Page 59 of Beyond the Cottage

“He told me, and I’m disappointed by his recent shenanigans. Try to keep in mind, though, he’s not a bad person. Just a flawed one, like all of us.”

Gretta snorted. “Some shenanigans are worse than others. We’re not talking about fleecing me out of my lunch money.”

“Mm, kidnapping and imprisonment are quite the hurdles for a friendship to overcome.” Isobel grew sober for the first time. “But Gretta…try to understand him? As only you can?”

Gretta’s chair scraped as she stood. “This conversation is over. Honestly, I’m disgusted he sent you to grovel on his behalf.”

“He didn’t send me. I’m a nosy old biddy who’s out of touch with social graces.” She made the lock and key gesture at her mouth. “Subject dropped. Have a cookie?”

Gretta leaned over the table. “I’ve had about all I can take of the grandma act, witch. I don’t know what your angle is yet, but I’m on to you.”

She swore Isobel’s vapid smile faltered. Since there was no point in asking anything else until the witch was in Nat’s custody, Gretta spun and tromped out of the kitchen.

Chapter 22

The hammer’s rhythmic banging grew louder as Gretta rounded the cabin. Out back, a ladder stood propped against the roof with discarded shingles scattered around it. A wooden crate sat near the base, and a shirt lay crumpled in the scorched grass. The air was so sweltering it shimmered. Even the cicadas sounded lazy.

Gretta trudged on, already drained as if she’d sprinted five miles. “Ansel!”

The banging stopped. He leaned over the roof’s edge, silhouetted by sunshine.

“Are you finished?” he called, wiping his forehead on his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

He swung a leg over the ladder and climbed down. As he left the glaring sunlight, his naked torso came into view. It was broad and tanned, suggesting he was used to working outdoors. Sweat dripped down his neck, sliding between his rollingshoulder blades and along his spine. It disappeared into the narrow space between his lower back and waistband.

Gretta’s already parched throat refused to swallow.

He hopped off the ladder, skipping the last rungs, and swiped his shirt off the ground. He dried his face with it, biceps flexing. Dense thatches of black hair peeked out from his armpits, but the hair on his chest was sparser. It condensed in a trail on his taught abdomen, going lower until it reached—was sheleeringat him?

Gretta dragged her eyes anywhere else.

“How did it go?” he asked, approaching.

She stumbled back a step. “For fuckssake, put your clothes on!”

He froze. His arm dropped, trailing the shirt on the ground. Jaw clenched, he stalked to the pump beside a shed, and after drinking from his cupped hands, he rinsed his chest and hair. When he came back, he snapped the shirt out, jerked it over his head, and spread his arms. “Better?”

The damp white fabric was more indecent than his bare skin.

To distract herself, Gretta eyed the pump. She could drink her weight in water.

“How did it go?” he curtly repeated.

“Fine, I guess.” She wouldnotstare at the droplets slipping down his neck. “Isobel is the one I’ve been looking for.”

“So what now? Does this remove her from your hit list?”

“Yes.” It placed her squarely on Gretta’s capture list. “I tried convincing her to meet Nat willingly, but she’s cagey. I wouldn’t mind help on that front.”

“No one can convince Isobel to do anything she doesn’t want to. I hope you’ll honor her decision, whatever it is.”

Gretta shrugged.

Ansel sighed and looked at the roof. “I’m pretty far along, I have an hour or so left. Do you mind if I finish?”

Part of Gretta minded very much. She’d never spent this long at a witch’s hovel, but it might not be a bad idea to collect her thoughts and fill in her notes while the conversation was fresh.

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