The entire space couldn’t have been more than eight hundred feet, and not a single thing in sight suggested a woman had ever stepped foot inside. No curtains, a plain old-fashioned braided rug, no decor, just pure function and about as welcoming as the sheriff himself.
“Thanksagain for letting me crash in your cabin,” Lily said, flashing Rush a tiny smile. “And for…” She waved vaguely toward the bathroom, feeling her cheeks heat. “You know. Everything,” she finished awkwardly.
Sheriff Callahan let out something between a laugh and a snort. He didn’t sound all that amused, so Lily ignored it.
“So, home sweet home for the next couple of days, then,” Lily said, injecting as much optimism into her voice as she could. She was excellent at finding silver linings. It was practically her superpower.
“Looks like it,” he said, not turning around. “We’ll get through it.”
“I’ll take the couch,” she blurted, a little too quickly. “It looks… cozy,” she added, taking in the two sagging cushions that suggested otherwise.
His head turned just enough for her to catch a glint of humor softening the firm line of his mouth, putting her more at ease. They’d make the best of it. What other choice did they have?
He opened the backpack he’d carried in from the truck and started unpacking with the methodical efficiency he seemed to apply to everything. Spare clothes, a battered first aid kit, another flashlight. Then a menacing black gun, followed by the glint of silver cuffs he set on the table.
Lily swallowed hard. Of course he had a gun. He was a sheriff. No reason to be silly about it. Still, the sight made her skin prickle.
She turned away, taking in the pine walls and heavy, exposed beams of the ceiling. The cabin should have felt dark, but with the fire flickering cheerfully, it was unexpectedly cozy.
“Actually, this cabin has good energy,” she mused, turning in a circle to take it all in.
Callahan shot her another of those unreadable looks, but she dismissed it. Not everyone could pick up on those things.
“Good energy?” he repeated, not even trying to hide the skepticism in his voice.
“Mm-hmm.” She walked toward the stove with her hands extended to soak up the warmth. “It feels settled, like there are good memories here.” She glanced over her shoulder, feeling the weight of his stare. Half curiosity, half disbelief. Clearly, he fell into the Tucker camp when it came to things like this. “This was your family’s cabin, right?”
“My grandfather’s. I spent every summer here as a kid.”
“That’s nice. Was it just the two of you?” She was angling for information and hoped it wasn’t too obvious. She tried to remember what else she knew about the sheriff. He wasn’t from Northfield, that much she knew.
“No, it was my gran before she died, and my two sisters and me,” he said, but his voice had that clipped, matter-of-fact tone that discouraged more sharing.
She ignored it. “You mentioned your grandparents,” she prompted. “What about your parents?”
Callahan hesitated, his expression tightening for a moment before easing. “My mom died when I was twelve. Dad was never around. We lived in Texas, but we came up here to New York to live with Gran and Pop after Mom passed.” He shot her a look, his mouth twitching slightly. “This cabin was our escape from Sarah and Rachel, my sisters. They were a pain in the ass, so Pop and I came up to hunt and fish and hide out for a couple weeks at a time from the girls.”
She smiled at that.Of course.That explained the faint hint of a drawl in his voice. Andno wonder the cabin had such a steady, grounded masculine energy. Places soaked up energy from the people who passed through them. She could almost see?—
She looked up. And froze.
Staring her dead in the eye from the angled ceiling was a hulking deer’s head, its enormous rack of antlers casting long, jagged shadows on the wall. Slowly, she slid her eyes to the glassy, vacant ones staring back at her in silent condemnation to the rifle hung just under it.
So much for peaceful energy.
“Is that…” she started, clearing her throat. “Is that—are those—loaded?” Her eyes wavered between the gun on the table and the rifle on the wall.
Guns had always made her uneasy. She had no experience with them—no uncles, no grandfathers, no one in her family had ever owned one. Between the police dog, the dead trophy deer, and the weapons, regret was swiftly overtaking her optimism.
The sheriff turned and followed her gaze. “Yes.”
She nodded hesitantly. Okay. She could understand that. There were wild animals in these mountains, after all, and protection was necessary. It was just… “Guns make me nervous.”
Slowly, the sheriff rose, the fire casting shadows across his face. All traces of heat from the shower were long gone, leaving his expression unreadable. “You know I’m a sheriff, right? It’s part of my job.”
“I know,” Lily admitted. “I’ve just always been kind of a pacifist.” Her eyes darted to the gun and cuffs again. “Do you really need the cuffs… on vacation?” she blurted nervously. Guns, she could see. He was a hunter, like it or not, but surely the cuffs were unnecessary.
A slow, sexy grin tugged his mouth up, and white teeth flashed against his rugged face. She blinked.
