Page 11 of The Haunting of the Mountain

“Suits you better than me,” he says gruffly.

I finger the fringe of the sleeves. “I find that hard to believe. I’m swimming in it.”

He swallows, makes a guttural noise, and then takes my hand.

Butterflies. Awhooshfeeling, like I’ve been dropped from a skyscraper. I’m dizzy from a single touch. It makes me wonder how I’d react from a kiss. I clear my throat, coming back to my senses as Stone guides me to a chair in the kitchen.

“What’s that smell?”

Stone kneels in front of me, eyeing my scrapes before turning back to me. Wow. His mossy green eyes have flecks of gold. And they’re making my chest and stomach constrict as I hold their gaze.

“Dessert,” he says, gruffly. “Somebody ate the cobbler I had saved in the freezer.”

Ice… all over my body.Whelp…

“Could’ve been the ghost.”

He snorts. “Ghost?”

“Yeah, the lumberjack ghost.”

God, I feel so weird for saying that. Ouija board, candles, and now a lumberjack ghost? I’m done for.

“That who you were trying to summon?”

He’s more interested than I expected.

“Kinda.”

He takes my leg in his hands, firm and callused as he inspects it. I’m icy no longer, burning up all over again.

“Just the scrape?” he asks, eyeing the length of my leg before taking my foot in his hand and manipulating it.

“My ankle’s a little tender.”

He grunts and then turns, grabbing some ointment and a few bandages from a bag. “So you’re a friend of Wes?” he asks, applying some of the ointment to my wound.

“Wes?” I ask, trying to focus on something other than the way his hands feel, but it’s a losing battle.

“My nephew.”

I shake my head. “No. I’ve never met him before.”

He seems to relax, but then he tenses up all over again when I tell him, “My friend rented this place for the weekend.”

“Not staying here long, then?”

I thought I wasn’t staying here once Stone came on the scene. But his voice sounds urgent, pleading almost. And there’s a shift in his eyes. I’m probably imagining it all. Reading into something that isn’t there as the sexiest man I’ve ever met rubs my leg.

I swallow. “No. Your nephew told us this cabin was haunted. I guess we were scammed.”

“I’m going to talk with him,” Stone says, averting his gaze from mine as he begins bandaging my leg.

“You don’t have to. I’ve caused you enough trouble. Now that I know it’s not haunted, I’ll get out of your hair. I can investigate the Inn instead.”

Stone’s grip tightens around my leg, and I squeak.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

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