“Fuck off.” He smirked as he quickly and efficiently stacked wood, using the little log cabin method Levi had shown us with the kindling in the middle, then struck a match. “There are camp chairs over there.” He gestured toward the woodshed. “Make yourself useful.”
The flames licked upward, catching on the dry kindling until the fire blazed brightly. The orange light spilled over the woodpile, casting flickering shadows around the cabins. I lowered myself into a camp chair, stretching my legs toward the fire, and let the day’s work settle into my bones.
Kipp dropped beside me with two cold root beers pulled from the cooler. He passed one over and cracked his own, tilting it back with a satisfied sigh. Nostalgia hit me as I looked at the can. “Got to end the day right.” He winked at me.
“Damn. I miss him.”
“Me too, brother. Me too,” Kipp agreed.
9
Lila
Rain poured down in a steady mist, blurring the faint glow of the few streetlights we had as I made my way up the sidewalk toward my cottage.
My feet dragged after twelve hours at the shop. My shoulders ached from carrying books, smiling too long, and answering the same questions from customers with the same bright tone. By the time I turned the corner toward my street, all I wanted was a hot shower, a blanket, and maybe a mindless movie.
The little wooden cottage appeared, tucked between overgrown rhododendrons and my neighbor’s sprawling hydrangeas. Built in the thirties, it had once been my grandmother’s pride. Soft blue paint that still matched the original paint tint. Grams was firm that it stay the same,and I wouldn’t change it. A single porch light usually glowed to greet me home, but tonight it was dark.
I frowned.
Shifting the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder, I reminded myself not to be ridiculous. Bulbs burned out. Switches flipped. Rain messed with power lines. I would have known if we had a power outage. Still, there were a dozen other logical explanations that existed, but my stomach tightened as I crossed the short walkway through the dripping yard. After the incident the other day, my nerves were shot.
I jammed my key in the lock, twisting with practiced force. It clicked open with its usual resistance, the old wood swollen from the damp.
Inside, the air felt wrong.
It was colder than usual, carrying a faint sharpness that raised the hairs on my arms. I flipped the switch by the door. Either the storm had knocked the power out or…
Dropping my bag onto the bench, I stepped inside and toed off my damp shoes. My eyes adjusted slowly, catching the faint outline of my grandmother’s worn armchair, the bookshelf my grandfather had built with his own hands, the afghan draped neatly across the couch. Except it wasn’t neat anymore. The afghan lay on the floor, tangled like someone had yanked it down in a hurry.
My chest squeezed tight.
I reached for my phone, fumbling for the flashlight. The beam cut across the room, harsh and revealing. My heart thudded against my ribs as the light landed ontoppled picture frames scattered across the rug. The coffee table had been shoved sideways.
Someone had been here.
Teenagers, I told myself. Probably stupid kids messing around. Except stupid kids didn’t break into tidy little cottages and leave drawers open, belongings spilled. The flashlight beam swept toward the kitchen. A cabinet door hung open.
My pulse raced.
I should turn and run. Should call Wade at the station or at least go across to Sage’s. Instead, I took another step, then another.
“Hello?” I called out into the darkness.
The hallway stretched long and narrow, the hardwood creaking beneath my steps. Rain pattered against the windows, steady as a ticking clock. I reached the doorway to my bedroom and froze.
A shadow moved.
Before I could even scream, a figure burst out of the room, colliding with me hard enough to slam my back against the wall. The impact rattled my teeth and knocked the phone from my hand. The flashlight spun across the floor, beam swinging wildly until it landed crooked against the baseboards.
“You need to leave. This should all be mine.” His voice was low, rough. His hand clamped my shoulder, pinning me as he shoved harder. My lungs seized.
“I—”
The strike came fast—a backhand across my cheek.Pain exploded hot and sharp, jerking my head sideways. My palm flew up instinctively, cradling the sting.
Fear screamed in my chest. I’d made mistakes with men before. I’d convinced myself I could handle them, that I could smooth over their tempers, that I could laugh away the moments when my gut told me to run. This man’s fury smelled the same.
