spirits are waiting around for revenge. That doesn’t bother you?”
“I’m not afraid of ghosts.”
Just of real men. He saw it in her eyes and the hands-off look she shot him.
“You seem to know a lot about this house,” she said. “Tell me more.”
Her low voice sounded sultry beneath the whistle of the wind. Slightly shaken, he struggled for a reply, not ready to share the truth about his own family’s involvement in the murders. If she stayed, she’d find out soon enough.
But her presence would complicate everything. How could he search the property with her inside?
“What are you planning to do with the house?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
She pulled the coat tighter around her throat, her breath a puff of white in front of her. “Live here. And I’m starting an antiques business.”
He frowned. “Why antiques?”
“I like the stories behind them,” she said. “The antiques once belonged to people, they were important to them at one time.”
Did she belong to anyone? A man maybe? How about a family? It was none of his business, he reminded himself. “This house isn’t in good enough shape to live in, much less house a business.”
“I’m going to renovate it.”
Dammit. She’d tear up the inside, get rid of things, any evidence that might still be around. “If you’re looking for someone to do repairs, my brother and I happen to be in the business.” At least they were now.
Her mouth parted in surprise, but her eyes flashed with wariness. Now he knew why they mesmerized him. They were the deepest reddish-brown he’d ever seen, like the earthy tones of a red-tailed hawk.
Her sweet scent invaded his nostrils, too, stirring urges that warred with his better sense. But old ghosts echoed around the house, reviving memories of the blood bath that had taken place within the rotting walls.
She studied him for another long moment, then nodded. “Thanks, although I’m not sure how much I can pay.”
“No problem.” He shrugged, blinking away fresh snowflakes. “We live simple lives in the mountains, our materialistic needs are few.” But his need for the truth and revenge was strong.
She offered a tentative smile that twisted his gut.
He steeled himself against her beauty. He was interested in this place for one reason and one reason only. For the answers it offered about his father.
And he’d be damned if he’d let Hailey Hitchcock interfere with his plans.
HUNCHING HIS STOOPED shoulders inside his cloak, he watched from the shadows of the forest as the frail-looking woman opened the door and went inside the house. Who was she? And why had she bought a run-down house that was supposedly haunted?
She obviously didn’t know its history.
A chuckle reverberated in his chest as he pictured her finding out.
The house had once been beautiful, painted blue with white shutters, the outside postcard perfect. The ultimate dream for the happy couple who’d moved inside. Laughter and dreams had abounded within the walls, the patter of small feet and children’s voices filling the empty rooms with life and joy.
Then everything had changed.
Dreams had been shattered. Lives had been destroyed. The world had crumbled down just as the house looked as if it might crumble now.
The pain of the woman’s cries still echoed in his head, the sadness in her eyes, the whisper of death as she’d clawed her way toward the boy….
It had been all her fault.
And now this…this other woman had come.
He had to get rid of her.
The Hatchet House held secrets. Secrets that would ruin his life if exposed. Secrets that would stay behind closed doors.
Secrets that he would kill to keep hidden…
Chapter Two
A whisper of unease tickled Hailey’s spine, mingling with the icy cold temperature, as she entered the house. Rex Falcon’s words about the ghosts echoed in her mind.
But ghosts weren’t real. No, danger came from real, live men who wanted to control the women they were involved with. Not ones who were buried and long gone. Besides, the real estate agent assured her the killer was serving a life sentence in prison.
It was time to stop running and build her own life. She’d held her ground with Rex Falcon, refusing to let his gruff, mysterious demeanor intimidate her. His dark, sexy eyes had trapped her, though, and a spark of awareness had passed between them. A sexual spark that she had no intention of exploring.
The low hum of the snowstorm outside echoed through the house, reminding her she was alone. Rex Falcon’s predatory expression flashed back. He hadn’t wanted her here. She’d sensed that was the reason he’d mentioned the ghosts.
But she refused to let anything chase her away.
And she was not here to get entangled with a man.
The wood floor creaked as she closed the front door and fumbled for the light switch. But the power company had yet to turn on the electricity. The realtor claimed the furniture had been left in place. Maybe there were some candles around, also.
The stale smell of a house having been closed up filled the chilly air as she moved into the parlor. Twilight settled over the interior, painting the sheet-draped furniture with gray, but on the mantel she spotted a silver candelabra. She hurried over, blew the top layer of dust away, then found a pack of matches on the hearth of the brick fireplace. The pack was so old it took three times before she finally lit the slender tapered candlesticks, but she was grateful for the soft glow.
Then she studied the room. Heavy velvety drapes covered the windows and hung to the floor, obliterating the outside, and creating an ominous, claustrophobic feeling. Hailey shivered, her uneasiness mounting. But those curtains shielded her from the outside and any strangers who might be roaming in the woods. And they were thick enough to help ward off the cold, as well.
She’d replace the windows with Thermopane ones, trade the drapes for blinds so the natural light could spill in during the daytime, and she could shut them at night.
The walls were dingy and needed paint, too, and dust motes swirled in the halo of candlelight. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and a spider retreated into a corner to spin its web. Clutching the candelabra in her hand, she decided to check out the rest of the house.
Her footsteps echoed in the empty rooms as she walked through the hallway to the kitchen. The counters and woodwork were faded and chipped, but the old-fashioned oven and stove supposedly still worked. The refrigerator was an ancient model with no ice maker, but was functional, and there was no dishwasher. Dust covered the dingy beige countertops, and she spotted droppings near the bottom of the wood cupboard door that had
