Spencer needed no further explanation. The building did nothing to settle the fierce, primal urge rising inside him. Every soft board, every damp smell, every creak of old timber sharpened it. His whole body was tuned to one thing now, protecting his mate. His hands wanted to tear out every rotting plank, brace every sagging beam, rebuild the place from the ground up before she spent a single night under this roof.
If this place falls down around her, we can’t protect her,his bear growled.
It’s not falling down,Spencer said, more to steady himself than to reassure the bear.Not tonight.
But the urge to catch hold of Meryl and pull her straight back outside hit him hard. He pushed it down. She was already guarded enough; he’d seen that in the set of her jaw the moment he had caught her on the porch. The last thing she needed was some stranger acting like he had any right to tell her what to do.
So he kept his hands to himself and his voice even.
“Let’s take it slowly,” he said. “Test before you step.”
Meryl glanced back at him over her shoulder, notebook still tucked against her chest like a shield. “I wasn’t planning to run through the place with wild abandon.”
I like her,his bear perked up immediately.
So do I,Spencer admitted, hiding a smile.
The hallway was narrow and dim, the air inside cooler than it should have been for late summer. Dust lay over the floorboards in an undisturbed film, and the silence felt different in here. Heavier. More contained.
It feels as if it’s been waiting for this moment for a long, long time,his bear whispered.
As long as it hasn’t been waiting to fall down,Spencer grumbled.
But as he took a closer look, he was relieved that the damage inside didn’t look as bad as the outside had suggested.
He stepped past her carefully and pressed his weight onto the next board. Solid. The one nearer the wall had a little give, but not enough to worry him yet.
“This section’s all right,” he said. “A few boards near the door will need replacing, but the subfloor underneath feels sound.”
Meryl was already writing.
As if making notes made things manageable.
She likes lists,his bear observed.
I can see that.
We should help with her lists.
It’s going to be a long one,Spencer said as he carefully made his way to the staircase. He wrapped a hand around the newel post and gave it a firm shake. Nothing. No wobble. No shift. Good joinery, the kind that came from someone who understood wood and what it could hold. He put his weight onto the first tread, then the next.
Solid.
A flicker of relief went through him, sharper than it should have been for someone else’s staircase.
Because it’s our mate’s staircase,his bear reminded him, as if he needed it.
“The stairs are good,” Spencer said, looking back at her. “That’s in your favor.”
“It’s about the only thing that is,” she said, and a brief look of panic swept over her face before she smoothed it away again.
“It’s good. Honestly. It means the house was built properly to begin with.” He stepped back down and ran his palm along the banister rail, smooth under the dust, the grain still tight.“It’s easy enough to fix paint and varnish. But if the structure’s rotten, then you’re in trouble.”
She studied the staircase as if trying to see what he saw. Then she wrote that down, too.
Good,his bear said.She listens.
The hallway opened into the front room on the left, and Spencer crossed to it first. He pushed the door wider where it had swollen against the frame, the wood groaning softly in protest, then stood aside to let Meryl in.
