Veronica tossed restlessly. The sweet scent of roses drifted from the dresser and wafted over her as she lay in bed. The jagged silhouette of the bouquet sprouted from her favorite cut-crystal vase, outlined in a faint glimmer of moonlight. The fourteenth rose, the one Caith had given her tonight, lay on the nightstand at her side. Tomorrow, she’d press the flower in a book, saving it as a treasured memento of their evening together as friends.
When the hayride had ended they’d taken the boys to the corn maze, then back to the story tent. By then, all three had been clamoring for barbeque and french fries, and Veronica had admitted she could eat something as well. Caith had found them a warm place inside one of the picnic tents, then returned later, his arms loaded with food and drinks.
He hadn’t said anything more about what bothered him, but she’d known he was holding something back. Something about glue, and the scrap of paper Nick had given him.
When the evening ended, he had left Derry with Aren and drove her back to the lodge. Sweet and accommodating, he’d been a perfect gentleman. The same way he’d behaved all evening. As a result, she felt it only fair to tell him she and Merlin had decided to be friends. He’d merely nodded and kissed her good-night, a chaste peck on the cheek before retiring to his suite on the third floor.
Had she wanted him to kiss her? Had she wanted him to try?
Frustrated, she rolled onto her side. It was easy to recall the way his body moved with hers when they’d been together. She’d wanted him, still wanted him. She just didn’t trust him to love her. He’d be leaving soon, a week, maybe two. Would he call from Boston? Would he ask her to visit?
The creak of a floorboard brought her thoughts to a shuddering halt. Someone was in the bedroom.
A spike of alarm rocketed from her head to her toes. Tensing, she lay still, barely daring to breathe. Eyes narrowed to tiny slits, she searched for any glimpse of an intruder in the darkness. From the corner of her eye, she spied a flash of gray shadow by the window, fleeting and quick. Lurching from the bed, she groped for the lamp, her heart hammering wildly.
Yellow light flooded the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and her breathing to spiral into something controllable. Relief surged through her as she registered the cause of the disturbance. “Stupid cat. You scared the daylights out of me.”
With a plaintive cry, her nocturnal visitor bounded from the windowsill and rubbed against her legs. Ghost-gray and short-haired, the animal had large green eyes. She recognized it as a friendly stray that often hung around the stables. She must have left the door to her apartment cracked when she went to bed, but how had it gotten into the lodge?
Feeling foolish for her earlier panic, Veronica bent and scratched the cat behind its ears. “How did you get in here?”
The answer hit her immediately. Someone was in the lodge. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. After the last occurrence with the basement doors, Caith had made Lew install a heavy padlock. Even with that extra precaution, someone had found a way inside, and the cat had followed on their heels.
As if in confirmation of her suspicions, a woman’s chill scream echoed shrilly from the lobby.
* * * *
The pattern was becoming all too familiar—sitting annoyed, helpless, and frightened while police officers trooped through the lodge. Merlin had arrived with Stuart and Galen with Aren on their heels. Kelly Rice would have a field day with the headlines: “Halloween Nightmare at Stone Willow Lodge.”
It wasn’t the shattered pumpkins that bothered Veronica, or the cow’s blood splattered everywhere through the lobby. Even the couches, covered with manure, could be replaced. It was the thing hanging from the beamed ceiling—at first glance a woman dangling from a noose. Alma had found it on the way to the kitchen for a late-night snack, her blood-curdling scream waking everyone in the lodge.
The unknown intruder had dressed the dummy in clothes similar to those Veronica had worn to the hayride. They’d scrawled her name in cow’s blood on a piece of white cardboard and roped it around the dummy’s neck. At least the police thought it was cow’s blood. According to Duke Cameron, a farmer had called earlier to report one of his heifers had been slaughtered and drained. In the end, it came down to a single ugly truth—some sick bastard had hung her effigy from the rafters of Stone Willow.
Someone wants to kill me.
Perched on the bottom of the stairs, a cup of weak tea in her hands, a blanket over her shoulders, she felt numb. Caith had wrapped her in the blanket and gotten the tea. What was it about Breckwood men always wanting to give her tea when she was upset?
The dummy and the ruined lobby were someone’s idea of scare tactics, a trick that made her shiver. Score another one for the bad guys.
They’d done what they’d set out to do. A few of her guests had already left, terrified by the scene in the lobby. All would be gone by tomorrow, even the ghost-hunting Dean Bowerman. Stuart was closing the lodge temporarily. Most of her staff would receive a two-week paid vacation. Two weeks for BI and the Breckwoods to decide what to do with the lodge. A few essential personnel, like Lew and Ben Dunning, would remain. Lew tending to regular maintenance, Ben driving from town on a daily basis to care for the horses. Alma had already left, opting to stay in Coldcreek with her sister’s family.
“This isn’t a prank, and it isn’t vandalism.” Caith’s angry voice cracked on the air, drawing her head around. Along with his brothers and father, he’d cornered Duke Cameron a few feet away. “It’s a threat, Cameron, and you know it.”
“Sheriff Cameron,” Duke corrected.
Caith gave a vulgar snort. “A sheriff doesn’t make the kind of rookie mistakes you have. You should have gotten off your lazy ass and done something when you found the dog.”
“You’re not a cop, and you have no authority here.”
“The hell I don’t.” Caith shouldered forward, pressing his advantage of height. “I’m a Breckwood. I got my best friend killed proving it. That’s got to count for something. We own the whole fucking town, right?” He drove his finger into Duke’s shoulder. “You’re incompetent, Duke, sitting around with your thumb up your ass, waiting for the answer to fall from the sky.”
“Caith!” Stuart practically spat the name. “Back off. You’re out of line.”
Veronica couldn’t hear Caith’s muttered reply, but judging from Stuart’s expression, she guessed it wasn’t flattering.
With a dark look for his father, Caith joined her by the stairs. “Why don’t you go home with Aren?” he suggested. “You can stay with Melanie tonight.”
“No.” She huddled deeper into the blanket, folding a handkerchief over her nose. The stench was becoming tolerable. In the beginning it had been unbearable, but after an hour with the doors and windows open to air the lobby, she’d almost grown used to it.
Caith exhaled, closing his eyes as if striving for patience. “Then go to your apartment. I don’t want you sitting here, looking at that thing. It’s going to be a while until they collect the evidence they need and cut it down.”
Her eyes flicked to the grisly dummy. “I’m fine. It’s my lodge. I need to be here.”
“Veronica, no one expects you to be a stone.” Caith sat beside her. “It’s after one in the morning. I wish you’d try to get some sleep.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Caith hooked his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him with a sigh of exasperation. “I don’t know. Maybe because I made a complete ass out of myself in front of Duke Cameron, the entire Coldcreek PD, my father and brothers, and I don’t want you to see me do it again.”
She chuckled. “Is that all?”
He was silent a moment. “Maybe I just care about you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“I am tired. And saying things like that when I’m not thinking clearly could get you kissed.”
He looked so surprised by her answer, she laughed. It was funny when she thought about it…sitting on the steps surrounded by manure and blood, police officers gathering pumpkin pulp for evidence, Caith’s father so angry he might have throttled him given the chance. What did tomorrow or next week matter? It was foolish to pin her hopes on the future. There was only the moment, as absurd and tarnished as it was. If she died tomorrow she didn’t want it to be with lingering distance between them. The awareness brought impulses she hadn’t expected.
She wanted to kiss him. Not that chaste peck on the cheek between friends. She wanted to dig her hands into his hair and meld her mouth to his. To feel the heat of his tongue between her lips and strip the clothes from his body. He’d always been the leader. It felt good to be in control for a change. Especially with a crime scene photographer snapping shot after shot of her likeness dangling from the rafters.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. “Do you have to stay here?”
“Why?”
“Because I could probably sleep with you beside me. Upstairs.” Her lips curled in a slow smile. “In your bed.”
Caith groaned and dragged a hand over his face. As if torn, he shot a glance at his father and brothers, still talking with Duke. “I can’t leave. I have a responsibility to stay here until this gets sorted out. BI hired me.”
She shook her head, feeling foolish for making the overture. “I know I’m not very good at seduction, but maybe I didn’t make that clear. I’m not interested in sleeping, Caith.”
“You’re merciless.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
He blinked in surprise. “Do you think the only way I’d keep you company is if you let me crawl into your bed?” He was serious. Not moody or angry, but sincere. He took her hand, turning those incredible blue eyes on her, his thumb tracking gently over her knuckles. “Tomorrow when you’re thinking clearly, I won’t use this against you. As much as I want us to be intimate, I don’t want to lose your friendship. I spent twelve years without you, Ronnie. I don’t want to risk that happening again.”
Her sultry boldness faded. He was being Caith again. The Caith who’d sat up with her the night her grandmother died; the Caith who’d slugged Bill Parker in the nose for spreading false rumors about her after one date; the Caith who’d sent her yellow roses. She was tired, vulnerable, and feeling foolish for trying to seduce him.
“I…” She tried to find her voice. “I’ll wait for you, and then maybe you’ll stay with me.” She lowered her eyes, ashamed by her earlier actions. “Stay. Nothing else. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
He kissed her on the brow, pulling the blanket close about her shoulders. “I won’t be long.”
As he moved off to confer with Aren, a delicious sense of warmth engulfed her. The police were cutting down the dummy, but it didn’t matter. Even with that ugly effigy hanging from the rafters, she felt safe.
Because of Caith.
* * * *
Veronica wasn’t certain when she finally got to bed. She vaguely remembered falling asleep, huddled on the steps. When she awoke the next day, it was to fuzzy memories of Caith helping her up two flights of stairs to the Blackbird Suite. When she blinked the room into focus, she realized it wasn’t a dream. She’d been asleep in his bed, huddled beneath thick quilts and warm blankets. Late morning sunlight streamed through an adjacent window, splashing a pattern of brassy gold squares on the floor.
“Caith?” She tossed back the covers, still dressed in the same clothes she’d hastily thrown on before the police had arrived last night—a baggy blue sweater and drawstring pants. With her feet snug and warm in thick socks, she padded to the bedroom door and peeked into the living area. Caith was sprawled on the couch, fully dressed, sound asleep.
He’d found a blanket somewhere, but it was half on the floor, tangled around one leg. Before she could withdraw silently, the door to the suite swung open and Merlin breezed in, carrying a tray laden with a coffee pot, three cups, and a creamer-sugar set.
“All right, that’s enough slacking.” He gave the door a forceful slam.
“Merlin!” Veronica stepped into the living area at precisely the same time Caith jolted awake. “Don’t be rude.”
“I bring coffee. I’ve even got cream, sugar, and those fancy little spoons you like, and I get accused of being rude?” Setting the tray on a low table by the couch, he cast a glance at his sleep-muddled brother. “What’s the matter, Caithelden? Ten-thirty too early for you?”
Veronica tucked her hair behind her ear. Still standing in the doorway, she folded her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m your morning wake-up call. I’ve got to leave, so it’s time for you to take charge.” He grinned, looking her over. “Have I mentioned how exquisite you look in shapeless sleepwear?”
“He’s checking out your guests.” Caith sat forward and rubbed grit from his eyes. “We arranged it last night. I’d stay with you, and Merlin would handle BI’s part so you wouldn’t have to be bothered.” He poured a cup of coffee, drinking it black. After one swallow, he grimaced. “What the hell did you make this with, Merlin? Petrol?”
“So I like it strong.” Merlin flopped into a chair across from him.
Still trying to adjust to the odd night and stranger morning, Veronica sat beside Caith on the sofa. There was something surreal about having Caith and Merlin working together in tandem, conversing without the usual verbal stings. She cleared her throat. “Has everyone left?”
“Even the guy who wanted to play Ghostbuster.” Merlin reclined, hooking his left ankle over his right knee. With his elbows propped on the chair arms, he steepled a coffee cup between his fingers. “He wanted to pay extra to hang around, but Dad was adamant. No guests. I think Bowerman was going to book a room in Coldcreek. As of now, Stone Willow is officially empty.”
Caith slouched against the couch. He dragged a hand through his hair, adding to its early morning dishevel, and yawned. “How’s the lobby?”
“We’re not going to get any five-star awards, but Lew and his helpers have been working since sunup. Instead of smelling like cow shit, it smells like lemon-scented cow shit.”
Veronica sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I wish I understood why this is happening.”
“Somebody obviously wants the lodge closed,” Caith said. “The question is why.”
“And who,” Merlin added.
They were silent a moment. Caith shifted, stretching his legs. “Whoever did this must have been at the hayride. That dummy was dressed like Ron. Whoever strung it up would’ve had to see her last night.”
“That narrows it down to half the town.” Merlin smirked and took a long swig of coffee. “How’d they get in this time? Pick a lock?”
Caith shook his head. “I checked last night. No sign of forced entry anywhere, windows or doors. Whoever’s pulling these stunts either has an inside accomplice or a key. It’s late to be changing locks, but it can’t hurt. Lew should have done it after the incident with the dog.”
Veronica looked away from his pointed stare. She knew he remained suspicious of Lew, but she believed the caretaker had nothing to do with BI’s problems. “I’ll call a locksmith.”
“Have Lew do it.” Caith stood and paced to the window. “I want you to spend the day with Melanie.”
She blinked, certain she’d misunderstood. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He turned, his expression hard. “There’s no reason for you to stay here and every reason to leave. I have to go into town, and I don’t want you alone.”
The heat of anger seeped into her skin. Clenching her hands, she stood stiffly. “I don’t need protecting, Caithelden.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission.”
Merlin chuckled. “Hey, can you two hold off until I make popcorn? This is better than reality TV.”
Caith shot him a black glare. “I thought you were leaving?”
“And miss my childhood chums having a spat?”
“Merlin,” Veronica snapped.
“All right.” He raised his hands in surrender. “When you get this sorted out, I’ll be waiting for the sequel.” Still chuckling, he headed for the door.
Veronica never took her gaze off Caith. The moment Merlin was out of the room, she stalked forward, jabbing a finger against his chest. “You are not going to suffocate me or tail me around like some overprotective watchdog. I was dealing with the problems at this lodge long before you showed up.”
“So successfully, too.”
She was tempted to hit him. She settled for huffing out a breath and turning her back, folding her arms over her chest. “Go. I don’t need your sarcasm.”
Seconds passed. His hands settled on her shoulders. “What about my concern?”
The quiet sincerity in his voice tugged at her heart. She had no defense against his gentleness, only his anger.
“Please.” The word was obviously hard for him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and dropped his chin to her shoulder. She allowed the embrace, but didn’t relax her rigid posture.
“I don’t want to spend the whole day worrying whether or not you’re safe. You can help Melanie with the hayride and spend some time with Derrick.” He hesitated. “I’d like for you to get to know him better.”
Blindsided by the request, she fought the urge to gape.
A step toward commitment or was she reading too much into the suggestion? Had he, in a roundabout way, hinted he wanted her there in the future? She’d been convinced anything beyond friendship would only involve sex, not emotion. He liked the mechanics and heady gratification, but had mastered the art of disconnecting his heart. Or so she’d thought.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
Caith kissed her cheek. “Just don’t go hay-riding with any scarecrows, okay?”