Marlie's Mystery Man

Unless, of course, a handsome someone scrubbed her back.

Unh-huh. Cut that last thought. Nicholas wouldn’t scrub her back. He’d just tell her how bad hot water and perfumed soaps were for her skin.

Forget Nicholas. And forget hats placed strategically by an interior decorator to enhance an old hotel’s western decor. Forget, especially, hats with blue feathers in the hatband.

A half hour later, too pleasantly lethargic from her hot bath for even Agatha to have appeal, Marlie called it a day. Turning off the lamp, she sank into the old-fashioned bed’s very modern and oh-so-comfortable mattress.

And heard a giant sneeze.

Oh. Good. Grief.

Still, if she could hear the people next door, they could surely hear her. “Don’t you have anything to take for that?” she asked the wall loudly.

Silence.

One might even say stunned silence, it was that thick. Apparently the elderlies in the next room didn’t realize how thin the walls were.

There was another sneeze, followed by a muttered, “Well, hell.”

“Bless you,” Marlie called out, grinning.

“You can hear me?” a voice asked diffidently.

Aha, Marlie thought. Masculine. One of the supposed maiden ladies still had some energy.

“Yes, and you really ought to take something for that cold. We’d all sleep better.”

“It’s not a cold,” the voice replied. A husky voice, with a hint of drawl. And it didn’t sound like that of an old man, either. It sounded velvety, downright sexy even, if a trifle cranky and stuffed up. One of the dears must have found herself a young stud while she was stargazing.

“It’s allergies,” the voice continued. “I’m allergic to your soap.”

And Marlie could swear that whoever spoke was right beside her. She heard a rustling in the other bed.

With a shriek, she reached out and turned on the light.

Nothing. Even better, no one.

Sinking limply against the pillows, she sighed….

Ker-choo!

And bolted up again.

“If you’d bathe with something besides lavender soap, we’d both be happier,” the voice said.

“Where are you?” Marlie whispered.

“In the bed opposite yours. Don’t get your britches in a knot, lady. I won’t hurt you.”

Throwing back the covers, Marlie bolted for the door, fumbled with the lock, threw the door open and was about to slam it behind her when she realized she heard no pursuit. She paused, uncertain, but stayed poised to immediately run and/or scream, whichever was needed.

Cautiously reaching over, she flipped on the overhead light. How could she describe the intruder to the local badge if she didn’t know what he looked like?

Nothing. No one. Nobody.

“Are…are you there?” she whispered into the seemingly empty room.

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“I told you. In the other bed.”

The covers on the bed in question rose and fell as if they’d been given a disgusted shake. Marlie’s heartbeat rose and fell with them.

“I’m…I’m going for the police,” she warned, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.

“Go ahead. If you can explain this to someone you’ll be doing a hell of a lot better than I did today. And Fort Davis doesn’t have police. We make do with a sheriff and a couple of deputies.” Ker-choo!

“You’ve got a sneeze like an atomic blast,” Marlie said dryly. “I don’t think I’ll have much trouble explaining things.”

“Have at it,” the whoever or whatever it was responded, and blew his nose.

Once the woman marched her straight-backed, swishy-bottomed little self out the door, Caid got out of bed, went to the closet and retrieved his jeans. If on the off chance someone could finally see him as well as hear him, he wanted to be decent. He wasn’t holding out much hope, however.

Still, for the first time today he’d actually exchanged conversation with someone. Perhaps whatever the heck it was that had happened to him was starting to wear off.

When Marlie returned, she had Ann with her. After hearing the story, the desk clerk had talked her out of going for the sheriff.

Ann looked around the quiet room. “I don’t see anything or hear anything, Ms. Simms. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”

“I hadn’t gone to sleep yet,” Marlie replied shortly. “And I know what I heard. A man talked to me and he sneezed. He said he was allergic to my lavender soap.

“Hey,” she called out to the seemingly empty room, feeling brave now that she had company. “Are you here?”

“I’m here,” the voice answered.

“Where?”

“Standing about three feet in front of you.” Ker-choo!

“There.” Marlie turned to the desk clerk in triumph. “You heard that, didn’t you? I’ll bet people in the next county did, too.”

But Ann merely gazed back at her in confusion. “Ms. Simms, I, uh, didn’t hear anything.”

“Sure you did,” Marlie told the desk clerk bracingly. “That sneeze registered on the Richter scale.”

But by now, even though she wasn’t but a few years older, Ann’s look had turned motherly. She put a comforting arm around Marlie’s shoulders.