Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Sweet Treat
“So, the furniture moves and there are creepy messages left behind in your bathroom mirror…what else?”
“There’s the uh…the crying. You can hear her wailing some nights, and the white strips of fabric left behind. And the worst one of all, the way she comes right up to the windowpanes sometimes and scrapes her long, dirty fingernails against them.” He shudders. “That sound alone could drive a person to the brink of insanity.”
“Not you though,” I point out. I want to add that he already seems halfway there with this lame ghost story of his. Probably best not to insult my host directly.
“There are nights when the whole room gets freezing, and you wake in a cold sweat because you could swear she’s there, staring right down at you. It’s a chill unlike any other. It’s cold that seeps all the way into your bones.”
“And you don’t know why she’s here?” I push the chopped garlic cubes to him. He adds them and broth to his pot. The whole kitchen smells like onion and garlic, filling me with a cheery warmth despite my host’s chilly reception.
“There’s a rumor, but well, it’s just that. It’s a rumor. People talk, you know? They make up stories to explain the things they don’t understand. It doesn’t make any of it true.” He glances around then leans in close, filling my nose with a whiff of his pine and something scent. “They say she was a bride. Married her true love on Halloween. They booked this cabin for their honeymoon.”
“What happened?”
“That’s the thing. No one knows for sure. A hiker stumbled across the cabin the next day. The door was ajar, and he pushed inside very carefully. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, still in her wedding dress. But utterly alone.”
He pauses there for a minute, probably trying to let this story take its dramatic effect. “She never spoke again.”
“Was her groom ever found?” This guy should write for one of those urban legend sites online. There are too many details missing to make this story even halfway believable.
“No on ever saw him again after the wedding. But late at night, she paces this cabin, searching desperately for her lost love.”
I shiver then, watching the way his eyes light up. Yeah, he really does think I scare easy.
Chapter 5
Whiskey
I’ve got her scared now. She eats dinner quietly, barely saying a word. Part of me feels a tiny bit bad. The bigger part of me—the one that wants this woman out of my cabin—is just relieved to know she’ll be gone within a day. Maybe two at the most.
She yawns after dinner, lifting her arms above her head. The movement causes her tiny corset thingy to rise. The resulting show of her curves has my mom watering. What would it be like to kiss my way across all that skin?
“I think I’m headed to bed,” she says. “It’s been a long day.”
I nod absently and clear our dishes. I can’t be thinking about her and bed in the same sentence.
Quickly, I load the dishwasher and wipe down the counters. It takes me five minutes to do the kitchen chores then I head to my bedroom. There are pillows and blankets piled high on my couch. This is going to be even easier than I thought. I suppress my grin and head down the hallway, reaching for my bedroom door. The handle is locked.
I rap on the door and wait for her to open it. When she doesn’t, I call out, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to sleep,” she calls. “I put pillows and blankets for you on the couch.”
“You’re in my bed,” I barely keep the words civil.
“And it’s so comfortable. You really did spare no expensive on this mattress.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Get out of my bedroom.”
“This is a one-bedroom rental,” she explains, her voice a little too sweet.
“It’s not a rental!” I wonder if Judge Helen would throw the book at me if I dragged my trespasser into the forest. There are caves and dens out there. Heck, I’d even do the gentlemanly thing and give her pillows and blankets, the way she gave them to me.
“So you keep saying,” her voice is sing-song now, taunting me.
I could break down the door. For a second, I give it serious thought. I’d love nothing more than to burst in there and kiss that sassy mouth of hers. I’d kiss her until she was breathless and whimpering.
Nope, that’s not happening. Because I’m going to spend tonight making sure my little trespasser wants to run away in the morning.
I wait for hours until I hear her soft snores before I put my plan into action. It’s not lost on me that it took her far too long to fall asleep. Maybe it’s just the strain of being in an unfamiliar place.
