I look around for anything else that feels off. The tarp has been removed from the grand piano. It was Ellie’s grandmother’s, but Cole said they hadn’t used it in years and it might be a good addition to the house.
But I don’t remember uncovering it. Shit. Hope those damn coyotes didn’t find their way in.
I continue looking around for any signs of damage, but there’s no light in here and I’m too damn tired to dig out a flashlight.
I leave my hat on the piano and head upstairs, following the humming noise from my room. Did I leave that heater running?
Stepping in, I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. The heat in the room hits me hard.The hell?I never have it up this high. I’m about to walk over to lower it when a wild shadow of limbs comes out of nowhere.
“Ka-ya!”
I dodge on instinct, but then an elbow clips my shoulder.
“What the—”
A foot misses my groin and hits my thigh, and I grab the flailing arms of the person attacking me in my bedroom.
I squint into the darkness, making out a petite woman with wild red hair, taking swings any which way she can. I grip her arms, and yank her around, pinning her to the wall. “Stop.”
She sucks in a breath. “Let go of me or I’ll scream. You’re trespassing.”
“I’mtrespassing? This is my house.”
In the moonlight, I see her eyes widen. “Dallas,” she whispers. A soft, almost fuckingangelicvoice comes from the beast that just tried to knock me unconscious.
I let go like she’s a disease I can’t afford to catch and step back. “What the hell is going on here?”
She holds her hands up in defense. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I—I’m Willow. Rose’s friend.”
I release a breath, not entirely inclined to tell her I knew exactly who she was the moment she said my name. I’d never forget that voice. Those eyes.
I cross my arms with a glare.
Willow covers her face. “Oh my gosh, I knew this was a bad idea,” she mutters, then sucks in a breath and tries again. “I wanted to give Wilder and Rose some time alone tonight and, well—you weren’t even supposed to be here.” Her eyes trail my bare chest, warm and lingering, landing somewhere along my mid-section.
I’m outraged. I swear I am. But who am I to interrupt a woman who likes what she—fuck, what am I doing?
I stretch out my arms. “I’m sorry—should I leave?”
She blinks, eyes snapping to mine. “No. No, of course not. I’ll just—” She rushes past me to the bed, bare arms tossing sheets aside like she’s looking for something, and that’s when I notice the rest of her.
She’s in the shortest pair of thin cotton shorts—either white or light blue, I can’t tell. A matching short-sleeve shirt. Barefoot, she stands on her tiptoes as she reaches further into the bed for a thin cotton bathrobe and throws her arms through it.
“You’ll just what?”
She swings around. “I’ll just, um—well, uh .?.?.”
I tilt my head and walk toward her. “You’ll spend the night here. We’ll chat in the morning.” Reaching around her, I grab the spare pillow and turn to walk out the door.
“I can take another room,” she calls after me.
I look at the bed. “This one’s already warm. I’ll start the fire downstairs and settle down there.”
“Dallas.”
There she goes again with my name. Saying it like she knows more about me than she should. Maybe I’m mistaking the tenderness for something else. Maybe pity?
I stop and turn back. Can only imagine how much her friend has told her about me. About the grieving, the child I never knew about. The house no one thinks I’ll finish before the winter.
