Page 15 of The Haunting of the Mountain

I swear I’m not normally like this, but there’s something about his scent. Rugged and wild. It’s like he’s been rollingaround in pine needles and herbs for years to create the most potent and irresistible scent.

Ugh. It isn’t fair. I toss the pillow, roll over onto my side, and then scream because I’m face to face with another corn doll.

Stone storms through the cabin and pushes through the door. His shirt is halfway off, and I see more than a swath of his muscled, hairy body.

“What is it? Why are you—holy shit!”

He locks onto the corn doll in my hand and I chuck it at him. He dips his head, dodging it as it flies past him and into the main living area.

“I burned that. You saw it. I saw it.”

He shuts the door, locking the door behind him. If finding a corn doll leads me to be locked inside with a half-naked mountain man, I’ll make sure to snag a few more while I’m in town.

“I know,” I say, refocusing on the task at hand. Nell was right. Those things are cursed. “Wait,” I mutter.

Nell. Things. There was more than one. Ugh. I breathe a sigh of relief and then laugh.

Stone moves over to the bed, sitting down next to me. It moans and creaks under his weight, dropping a few inches.

“My friend put it in here to scare me. There were two of them. We got rid of one. The other was in here the whole time.”

“Jesus,” Stone mutters to himself, scrubbing his beard. “You had me believing in ghosts and curses for a minute.”

“There’s still time for that.”

His eyes linger on mine for a while, and for a brief moment, I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. Straddle me.Something.

Instead, he gets up and says, “I’ll take care of that other doll.”

And I say, “Thanks,” leaving me wondering about how his beard would feel against my face.

This investigation has taken a serious detour…

Chapter 4

Stone

Thump!Crack! Thwack!

I’ve split damn near two cords of wood but I’m still on edge. I wipe my brow, glancing around my land as the cool Fall air chills my sweat-soaked skin.

I’ve been at it for a few hours now. Spent most of the morning limbing and then lugging a dead tree that was blocking the road. Probably should’ve used my chainsaw but I wanted to use my hands, so I wouldn’t use them on Kyla. But it feels useless. I can’t stop these feelings. The need to feel her soft curves beneath my fingers. Gripping her hips. Molding my hands around her breasts.

Jesus.Damn near kissed her last night. I wanted to kiss her when we were on my bed. Wanted to push her onto her back, climb on top of her, and claim those lips.

But I know I can’t. She’s far too young. And she won’t be around much longer, even though I exaggerated how haunted this place might be in hopes of prolonging her stay.

I lean over, grab a log, and place it on the stump before rearing back and slamming my axe clean through. I repeat the action a few more times, breaking the remaining pieces down.After I finish, I turn around and see Kyla staring right at me. Drains the air out of my lungs, and I feel like I might faint.

She’s a damn sight, gorgeous as she stands there on my porch. Want to call it our porch. Want to call this cabin ours. I shake my head, wiping my brow as I let my axe fall and head over to her.

“Mornin’,” I say, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “Or I guess afternoon.”

She’s wearing ripped jeans and a loose sweater that hangs dangerously low off her shoulders. Very dangerously.

“Good morning,” she says, folding and unfolding her arms. Squirming. She reaches over to grab the column but misses, stumbling sideways.

Before I have time to think, I’m already reacting, leaping up the steps a couple at a time before I wrap my arm around her.

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