A Little Night Muse. Jessa Slade

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СКАЧАТЬ mother, then Cole, then Danielle—had torn at Josh like the spring snowmelt undermined the willows along the stream. But nothing could uproot him. As his father had said often enough before dying (another kind of leaving) some people just wouldn’t see the wonders of the valley. They would always want more, and it was best to let them go.

      Josh wished he could let go of the memories as easily as they had forgotten him.

      Grateful for the distraction ahead, he focused on the homestead. Vaile and Imogene Hunter had built a beautiful place. The huge timbers of the cabin had been harvested seemingly without touching the surrounding old growth, and a three-story picture window flawlessly reflected the valley beyond. The house emerged like a dream from its surroundings.

      Vaile had said they might have a few guests, but they had come to the mountain valley to “get away from it all.” Josh’s impression—though they hadn’t been specific—was the Hunters had left some strangeness of their own behind. Hollywood, he guessed, or some other foreign land. They were both stunning enough to be movie stars, though the exotic lilt in their accents suggested maybe their country of origin was farther off. Regardless, they were here now and obviously loved it.

      Other than some coyote tracks and the harsh calls of scrub jays, the homestead was untouched, quiet. Josh circled Bunco around back, Wolly at heel. Behind the house, tall blackjack pines created a sheltered space without snow. When both Bunco and Wolly lifted their heads to focus on the porch, Josh thumbed off the rifle safety.

      “Okay then, you come on out now, whatever you are.” He kept his tone steady. “I ain’t fond of surprises.”

      Bears and cougars, even wolves, prowled the valleys, but Vaile didn’t keep any lunchable livestock. Still, even something as small as a porcupine could do serious damage if it set up a woodshop in the log cabin.

      Josh dismounted, stepping on a circle of toadstools that sprouted out of the pine duff. A dry snake skin wound between the rounded caps, which was odd. Too cold for snakes.

      He ground tied Bunco and gave Wolly the stay signal. No sense setting himself up for a dog bath if the intruder was a skunk.

      He took two steps toward the porch and the door opened.

      A woman.

      His jaw dropped. No, not a woman. An angel. A porn star. Some baffling mix of the three. His heart slammed against his ribs, as hard as if he accidentally shot himself through the chest. Which would be embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as standing here with his jaw hanging loose, staring.

      A dress of long scarves bound her from neck to foot. The shifting edges only emphasized her curves. Breasts and hips in widespread, man-hand-sized glory, with a sloping dip at the waist like a welcoming pass between summits. Against the pale veils, her hair spilled in a midnight waterfall, dark and shining.

      And her eyes...Oregon was known for its greenery, but every hue was captured in her brilliant eyes.

      Damn, his mouth was still hanging open. His neighbors hadn’t mentioned they’d be hosting Arabian princesses. His mind drifted to a thousand and one nights.

      “Miss.” He swept the hat off his head and clutched it between his hands.

      “I’m wet,” she said. “Come inside.”

      His heart stopped. “Wet?” She didn’t mean...

      She stepped back. “Come.” Her voice—soft and husky—was like a velvet hook set in his stupid open mouth. But if she wanted to play catch and release, he was willing game.

      His boot hit the bottom step before he realized he was moving. The snake skin stuck to his heel, and it rustled across the plank. He paused to kick it free. “Damn snakes,” he muttered. He propped the rifle and his hat by the porch railing as she backed into the house.

      “It’s wet everywhere,” she said. “And cold.”

      Cold sort of snapped him out of his daze. That and the splash of water under his foot spreading across the slate tile.

      “Well, hell.” Distracted by the plumbing problem, he glanced around. “Busted pipe. I warned Vaile about insulating.”

      She stiffened. “The Hunter is here?”

      Josh shook his head. “The Hunters are away. Not sure when to expect them back.” Now that he thought about it, seemed odd they hadn’t mentioned a return date. Now that he thought about that, seemed odd he hadn’t questioned it before.

      First things first. “I need to find that pipe.”

      He edged past the woman. The scent of her—lush and mysterious and dark, like the tiny seep springs in the woods, trickling from rocks and roots—swirled around him. He inhaled, and his boots angled to follow her without his conscious effort.

      In the kitchen, the mini flood washed away his distraction. “Shit.” He dragged one hand through his hair, trying to get his head on straight. “The freeze last night must have broke a pipe.” He crouched by the sink and opened the cabinet underneath. There, right at the wall. “Best to turn off the whole house until we check the rest. Vaile will kill the contractor.” When he turned and straightened, the woman’s face was drawn tight. “Hey there. You okay?”

      He put his hand on her arm. Through the silky fabric, she was cold to his touch. But the spark that leapt between them was hot. Crazy-hot scorching, like his nerves had turned to electrified fence.

      She flinched. When she pulled away, the edges of the veils separated, revealing bloody streaks.

      The water, the spark, everything faded as he took her arm again. “Miss, are you hurt? Where did this blood come from?” Fuck, now that he thought about it, where had she come from? His head seemed all hazy, but he forced himself to concentrate.

      Without touching her again, Josh used the mass of his body to steer her out of the kitchen mess. In the adjoining living room, an overstuffed leather couch faced the valley view. Bunco’s hoof prints had melted into dark circles in the snow, the only sign of life. No tire marks, no ski tracks, no sweep of helicopter blades pushing up snow. How had she gotten here?

      He herded her toward the couch. “Sit.”

      She did and when he took a half step back, she looked up at him, green eyes sparkling. Tears? God, he hoped not.

      Though she had recoiled from his touch before, she reached out and flattened her palm on his groin, just off center from the stamped bronze of his belt buckle. It was his turn to jump. “What—?”

      The intensity of her gaze pinned him as effectively as her hand. “Where is the Hunter?”

      Distracted again—hoo boy, was he distracted—by her hand so close to his fly, he shook his head and tried to pretend she wasn’t touching him. “Vaile and Imogene said they were going...somewhere. For...awhile.” Everything seemed vague lately. His body was reacting to the woman’s innocent touch as if he’d been alone forever...

      “What do you know of the Hunter?” Though her hand trembled, her tone held an irresistible insistence.

      But he reacted more to the fear she tried to hide—and the bloody bandages wrapped under the sleeve of her flimsy dress—than the demand in her voice. “Vaile is a good guy,” Josh said gently. СКАЧАТЬ