The Rogue Hunter

"Poor Alex."



Sam glanced over at Jo, who sat at the dining room table. She was supposed to be shucking corn, but now held a half-shucked cob forgotten, her attention directed out the front window of the cottage. Her mouth was pinched with worry, Sam noted. "What's wrong with Alex? Has she hurt herself?"



"No," Jo assured her. "She just looks so miserable out there."



Sam set down the half-peeled potato she'd been working on, snatched a piece of paper towel off the roll, and dried her hands as she crossed the room to look out the window too. They were both silent for a moment, eyes following their older sister as she pushed a lawn mower across the grass in front of the cottage. She was obviously struggling to move the old mower up the slanted lawn. Beads of sweat were rolling down her forehead as she worked under the blistering late afternoon sun. And she did indeed look miserable. Alex's face was red and fixed in a scowl so fierce Sam feared it might become permanent.



"I did offer to do it for her, but she insisted," Sam said with exasperation. "She'd rather do that than food prep any day."



"I suppose when you cook all week for a living, doing it on vacation would be a drag," Jo commented sympathetically.



Sam snorted. "More like she has little lackeys to do this stuff at work and she thought she'd rather mow than play lackey herself... but she forgot about the deerflies."



"Is that what that gray fog is around her head?" Jo asked with alarm. "Why didn't she put on some bug spray?"



"She did," Samantha assured her. "She used the heavy-duty stuff too. Twice. But it's hot out there, and she sweats it off after ten steps."



They watched silently as Alex and her swarm crossed the yard again. She wasn't even halfway done. She'd be eaten alive by the time she was.



Mouth tightening, Sam headed for the door. "I'm going out there and try to help keep the bugs off her."



"How are you going to do that?" Jo asked with amazement.



The question made Sam pause and turn back. She'd need weapons to defend Alex.



"What on earth is that woman doing?"



Mortimer gave a slight start at Decker Pimms's words and turned from the window to glance at him with surprise. He'd been concentrating so hard on what was taking place next door that he hadn't even heard the man approach. "You are here. Lucian said you were, but the cottage was empty, and I began to think I'd misunderstood."



"No, you didn't misunderstand," Decker said with a shrug. "I was up here on vacation when Mother called saying Uncle Lucian was trying to reach me about this biting business."



Mortimer nodded, but kept back any sympathetic comments about his vacation being wrecked. Decker wasn't the sort to appreciate sympathy.



"I was told to expect you two around midnight."



Mortimer grimaced at the pointed comment, but merely said, "The journey took longer than expected."



"Bricker made you stop at every restaurant you passed along the way?" Decker guessed with amusement.



"Yeah," Mortimer admitted wryly. Anyone who had worked with them was familiar with Bricker's voracious appetite.



Smile widening at his expression, Decker explained, "I waited until two a.m., but when you guys hadn't shown up by then I ran out to run some errands. I checked back after dropping some mail in the box in town and hitting the garbage dump, but you still weren't here, so I went out to reconnoiter on my own."



"Garbage?" Mortimer asked doubtfully. "Don't they pick up here?"



Decker shook his head. "And you can't leave containers of empty blood bags in the shed; it attracts bears. I pay extra to the local guy who takes care of the dump to let me in late."



"Ah," Mortimer said with a small smile.



Decker shrugged. "Anyway, it was a little after dawn when I got back."



"It sounds like you missed us both ways," Mortimer announced. "We arrived just after two, then went in search of an all-night coffee shop for Bricker to eat."



"I take it that means you didn't have any trouble finding the key over the door?"



"No problem at all," Mortimer assured him.



Decker nodded. "Most people don't bother to lock their doors up here, and I wouldn't either, but I worry about kids, or the curious, or even ne'er-do-wells wandering in and happening on the blood..."



Mortimer merely nodded in understanding. Their kind were trained from birth to hide what they were, as well as any evidence that might give them away.



"I gather you took the spare room down here?" Decker asked.



"Yeah. Bricker put my stuff in there when we arrived," he admitted, and then raised an eyebrow. "Is it a problem?"



"No, not at all," Decker assured him, and then smiled wryly and added, "His being in my room was, though. When I found him there, I invited him to choose one of the empty rooms upstairs and then I crashed."



Mortimer grinned, knowing Decker well enough to be able to say with some certainty that the invitation had probably been offered via rousting Bricker from the bed. He didn't feel much sympathy for the younger man. When he'd seen the large, opulent room Bricker had chosen for himself, Mortimer had suspected it was the master bedroom. But when he'd suggested as much that morning, Bricker had just shrugged and said that if Decker wanted the room, he'd move. He probably hadn't expected that to be in the middle of the day, though.



Mortimer was surprised the noise hadn't woken him up. He was usually a light sleeper, but that morning he'd dropped off the moment his head hit the pillow and-despite being in a strange bed-he'd slept right through... until about twenty minutes ago, when he'd woken to the raucous growl of their neighbor's lawn mower. Mortimer had tried to filter out the sound at first, but it was hard to ignore. This lawn mower's muffler appeared to be broken... if lawn mowers had mufflers, he thought with a scowl.



"Jesus," Decker said, his attention again shifting to their neighbor's yard. "What is that woman doing?"



Reminded of what he'd been watching, Mortimer turned to glance out the window again. Decker's cottage had been built on a hill. The upper floor was completely above ground and had a deck surrounding it, but only this large rec room was above ground on the second floor. All the rooms at the back of the cabin, or facing toward the road rather than the lake, were built into the hill itself, hence the reason there were no windows in the downstairs bedrooms. But the front of this room-like the one above-was a wall of windows, and every one of them was shaded by the deck outside. It left a lovely shady spot to stand and peer through the trees at the lawn next door and the two women mowing it.



Well, only one was mowing the lawn, he supposed. The sister named Alex. The other, the woman he recognized as being the clumsy Sam, was following along beside her, madly waving a dish towel and fly swatter about her sister's head.



When he'd first spotted the pair, Mortimer thought Sam was attacking Alex, but the mad waving continued while the two women walked in sync. Mortimer then watched perplexed as the clumsy Sam staggered along, stumbling over her own feet as she madly flailed her items. She was mostly wielding them about Alex's head, but stopped every few minutes to flail them around her own before chasing after the mower to wave them around Alex again.



As he watched, Mortimer's irritation slowly turned to concern. He was quite positive that one of these times, in her mad dash after the lawn mower, Sam would stumble and fall right into it. She really was the clumsiest creature he'd ever seen. As unsteady on her feet as a new foal... or a drunk, he supposed, and frowned. Surely it was too early in the day to be drinking.



He glanced to his wrist, but had taken his watch off before crawling into bed and hadn't thought to retrieve it when the lawn mower noise had woken him.



"What the hell is she doing?" Decker breathed with dismay.



Mortimer glanced back out to see that Sam had once again paused to wave the dish towel and fly swatter about her own head. He wasn't surprised at Decker's shock. The woman looked spastic... The first time she'd done that he'd thought she was having some sort of seizure. "I think she's trying to chase off mosquitoes or something."



"Ah." Decker nodded, but said, "Probably deerflies."



"What about deerflies?"



Both men turned to see Bricker as he stepped off the stairs and crossed the carpet toward them.



"They tend to be pests up here for the mortals," Decker explained. Insects generally left immortals alone. It had been hypothesized that immortals secreted some hormone that either confused or was unattractive to them. "I guess they're bothering our neighbor while she's mowing the lawn."



Bricker nodded at the explanation and paused next to them to peer out the window too. He watched Sam's antics for a moment, his expression becoming increasingly perplexed, but merely asked, "Do you know them?"



"No," Decker said. "The Realtor gave me a short rundown of the neighbors when I bought this place, but I've avoided the whole getting-to-know-the-neighbors thing."



Mortimer wasn't surprised to hear this. Getting to know the neighbors would limit how long Decker could keep the cottage. The best possible scenario was that he didn't see them at all.



"So what did the Realtor say about them?" Bricker asked curiously.



Decker's expression turned thoughtful as he tried to recall the information. "They're three sisters. I think the family name is Willan, but I don't remember their given names. The Realtor told me, but..." He shrugged with indifference. "Their parents bought or built the cottage when the girls were just kids and the family spent a lot of summers up here. The parents died a couple of years ago-some kind of accident-and they left the cottage to the three sisters."



Mortimer saw his gaze narrow on the women on the lawn, and then Decker admitted, "In the two years since I bought the cottage, this is the first time I've been here during high season. I usually only come up in fall, winter, and spring. It's pretty quiet then, with just a handful of year-round residents, who are generally easy to avoid. On the rare occasions I haven't been able to avoid them, I simply took control of their minds and sent them on their way."



A moment of silence passed, and then Decker glanced at Bricker and asked, "Did the lawn mower wake you up as well?"



"Yeah," the younger immortal admitted, irritation wreathing his face. "These walls are paper-thin, Decker. What did they build them out of? Toilet tissue?"



"I don't think that would be up to code," Decker said with amusement and then added, "I plan to tear it down eventually and build new. I'm just waiting for my neighbors to decide to sell so I can buy their land and spread out a bit."



Mortimer raised his eyebrows at the ambitious plan. "Do you intend to help your neighbors decide to sell? If not, it could take a while."



"I have time," Decker pointed out dryly.



He couldn't argue that point, Mortimer supposed. Barring murder or an incredibly rare accident, time was the one thing they all had a lot of.



"The heat up there didn't help me sleep either," Bricker commented, and then added enviously, "It's much cooler down here."



"The air conditioner must not have kicked in," Decker said with a frown. "I'll have a look at it."



"It can't kick in; there's no power," Mortimer announced, forestalling him.



"No power?" Decker asked with surprise. "It was on when I left last night."



"It wasn't when we arrived," Bricker informed him.



"Christ." Decker turned to stride away across the room to a refrigerator. He pulled the door open and groaned when the light didn't come on. Even without the light, it was bright enough in the rec room to see the neat rows of bagged blood inside. Blood that would now be useless.



"It'll be tainted," Decker said with disgust. He bent to feel the bags anyway, but apparently wasn't pleased with their temperature. Straightening, he closed the door with a slam. "The storm must have knocked it out. I should have checked when I came back. The tiniest rainstorm can knock out the power up here."



"Don't worry, we brought plenty of blood. You can share ours," Mortimer told him.



"Well, it won't be any good either if you put it in the refrigerator upstairs," Decker pointed out.



"We didn't," Bricker assured him, and quickly explained the special cooler they'd brought.



"How long will it run on battery?" Decker asked.



Mortimer frowned. "I think they said twenty-four hours."



"Well, there's no need to run it down. I have a generator. I'll go turn it on and we can trade the bad blood in the refrigerator for your good blood." He started for the stairs, muttering, "This means another trip to the dump tonight."



"I didn't see a generator when I looked around last night," Bricker commented.



"It's out behind the cottage in a shed," Decker explained, disappearing up the stairs.



The sudden silence as the growl of the lawn mower next door died reminded Mortimer of the women. He was swinging toward the window to peer out again when the racket that had woken him was replaced with the blare of music.



It seemed they were done mowing the lawn. Alex was pushing the mower back toward the garage and Sam was moving toward the deck stairs. She paused abruptly, however, when the third sister, Jo, rushed out of the cottage with three clear bottles with golden liquid and lime slices floating in them. Despite the distance, he could make out the name Corona on one of the bottles. Mexican beers then.



"It's starting to look like the neighbors are party animals," Bricker commented, moving up beside him to peer outside. "I hope they don't keep us up every day with loud music."



A burst of laughter slipped from Mortimer's lips. "Three women do not constitute a party, and having a beer at..." He paused to glance around until he found a clock on the wall. The fact that the second hand was still moving told him it was battery operated and-hopefully-correct. It wasn't as early as he'd supposed. "A beer at four p.m. after mowing the lawn in this heat hardly makes them party animals."



"If the power's out, how are they playing music?" Bricker asked.



Mortimer didn't comment, but glanced toward their neighbors. Alex was back from the garage sans the lawn mower, and she and Sam had each taken one of the bottles of golden liquid. Jo was now only holding one bottle. She was also doing something of a dance and trying to get the other two to join her.



"It must be a battery-operated CD player or something," Bricker said after moving to the light switch next to the sliding glass doors and flicking it on and off with no effect.



"Or maybe they have a generator too," Mortimer suggested.



He'd barely spoken the suggestion when the air was filled with the very loud sound of an engine roaring to life. The generator, Mortimer realized, and glanced toward Bricker. He immediately flicked the light switch again, grinning when this time it turned on.



They were both silent for a moment, and then Bricker asked hopefully, "Do you think it's got enough current to run the air conditioner as well as the lights?"



"No," Decker answered as he stepped off the stairs and moved to rejoin them. "This generator came with the cottage when I bought it. It's old and not very powerful despite how noisy it is. I've been meaning to replace it, but haven't got around to it. I'll have to look into it, I guess. In the meantime, this one will run the refrigerator and some lights, but I wouldn't tax it more than that."



Bricker looked truly disappointed at this news, which made Mortimer wonder just how hot it was upstairs.



"Look," Bricker said suddenly. "It would seem the noise has caught the attention of your neighbors."



Mortimer and Decker followed his gaze out the window. Sure enough, all three women stood stock-still, their gazes focused on this cottage.



"How the hell did they hear the generator over the sound of their music?" Decker muttered.



"The generator is pretty loud," Mortimer pointed out, and then fell silent as the women began to move as one, crossing their yard toward the border of trees that separated the properties.



"Damn," Decker muttered.



"This is easily resolved," Mortimer said calmly. "We'll just convince them that they don't want to come over here. I'll take the clumsy one."



"Which one's that?" Bricker asked with confusion.



"The one with long hair."



"Right." He nodded. "I'll take the one with the ponytail."



"I guess I'll take the other one then," Decker said dryly.



Mortimer smiled faintly and then concentrated on Sam, sending his thoughts out to find hers and take control of them. He was vaguely aware of first one sister stopping and then the other as he worked, but Sam continued happily forward, oblivious of his struggles to get into her thoughts and take control. Something he seemed to be having difficulties with. Frowning, he redoubled his efforts.



"Um, Mortimer," Decker said with concern as Sam continued along the trail. Leading the way, she hadn't yet noticed that her sisters had both stopped and were no longer following. "What's happening?"



"Nothing, just give me a minute," he muttered unhappily and redoubled his efforts. Another moment of silence passed, but he still couldn't seem to get into her thoughts.



"Are you going to stop her or not?" Decker asked with exasperation. The two other sisters stood like frozen dolls, waiting for the men to put a thought in their heads and release the control they had over them. But the men were waiting for Mortimer to get control of Sam. Only he didn't appear to be able to do that. "Mortimer?"



"I'm trying," he snapped with frustration.



"Trying?" Bricker asked.



Something about the tone of his voice made Mortimer give up on the woman and turn a reluctant gaze to the other men.



They were both staring at him wide-eyed.



"Can't you get into her thoughts?" Bricker asked.



"Of course I can," he said quickly, irritation making his voice short.



"Then what's the problem. Stop her," Decker insisted.



Mortimer turned back and tried once more.



"You can't, can you? You can't get into her thoughts," Bricker said with what sounded like mounting excitement.



It wasn't shared by Mortimer. He scowled, but finally admitted, "No, I can't."



"I'll handle it," Decker murmured.



The moment she was under control and still like the others, Bricker slapped Mortimer on the shoulder. "Woowoo! Congratulations, Mort, my man!! You've found your life mate."



"Shut up, Bricker," he growled furiously.



"You're not looking happy," Decker said slowly, and then pointed out, "Most immortals would be jumping for joy at the prospect of finally meeting their life mate."



Mortimer opened his mouth to snap again, but then let his breath out on a sigh and said more calmly, "And I would be too if she truly were my life mate. But she isn't. She can't be."



"She can't?" Decker asked with surprise, and when Mortimer shook his head firmly, asked, "Why not?"



"Well, just look at her, Decker," he said, amazed that he would even ask. "She's clumsy and awkward and flat and-That woman in no way resembles the mate I-" Mortimer snapped his mouth shut before he could blurt the words have fantasized about for well over seven hundred years.



And he had. In his eight hundred years of life, Mortimer had lain awake many a night imagining what his life mate would be like. In his dreams she'd been blond, and cool, and intelligent in a sexy Jessica Rabbit kind of way. He smiled just thinking about the glamorous cartoon character, and then his eyes settled on the woman named Sam, and his smile died. This woman was nothing like the fantasy character. Tall, skinny, awkward, and clumsy, she was more like Olive Oyl. She even had the dark hair, though hers was long.



Mortimer's seething thoughts were distracted when Decker patted his shoulder sympathetically.



"I have a certain vision in my mind of what my life mate will be like too," the other immortal admitted. "Mine's Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith ... or Tomb Raider ... hell, pretty much in any role she's played. But I'll probably end up with a short Betty Boop."



Mortimer closed his eyes on a sigh as he realized that Decker had read his thoughts, something he normally wouldn't be able to do. It was starting already then, he thought unhappily, the lack of control over his own mind, leaving his thoughts vulnerable to every immortal who wished to read it. Like not being able to read the life mate's mind, this too was a symptom of meeting the life mate. He supposed he'd start eating soon too, and not that fake push-food-around-your-plate business he normally indulged in to keep Bricker company. No. He'd really start eating; scarfing down food, enjoying it, and hungering for more.



Damn. This was the last thing he'd expected from this trip.



"Jessica Rabbit?" Bricker said suddenly with disbelief. "Olive Oyl? Jeez, Mort. I mean, I've heard of sexism, but... seeing women as cartoon characters? You've got a major problem there, my friend." He shook his head. "Maybe it wasn't such a good thing we watched that animation marathon on television last week. It was my fault. You didn't want to watch it, but I-"



"Bricker," Mortimer said wearily, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't your fault and it isn't about cartoons. She just isn't to my taste."



A moment of silence passed as the men all turned to peer at Sam. Decker had taken control just as she'd stumbled and landed on her butt on the muddy path under the trees between the two properties. She still sat there, living proof of her own clumsiness.



Mortimer noted the exchange of glances between the other two men, and then Decker asked, "So, how old are you, Mortimer? Eight hundred and something, isn't it?"



"Yes," he agreed warily, knowing it wasn't just mild interest.



Decker nodded. "And how many women have you met in that time that you can't read?"



His mouth tightened at the question. Sam was the first. And it had been a long eight hundred years too. Lonely. Was he being a fool?



No, Mortimer decided grimly. If he was judging the woman on her looks, that would have been one thing, but it wasn't just that. It was her complete lack of grace and-What if she really was an alcoholic? Maybe that was why he couldn't read her, he thought suddenly. Maybe she was drunk right now and-



"Alcohol usually makes it easier to read them," Decker pointed out quietly, revealing that he was still reading Mortimer's thoughts. "A drunk's thoughts might be sloppy and disorganized, but they have no barriers at all when drunk."



Mortimer peered at Sam again, knowing he was being a fool to even hesitate.



"Do you really want to wait another eight hundred years for another possible life mate to come along?" Bricker asked quietly.



Mortimer grimaced at the idea, but argued, "We're up here to do a job, not chase women around."



Bricker arched one eyebrow and then turned to Decker and asked, "Am I right in guessing that you don't know much about the social scene up here?"



"Yes. How did you know?"



"You don't even know your neighbors," he pointed out dryly, and then suggested quietly, "So, these gals may come in useful. We could perhaps learn the social hot spots and where most people go... which will be where the rogue is."



Decker nodded slowly and then followed his thought to the obvious point. "And it will give Mortimer a chance to get to know this girl and better decide if she wouldn't make a fine life mate after all."



"Exactly." Bricker beamed.



Mortimer grimaced, but nodded in reluctant agreement. He'd give Olive Oyl a go, but really, he couldn't see them suiting. She just wasn't his sort at all.



"Hello?"



Mortimer turned sharply to see the woman in question now standing on the other side of the door. Tall, slender, lips curved in a wide smile, Sam peered at them through the screen.



When he turned to glare at Decker, the other immortal shrugged and said, "I was controlling two. I lost my concentration."



Mortimer snorted, not believing it for a minute.



"We heard your generator start up and decided to come over and introduce ourselves," Sam said cheerfully, recapturing his attention. "We'd have done it sooner but you're never here when we are."



When the men simply stared, she tilted her head and added with a grin, "If you actually are here now. You are the owners and not just renters taking the cottage for the week or something, aren't you?"



"I'm the owner," Decker announced, sliding the screen door open and stepping out into the shade of the deck to take her hand in greeting. "Decker Pimms."



"Hello, I'm Samantha Willan," she said, accepting his hand. "And these are my sisters Jo and-Oh."



Sam blinked in confusion as she turned to gesture to her sisters, only to find them absent. A frown claiming her lips, she stepped back the way she'd come and squinted toward the yard where the other two women still stood. Mortimer followed her gaze, grimacing when he saw that they were both frozen in their own yard, their expressions blank.



"I believe the one with the ponytail stepped on something," Decker said smoothly, his expression becoming concentrated on Samantha Willan's face. When her expression smoothed out, losing its confused look, Mortimer knew he was slipping into her thoughts and soothing her worries about her sisters' odd behavior. For some reason, that bothered him. He didn't particularly want her for his life mate, but didn't want anyone messing with her thoughts either.



"They're coming now though, see." Decker's words made Mortimer glance toward the trees to see that the other two women were indeed moving forward now. He and Bricker were obviously bringing them along and probably giving them the thoughts that the ponytailed sister had stepped on something that held them up. Oddly enough, Mortimer didn't care that the men were controlling the other two women. It wasn't that he liked Sam better, but if she did turn out to be his life mate, he didn't want anyone playing with her head.



"Are you all right?" Sam asked the girl with the ponytail as the pair reached them.



"Yes, fine. I just stepped on something," Jo assured her vaguely, and then offered a smile to the men. "Hi, I'm Josephine Willan."



"And I'm Alexandra," the last sister announced.



"It's nice to finally meet my neighbors," Decker said calmly, and Mortimer just managed not to snort at the lie.



"Things change," Decker muttered, letting Mortimer know he was still reading his thoughts.



The knowledge just made him scowl. He thought it incredibly rude of the man to take advantage and read him when he was vulnerable.



"I'm Decker Pimms," Decker said, doing the honors and introducing them. "And this is Justin Bricker and Garrett Mortimer."



Mortimer forced himself to stop scowling and nodded a grim greeting to the women.



Helios were offered back and forth, and then Alex commented, "We heard your generator start up and thought we'd come ask you about it. We've been thinking of getting one for our cottage too, but..." She shrugged and then said, "They're very loud, aren't they?"



"This generator came with the cottage. I don't think the newer models are as loud," Decker said quietly. "I'm sorry if it disturbed you."



"Oh, not at all," Jo assured them. "It's no louder than the lawn mower, really. It just got our attention, and we thought we'd come say hello and share information."



"What information?" Bricker asked curiously.



"You know, about the power outage." Jo smiled, her eyes moving over the younger immortal with interest. "The official word is that the power should be back up again by eight o'clock tonight."



"Mind you," Sam said wryly, "the official word when we first got up this morning was that it would be up by four p.m., so I wouldn't count on having power before tomorrow morning."



"Is it always so unreliable up here?" Bricker asked with surprise.



There was an exchange of glances and wry expressions among the three women, and then they all turned back and said as one, "Yes."



"Hmm," Bricker muttered, and then asked, "You couldn't direct us to the local grocery store, could you? We thought we could pick up groceries here and didn't bring any."



"Oh." Sam frowned and glanced at her sisters before saying, "I'm not sure it would still be open. Our grocery store back home is only open until four on Sundays and it's past that now."



"They might stay open later because it's cottage country," Alex pointed out.



"True, but I doubt they opened at all today if their power is out too," Sam countered.



"Oh, they have to have generators in the grocery store," Jo protested. "Otherwise the food would go bad every time the power went down."



"Yes," Sam agreed. "But they may only have generators hooked up to the refrigerators and freezers and not for the lights and cash registers. I'd think it would be terribly expensive to run the whole store on gas-powered generators."



Jo clucked her tongue and muttered what sounded like "Gawd, you're such a lawyer."



Sam rolled her eyes as if this was an oft-heard comment. She then forced a smile, grabbed her sisters by an arm each, and backed away saying, "Excuse us just one moment."



Mortimer and the others exchanged glances as the women huddled together a few feet away and began to whisper frantically. It was a short powwow. Within seconds they were back to stand before the men.



It was Jo who offered a wide smile and said, "We'd like to invite you to a power outage party."



When the men stared back blankly, Sam explained, "We brought food with us. We always do and usually it's fine. The power rarely stays off for this long, but this time..." She shrugged. "It's probably better to eat it all than hope it lasts in the cooler until they manage to get the power back on. There's a lot of food. You're welcome to join us."



"A lot?" Alex echoed with a snort, and then told them, "A week's worth. We have sausages, hot dogs, hamburgers, steaks, pork tenderloin... We have a lot of food."



"I'm sure we won't eat a week's worth of food," Decker said with amusement.



"But we'd be happy to join you in a power outage party," Bricker said quickly, obviously worried the man was about to do him out of a meal. "And you're welcome to store your meats and such in our refrigerator. After all, we didn't bring provisions up with us so there's plenty of room."



"Oh. That's so sweet," Jo said, wide-eyed.



"Yes, sweet," Mortimer said dryly, scowling at the younger man. He fully expected Decker to stomp on the offer, but he didn't.



"Yes, it is sweet," Alex agreed, and turned to her sisters to say, "We could throw the milk and cheeses and tenderloin in their fridge and then cook up the sausages, hamburgers, hot dogs, and such tonight."



"We have the three steaks too," Jo suggested. "We could cook those up and split them in halves or something so everyone gets a bit."



"I'll double the amount of potato salad I was making," Sam decided.



In their excitement the trio had started walking back toward their own cottage as they planned. They were nearly to the trees when Sam apparently realized how rude they were being and paused to glance back. "Sorry. We'll be right back. We just have to get stuff."



The other two women nodded in agreement, and then the trio rushed off through the trees.



"A power outage party," Bricker said with a grin. "Potato salad, hamburgers, sausages, and steak. It could be fun."



"And their food right alongside our bags of blood in the refrigerator," Mortimer said dryly, mildly satisfied by the way the reminder wiped the smile off the younger immortal's face.



Decker, however, didn't look upset at all. "I have two refrigerators here. One is upstairs and one down. Both are set to two degrees right now like ABB recommends for bagged blood, but we can bring up the temperature on the one upstairs and let them store their food there."



"See," Bricker chided Mortimer. "It's fine. We have the two refrigerators. We can help the girls out."



Grinding his teeth, Mortimer nodded. "There are two spare rooms upstairs, one with bunk beds. Shall we offer them those as well so they don't have to sleep in a cottage without power?"



Bricker merely grinned. "You've obviously spent too much time with Lucian. His grumpiness is wearing off on you. Come on, Mortimer," he chided. "This could be fun."



Mortimer narrowed his eyes on the man and then turned away to head back into the cottage with an irritated "hrrumph."