'd come to the door with him to say good bye.
"So, how about some golf, then?" he asked with a smile.
"Really?" Scout couldn't hide her enthusiasm. "You don't mind?"
"Why on earth would I mind?" George was honestly perplexed. "I like golf, I told you that."
Scout shrugged, but George could see the conflict on her face.
"To your New England sensibilities, not working when you've been hired and are being paid to do a specific task feels too much like shirking, I can tell," he said with a knowing smile.
She blinked at him. "Exactly," she said in consternation. "You know so much, don't you?" she said with only a little sarcasm, giving him a tiny nudge with her shoulder as they went back inside.
"Come on, Scout, we've been living practically in each other's pockets since you got here over a month ago," George said reasonably. "I know basically everything about you but your blood type, I think," he said with a smile. "Actually, I might even know that," he added thoughtfully.
"You do not!" Scout burst out laughing. "I don't even know my blood type," she said, rolling her eyes at him.
"Anyway," he interrupted her, rolling his eyes back. "How did we land on the whole skiving off work for the day and going golfing thing? Hm?"
Scout couldn't keep the sparkle from her eyes. "You're the boss," she said as nonchalantly as she could with a grin. "Let's skive."
"Skive off," he corrected gently, clonking her head.
"Mm kay, I have to change, though," Scout said, already heading for the stairs.
George watched her go. He'd discovered in the month and a bit that she'd been here that watching Scout climb the stairs, seeing her slim hips move back and forth, watching her legs move gracefully and efficiently up the steps, sometimes taking them two at a time, was one of his favorite things in the world. He could watch her go upstairs all day long. Especially, though he hated himself for noticing, when she wasn't wearing a bra. Which was often. Like today. He told himself over and over that it was lecherous and sexist to notice, that it was passive harassment, almost visual assault. But he couldn't help himself, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
She was in her home, or what passed for her home, for now, she obviously felt comfortable, she shouldn't have to worry about things like that. She wasn't trying to stir him up or entice him or seduce him or anything like that, he knew. She wasn't that silly or superficial. She didn't bother with make up or any of that nonsense. Besides, she was gay.
But she was oh so beautiful.
How could he ever have mistaken her for a man?
George sighed and ran up the stairs himself to change.
It was a glorious day for being outdoors. Scout was enchanted with her new clubs, and enchanting as well. She exclaimed over how well balanced they were, and how well they swung, their heft. And how shiny they were, and how pretty the color was. George just smiled, pleased with how well received his gift was.
They played the whole links, while the dogs bounced back and forth, rambling along the different scents. In golf, at least, they were well-matched, and had a good game, with Scout having the weaker but more accurate stroke.
The fog and mist began to come up just as they reached the last few holes.
"Maybe we should stop," George suggested, looking around.
"Oh, come on, this is all private, right?" Scout coaxed. "No one else is around, there's no danger of anyone up ahead getting hit by a ball or anything." She looked at him imploringly. "We can be quick, can't we? It's just that I haven't played in so long."
"Okay, but let's be very quick," George stressed, once again enticed by the lovely sight of her hips as they twisted when she swung her club. "You've seen how rapidly the mist can come up."
They played through quickly, trying to see up ahead as the fog rose up the cliffs. George tried to explain the topography a little to help out, and Scout did okay, calling on her memory from her previous walk along the links. They kept the dogs close to avoid hitting one of them with an errant ball.
The fog finally got thick enough to block out the sun, and Scout pulled on her sweater, which had been tied around her slender waist.
"You cold?" George asked. "We can head back if you like?" He stepped close and rubbed her arm.
Scout shook her head.
"This is the last hole, right?" she asked. "Let's finish."
George nodded and stepped up to the tee.
They played through, by which time their hair was wet from the mist and fog. They could hear the waves, too, crashing into the rocks. They quickly shouldered their clubs and began walking toward the house, which was shrouded in fog.
"Scout! Slow down, please. Remember how slippery this bit here can be," George entreated.
Scout nodded and slowed her steps. After a minute or two, she stopped and looked around. "Where's Jess?" she asked.
George, too, looked. "Fuck it all, where's she gone off to now?" he asked, irritated beyond all measure. For no reason he could fathom, he was uneasy. He wanted to get back to the house, he wanted to get Scout back to the house. The longer they stayed outside, the more nervous he felt.
"Keep going, Scout, carefully, though. I'll call Jess and catch up in a mo, okay?" he said.
Scout was going to say she'd just wait with him, but she saw the look on his face and just nodded, not wanting to worry him any more, and turned and kept walking. They had to be pretty close to the house by now, anyway.
"Jess! Come on, girl!" George called. Bandit, understanding that Jess' absence was gumming up the works, promptly went to look for her. George knew that he'd find her and bring her back right away, and that she'd probably be contrite and embarrassed. Jess was nothing if not polite.
He turned to see how far ahead Scout was, and stopped dead in his tracks.
Oh god.
There was something on the trail next to her, some amorphous shape, darker than the surrounding fog. It was hovering about eight inches off the ground, hulking over Scout, who didn't seem aware of its presence.
"Scout!" Her name was torn from his mouth, a warning which she would never understand. How could he convey what he needed from this distance with mere words? That she needed to run, defend herself, be careful?
Scout turned toward him, not understanding her danger, but hearing the terror in his voice. As she turned, she slipped, dropping her clubs with a clatter. She grabbed for the railing, which she knew she should've been holding all along.
She lost her footing, reaching desperately for the iron fencing. She saw George drop his own clubs, coming toward her at a dead run, Bandit appearing out of the fog behind him like a wraith. There was no way he'd reach her in time.
The ground beneath her feet began to crumble, and Scout knew that she was going to fall, and probably die. It was at least a couple hundred feet down to the beach below, and it wasn't a soft, sandy beach, but rather a rocky, cove-like one, deep and beautiful for taking photographs. The stairs were cut sharply into the cliffs, and she would probably hit most of them on the way down.
Fuck.
There was a brief moment when she thought she could save herself, when she managed to grab the edge.
But then, inexplicably, she felt something else, and it pushed her, pushed her body and hands, peeling her fingers off and shoving her over the edge.
And suddenly, just as she was sure she was going to fall, George was there, throwing himself into the breech, literally throwing himself behind her somehow, grabbing her around the waist, changing her trajectory, so she fell, not into the chasm underneath, but onto a tiny ledge, a V-shaped opening between two rocks carved into the stairs.
They both landed with a hard thump, hitting the rock wall hard. Scout carried the momentum for both of them, being so much lighter, and kept going, nearly over the edge. George kept his hold around her waist, hauling her back just in time. He pulled her close, his heart beating like a triphammer in his chest.
They looked at each other, knowing how close their escape had been, both breathing like they'd just run a marathon.
"Oh my god, George, thank you," Scout gasped through chattering teeth.
They looked around at their tiny, wet surroundings.
Now what?