Read Die Before I Wake for Free Online Page B

around as my waist, and the chain saw protested loudly as he sliced it into neat, foot-long segments.
    I stood watching him until he became aware of my scrutiny. Then he took a step back, turned off the chain saw, and removed his safety glasses.
    Birdsong filled the sudden silence, and for an instant I felt awkward, remembering what he’d witnessed last night and wishing he hadn’t. “Sleep well?” he said.
    “As well as can be expected.” I raised a hand to shade my eyes from the bright sun. I knew we were both thinking about our last meeting. I might as well bring it into the open instead of dancing around it.
    “Your mother,” I said, “doesn’t seem to like me.” Fiddling with the pull cord to the chain saw, he said, “You did seem to bring out the worst in her.”
    “It’s a talent,” I said.
    He balanced the butt of the saw against his booted foot. “I wouldn’t let her get to me if I were you.”
    “I don’t intend to. I’m indomitable.” He studied me with blue eyes very much like Tom’s. And the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”
    “So where, exactly, is she this morning? Your sainted mother?”
    “She’s at work. Tessie’s Bark and Bath.” I raised an eyebrow. “Tessie’s Bark and Bath?” He grinned. “Mom’s a dog groomer.”
    “And I’ll bet she frightens the poor things into submission.” Changing the subject, I pointed to the pile of wood he’d cut. “This pine branch is enormous.
    What’ll you do with all this wood?”
    “Split it. Stack it. Come winter, it’ll keep the house warm.”
    “Winter,” I said. “That seems like such a foreign concept. I’m a Southern California girl. I’m used to sunshine. The beach. I’ve never done winter. Does it really get as cold as I’ve heard?”
    “Take whatever you’re expecting and multiply it by ten. February may be the shortest month, but it’s also the coldest. And the darkest. You’ll want to buy an extra-warm coat. Fur-lined boots. Thick gloves.
    And a wool scarf. That is, assuming you’re still here come February.”
    I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
    “Are you saying there’s some reason I might not be here?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “She’s not going to drive me away, Riley.”
    “I didn’t say that, either. It’s just—”
    “What?”
    His blue eyes studied me, but I couldn’t decipher what was going on behind them. “Nothing,” he said.
    “I have to get back to work. This tree won’t get cut up by itself.”
    I stepped away as Riley fired up the chain saw.
    He adjusted his safety goggles, nodded to me, and went back to cutting.
    I suspected I’d been snubbed, although I wasn’t wholly certain. But I was definitely starting to feel as if I’d stepped through the looking glass and into some otherworldly dimension where everything was a little off center.
    But I didn’t allow myself to wallow in it; I had no sympathy for people who sat around bemoaning their fates. Pity parties aren’t my style. I had far too much to do. Since I’d decided against making a run for it, I needed to unpack and try to find space for all my things in Tom’s bedroom. Our bedroom, I reminded myself.
    I headed back to the house, rummaged through my purse for a notebook and pen, and sat at the kitchen table to make a list of what needed doing.
    I’m a compulsive list-maker. I simply can’t seem to stop. Jeffrey used to make fun of me because of it, but list-making helps me keep my life organized and running on track. If I didn’t make lists, I’d never remember anything. I use them in both my private and business life, and my friends and coworkers always point out how utterly organized I am. I just smile enigmatically and accept the compliment, while mentally thumbing my nose at my ex-husband. What can I say? Sometimes even a mature woman has to let her inner child out once in a while.
    First on the list: Go to bank. I’d already closed my bank account and