“Woman, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Let me tell you something Stillwater—I’ll drop the sheriff part because we are sleeping together and all. When a spirit from days gone past wants to get to know me, that’s totally fine, but just not my first night when every sound, or lack thereof, puts me on edge.”
“I’ve never seen you not on edge.”
She flopped on her side and snuggled against the pillow and pulled the thick comforter over her shoulders.
“I like it here. It’s warm in your room.”
“That would be the wood burning fireplace right there,” he said sarcastically.
She’d seen it, but it was more than the fireplace. It was the space. And the clean earthy scent of the man that lingered in the sheets.
“I’m going to build me a fireplace,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “In my bedroom...and one down in the front room as well. It’d be better than that old potbellied stove.”
“That would be some major structural work and the spirits over there tend to get murderous when people start messing with the walls and foundation. It’s okay to add on, but don’t start taking shit down over there. Historically, that’s when the residents tend to die. Violently.”
“Can you talk less please…and cut off the light? Thanks, and good night.”
Santiago watched her fluff his pillow and close her eyes.
In his house. In his bed.
He didn’t turn off the fucking light. He walked to the foot of his bed, grabbed a hand full of covers and yanked.
“Oh my God!” she shouted, sitting up. “Can you not be an asshole for at leastonenight?”
“Get out.”
“Not tonight, hoss,” she said, flopping down onto her pillow and hugging it as if it was all she needed. “Unless you plan on snuffing out the fireplace, I ain’t thinking about you taking the covers. Have the covers, I got the bed.”
“Don’t take my kindness for weakness, Lauren,” he said, circling back to his side of the bed and getting in. He pulled the covers over them both. “You will leave my house by sunup. This will not happen again. If you and Deborah don’t get on good terms, you can walk a little farther around the lake and see if St. James will take you in.”
She was silent so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.
Instinctively he knew she had not.
“I’m not sure how I feel about you using my first name only, it feels very familiar. Too intimate.”
“The minute you climbed your ass in my bed, you will now and forever be Lauren.”
She flipped over and glared at him. “Why are you like this?” she asked.
“Like what? The guy who let you climb in his bed after you’re run away from yours by ghosts.”
“No, the perpetually grumpy grouch? Everybody here talks about you like you’re the second coming and I don’t get it.”
“I don’t care.”
She remained silent for so long he closed his eyes, forced his body to relax despite its awareness of her. Her breathing, her scent, her heat crawled to him beneath the covers. She shifted, edging closer.
He tensed.
“I like your bed,” she said softly, as if rousing herself just to let him know.
“Surprised that something pleases you.”
“I’m easy to please. Because I don’t expect much from people.”
