Letting out the breath he’d been holding, he started to wonder if he should hook one of those GPS tracker keychains to it for the next time someone borrowed it or, God forbid, misplaced it.

  By the light of the two military-grade flashlights, one for each of them, they began their systematic search.

  Thank goodness she decided they could look for any locks outside tomorrow, in daylight, after the snow had hopefully stopped. At his suggestion, they started near the fireplace—mostly to get good and warm before they moved to the colder areas of the building.

  He let her take the lead. It made her happy—or at least less cranky. Especially since he didn’t hold much—if any—hope she’d find the keyhole anyway. Not here, where he’d lived for nearly a year without seeing any mysterious keyless locks.

  It would be counter-productive to wrestle her for control of the key right now. Tomorrow though, before she left his sight, he’d have possession of that key.

  Besides, it was amusing to watch her rush to a new lock, then slump away disappointed after a few moments of grumbling and some creative cussing when the key didn’t fit. It wasn’t quite Netflix-level entertainment, but under the circumstances, it was a good distraction.

  He had to hand it to her though, she was tenacious. And not afraid to get her hands dirty. Literally. She was ready to crawl inside the fireplace, with the fire, to check the chimney when he’d stopped her, promising they could look there tomorrow after the fire was out.

  The crazy woman even laid on her back to inspect the underside of every table on the first floor. Looking for false bottoms or secret compartments, she’d said.

  Even the grandfather clock got a full inspection, inside and out. That had yielded some extra loud grumbling and cussing when the clock chimed while her head was inside the cabinet. He managed to not laugh out loud, but his poorly contained smile earned him one of her increasingly familiar glares.

  “You about ready to give up yet?” he asked as she wiggled out from beneath yet another table.

  As she struggled to stand, she let out a huff. “The lock this fits has to be somewhere.”

  “Does it? What if it’s a lock from John T. Wilder’s childhood home? That key could be from anywhere at any time in the past. In another state. From the Civil War. Who knows?”

  She scowled then her eyes widened. “Is there an attic here?”

  His brows shot up. “There’s a vaulted ceiling with exposed beams, so no.”

  “No storage space under the eaves off the bedrooms?”

  “No.”

  “A basement?” she asked.

  “An eighteen-inch crawlspace with dirt and rocks.”

  “There could be something—”

  “There’s not.”

  “How do you know for sure?” she accused.

  “Because an animal crawled under there and died this summer and when I couldn’t stand the smell anymore I crawled under there and got it out. I promise you, there’s nothing with a lock. But hey, if you want, have at it. Go check it out yourself.”

  Her scowl returned. “No, thank you.”

  With her clearly defeated, Linc held out his hand. “I’ll take back that key now.”

  “Fine.” Looking most unhappy, but not looking where she was going, Eva attempted to stomp over to where he sat, and caught her foot on the leg of the end table.

  She pitched forward, hands thrust out to catch herself, but the only thing for her to grab onto was Linc.

  As he reached out to wrap his hands around her waist to try to steady her, her hands landed on his shoulders and her butt in his lap as she lost her balance completely.

  He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had sat in his lap. It had probably been his high school girlfriend, back when, being horny teenagers, they’d make out for hours. That was a bad memory to have with his crotch trapped firmly beneath Eva’s bottom.

  They might have been working together but this was the closest, physically, he’d ever been to her. He could smell the light scent of her. Was that from perfume or maybe shampoo? He couldn’t tell.

  He felt the warmth of her in his lap. And from this close he could hear the sharp intake of breath she took as she struggled to get her feet back on the floor and stand.

  Her wiggling didn’t help the situation in his pants. He was a man, after all. And even if she did do everything she could to battle him at every turn, she was a woman.

  Luckily she managed to get herself upright and standing before he embarrassed himself completely. Even so, it was obvious it was time to say goodnight.

  The grandfather clock chiming eleven confirmed his assessment.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “It’s getting late. I’ll grab those sweats for you and show you the spare bedroom.”

  Contrary to her usual need to have the last word, all Eva did was nod and hand the key still clutched in her hand back to him.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the narrow bed in Linc’s house, Eva decided that this pioneer-living was for shit.

  The bed had flannel sheets and a fluffy down comforter, and she was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but it wasn’t enough to combat the chill of the air that made the tip of her nose feel like an ice cube.

  It seemed the choices were to sit up all night in a chair in front of the roaring fire downstairs or nearly freeze in the bed upstairs.

  Yes, there were big floor grates that allowed the hot air from below to seep into the bedrooms above, but for someone used to the toasty warmth from the big cast iron radiators in the apartment above Rosie’s, the bit of warm air that found its way up through the grate wasn’t going to cut it.

  She pulled the sheets and comforter higher so they covered the entire lower half of her face. No way she’d be able to fall to sleep with her nose so cold. Not that she’d be able to sleep anyway. It was too weird having a sleepover at Linc’s house…while wearing his clothes.

  Her friends were never going to let her hear the end of this. She’d have to swear Linc to secrecy, which brought up a good question—could she trust him to keep her secrets?

  Trust didn’t come easily to her. Trusting a Wilder was even more difficult.

  She was just considering what she could hold over his head as collateral to blackmail him into keeping quiet when she heard the shout.

  Sitting up, she tossed the covers off. Her feet, in Linc’s big fluffy socks, hit the wool area rug as she stood, listening.

  Another yell had her running for the bedroom’s door that she’d left open, against her better judgement, in an attempt to let in more warm air from downstairs.

  The shouts had to have come from Linc in the next room. But what could be wrong? A fire? An intruder?

  She skidded out into the hallway, slipping as the wool socks hit the wood floor. She had to grab the doorframe of his room to stay upright as she pivoted to enter the bedroom of the man who still felt like too much of a stranger for her to be here now like this.

  God, she hoped he didn’t sleep in the nude. Hopefully the current lack of heat meant he was as bundled up as she was.

  Wishing she’d brought the flashlight with her, she crossed the room in near darkness and approached the bed where he thrashed beneath the covers.

  “Linc,” she said softly. When that didn’t work, she tried louder. “Linc. Wake up.”

  He was deep in the dream—or nightmare judging by the mumbling and tossing. He was a soldier. He could be reliving any number of real-life nightmares he’d experienced over there.

  Waking him seemed like a risky endeavor but the right thing to do. He was clearly in distress.

  Reaching out, she put a hand on his shoulder and jostled him. “Linc—“

  Her words were cut off when he captured her wrist in a vise-like grip and twisted, making her skin burn and forcing her onto the bed where she found him above her, pinning her down.

  Was he still asleep? Still inside the nightmare? And what was he going to do to her if she’d become a part of it?

  He could probably kill her with his bare hands. After feeling his iron grip, she had no doubt he could squeeze the life out of her. Strangle her. Break her neck.

  She had to wake him.

  “Linc! It’s me. Eva.”

  Her voice seemed to knock him out of the trance he’d been under.

  “Fuck.” He moved off her immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees as he buried his head in his hands.

  He wasn’t in as many clothes as she would have liked, considering he’d just been sitting on top of her, but at least he was wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt. He was covered enough she didn’t feel too weird as she sat up next to him on the bed.

  She had to say something. Like it or not, they’d just been through something together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I heard you from my room. I thought it would be better to wake you. But maybe I should have left you alone?”

  He raised his head to glance at her in the dim room lit only by the jar candle he’d left burning on the small table in the hall and the flickering on the hall walls from the fireplace below. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Want to talk?” she asked.

  Poppy would have been far better in this situation. Eva could have handed Linc and his trauma over to her and exited happily, knowing he’d be taken care of and she could stay out of it. But Poppy wasn’t here. Thanks to this damn storm, Eva was it. All Linc had for comfort at the moment.

  “Why? Do you wanna listen?” he asked, with a small laugh.

  She shrugged. “Since there’s still no WiFi, there’s nothing else to do, so...”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. Sorry I scared you. Let’s go downstairs. It’s cold up here and the fire probably needs more wood by now.”

  “All right,” she agreed, standing when he did.

  That was when she realized that Linc Wilder, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a T-shirt, was not nearly covered up enough.

  From his thick thighs to bulging biceps to well-defined pecs that probably surpassed the size of her A-cup breasts, he was too naked for her to be able to hang out with him. Not here in the bedroom. Not even down there by the fire.

  “I’ll, uh, leave you alone to get dressed and meet you downstairs.” Hopefully, he’d take her hint and put on some more clothes.

  She was sitting in the chair warming her hands by the fire when Linc trotted down the stairs a minute later. He’d pulled on red plaid flannel pajama bottoms and suede slippers, but his biceps still bulged from beneath the short sleeves of the tight white T-shirt.

  “Aren’t you cold in just that shirt?” she asked, more concerned that the sight of his muscles was making her feel warm in places not exposed to the heat of the fire.

  “I’m good,” he said, bending to grab another log from the pile and toss it onto the flames. “I’ll probably stay down here for the rest of the night. Keep an eye on the fire.”

  She had to wonder if that was really the reason, or if he didn’t want to go back to bed for fear of more nightmares.

  “Okay.” She nodded watching him grab the throw folded over the back of the sofa and carry it to the chair nearest the fireplace.

  Sitting, he spread the throw over his lap, leaned back and the leather wing chair turned into a recliner.

  “Wait. What?” Her eyes widened. “What magic is this?”

  He grinned wide enough a dimple that rarely showed itself appeared. “Cool, right? I found them online. That one does it too.”

  “You mean I could have been reclining all day and you just decide to reveal this now? Way to bury the lead, dude.” She smiled in return, happy for the light conversation. Maybe it would help him forget the dream.

  “Sorry. You didn’t ask.” He shrugged.

  Grabbing the other throw from the sofa, she sat and copied Linc’s action, pushing back. The chair yielded, just as his had, until her feet were thrust out toward the fire and her head back. “Well, I can tell you I won’t make that mistake again. From now on, every new chair I sit in, I’m going to ask the owner if it reclines.”

  That got her a small smile from Linc and then it wasn’t just the fire that warmed her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Watching the flames dance as they caught onto the new log he’d added. Absorbing the warmth of the crackling fire. Appreciating the silence from outside as a layer of snow insulated them.

  “It happens almost every night,” he said.

  “That dream?” she asked.

  “The memory. Nightmare. Both,” he said.

  She remained quiet, letting him talk if he wanted to. Not demanding more if he didn’t. It didn’t seem her place to ask for more. At the same time, it did seem like her responsibility to listen if he needed to talk.

  “We were scheduled to head out when I tested positive for Covid. So they quarantined me, assigned a replacement and my unit went without me. The mission went sideways. The ones who didn’t die instantly lived long enough to get airlifted to a hospital and die there.”

  “Holy shit,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

  Lost in his memories as he stared into the flames, he didn’t seem to hear her anyway as he continued, “I was just over a month away from the end of my contract. I’d been planning to re-up. After that I couldn’t do it.”

  Finally, he looked at her.

  “It wasn’t that I was scared of dying. It was because I’d lived. I should’ve been there. If I had been, instead of a last-minute replacement, things might have gone differently.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No. But I know it messed with my head. And with my sleep. I wasn’t sure of myself anymore. I didn’t know when or if it would hit me. If I’d freeze up. Fuck up. That made me a danger to others depending on me, so I got out when my contract ended.”

  “And came back here,” she guessed.

  “Only after I’d hand delivered the personal effects of every man in my unit into the hands of their families.”

  She couldn’t even imagine the emotional toll those visits had taken on Linc.

  He drew in a breath and looked back at the fire. “Then I came home and moved in here. I needed space. To be alone.”

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

  He let out a short bitter laugh. “Please don’t thank me for my service next.”

  “I won’t. But I wasn’t saying sorry over the loss of your men, although I am sorry for that. I’m apologizing that I’ve invaded your space. I truly am. I know what it’s like when you need to be by yourself and people won’t leave you alone.”

  He angled his head to look at her. His expression changed, as if he was seeing her for the first time. “It’s okay. It’s been over a year. I’m not quite the hermit I was when I first got home. And you’re not nearly as annoying as Ethan.”

  She smiled. “It’s not hard to be less annoying than Ethan, but I’ll accept the compliment.”

  His lips bowed in a smile, before he shoved the chair back another notch, putting him almost completely horizontal as he said, “Good night, Eva.”

  “Son of a bitch,” she mumbled in amazement as she pushed her chair farther back like he had until she lay almost flat.

  This was one amazing chair. Almost as amazing as her having an honest and meaningful conversation with a Wilder male. It had been an eye-opening night…and it wasn’t over yet.

  Linc was snoring in moments.

  Leave it to a man to go from night terrors, to pouring out his guts, to being sound asleep once again, all within half an hour.

  Unfortunately, she was not so blessed in the sleep department. She was wide awake, with nothing to do. That was the part that sucked the most. If she could manage a connection, even a weak one, she’d at least be able to get something done online.

  Maybe…it was worth a try.

  She eased her chair down, slowly, as silently as she could so she wouldn’t wake him.

  Creeping across the floor, she lifted the lid of her laptop and looked hopefully at the upper right-hand corner of the screen. No signal. What else she found was no better. Her battery was about to die. Slamming the lid closed she sighed. There was no power to charge it but with no internet, there was no need.

  She glanced at Linc. Still asleep.

  Now what? Was she going to have to resort to doing one of his damn puzzles?

  Looking at the staircase, she admired their work from that night. It was perfect. Well, almost. There was one cluster of balls that was just a little too close to another.

  Freeing the thin metal hook from the greenery, she was about to move the ornaments when one fell. It bounced on the floor with a racket that sounded loud enough in the otherwise near silent house to wake the dead. She froze, her gaze shooting to Linc.

  His slow, steady deep breaths proved the man could sleep through anything—except his nightmares apparently.

  Happy she hadn’t disturbed him, she crept across the floor to retrieve the rogue ball. She’d have to secure it better to its two companions before putting it back on the staircase. But when she bent to pick it up, she found the hook was stuck between two floorboards. Like really stuck.

  With a huff, she gave up trying to get it loose while standing and just sat on the cold wood floor. Luckily, Linc’s sweats were thick enough she didn’t get frozen ass cheeks.

  Squinting in the shadow of the sofa, which blocked most of the light from the fire, she entered into a tug of war. Woman against wood. A test of the trapped metal of the hook against her own mettle in a battle of wills…and she’d be damned if she lost against a little tiny ornament hook.

  With one final tug, the hook came free… and the floorboard momentarily lifted before slipping back into its proper place along the neighboring boards.

  Shit. Had she broken the floor in Linc’s historic ancestral lodge?

  And why wasn’t the board nailed down anyway? She looked around where she sat. Everywhere else, square nail heads—the old kind you only saw used in antiques and old homes—marked the wood floor every six inches or so. Except for the one-foot area around where the board had moved.

 

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