she caught sight of him in her viewfinder.
Her heart skipped a beat or two from the sheer masculinity of the man against the backdrop of the huge stone fireplace. The slow burn he ignited crept to her cheeks. She lowered the camera without taking the shot.
Dylan propped a booted foot on the low hearth and an elbow on the mantel. “What makes people say the house is haunted?”
“Some claim that they’ve seen a woman in white out by the gate when they pass it at night. She tries to wave them down as if she needs help. If they stop, she disappears.”
“Is that it?”
“Not quite. Some claim to have seen a woman standing at one of the windows.”
“Superstitious fools.” Dylan raked his fingers through his hair, parting the sandy locks into deep grooves that quickly filled back in place. “Are you one of them?”
“One of the superstitious fools? No. I have too much trouble with the living to worry about ghosts.”
Her cell phone rang. Probably Eleanor with instructions as to what photos she wanted for the magazine. “Excuse me,” she said, reaching for her phone.
“No problem.”
“Hello.”
“I saw you go inside the house with Dylan Ledger.”
Apprehension ground in her stomach. The lunatic who’d been stalking her must have followed her to Willow Creek Ranch.
She walked back to the kitchen, hopefully out of Dylan’s hearing range. “I told you to stop calling me,” she whispered.
“I can’t do that. We’re soul mates, Collette, meant to be together.”
She took a deep breath, hoping it would settle her shaky nerves and shakier voice. “I’m not anything to you, and if you don’t stop harassing me, my father will arrest you, throw you in jail and lose the key.”
“I’m not afraid of your daddy, Collette. But I have a message for him. Tell him I’ll soon be sleeping with his precious daughter. And you’ll like it. I promise you that.”
Her skin crawled. As much as she dreaded the thought, she was going to have to get a gun. This guy was nuts.
She broke the connection and rejoined Dylan. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”
“You look upset. Is something wrong?”
“It was a nuisance call.” She tried to take another picture, but her hands shook and she had trouble holding the camera steady.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dylan asked.
He was far too astute to buy her feeble excuses. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just that there’s this guy who’s bothering me. I’ll deal with it.”
She went back to taking pictures, and this time her hands remained calm. She finished in record time and walked to the kitchen. Dylan was staring out the window, his face a hard mask that revealed no emotion. She felt a weird connection with him, as if growing up in Mustang Run were a bond in itself.
She stepped closer. “It must be tough coming back after all these years. It’s a nice thing to do for your father.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’m doing it for him.”
So things weren’t fully settled between them, which made his inviting her in even more strange. “Did you stay in touch with him over the years?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Which meant he considered it none of her business. Fair enough. Only he was the one who’d started with the questions. “Why did you really let me in to take the pictures, Dylan?”
“You looked familiar. I just realized it’s because you look like your mother.”
“You remember my mother? I wasn’t even aware that you’d met her.”
“She came over the day my mother was murdered. She cooked dinner for my brothers and me. My memories from that night are sketchy, but I remember her telling us that no one would hurt us and that it was all right to cry. She stayed until my grandparents got here.”
“Where was your dad?”
“Being questioned by the deputies—and your father.”
Yep, that pretty much defined her parents. Mom had always been there to comfort. Her dad was always there to find fault and uncover the hidden sins.
“How is your mother?” Dylan asked.
“She had a stroke and passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry, “Dylan said. “Go ahead with your pictures. My father won’t like it, but the skeletons have been rattling around in this house for too long already. Might as well shake a few out for your readers.”
His voice was gruff and his tone edgy, an attempt, she suspected, to hide his emotions. Dylan was all man in every way that showed, but somewhere deep inside him, there must be some remnant of the boy who lost not only his mother to a brutal murder, but life as he knew it.
The clatter of voices outside rose to a crescendo. She joined Dylan at the window. A white truck was speeding down the road to the house.
“The return of Troy Ledger,” Dylan said.
Troy Ledger, not his father. That said a lot. His father might have gotten a get-out-of-jail-free card, but he obviously wasn’t getting a pass from Dylan. Maybe she had more in common with Dylan than she’d thought.
Surprising herself, she pulled out a business card. “If you need to talk, I’m available. You can call my photography studio or my cell number. Or you can stop by anytime. I live in the old Callister place. It’s the yellow house just past the Baptist church.”
“Your husband might not appreciate that.”
“What makes you think I’m married?”
“I saw you at the elementary school when I passed.”
“I was there to pick up my brother’s daughter, or rather to tell her I couldn’t pick her up and that she should ride the bus home.”
Their eyes met again as he took the card from her. His were tempestuous, yet mysteriously seductive. “I hope this works out for you,” she said.
“Yeah. Same for you. Be careful with the jerk who’s giving you a hard time.” He handed her the camera case and then walked her to the front door just as the back door swung open. “See you around.”
“Yeah, cowboy. See you around.”
She had a feeling he wouldn’t be looking her up. That was probably for the best, she told herself. He was far too complicated. She’d seen that in his intense, brandy-colored eyes. And she had complications and problems enough of her own.
Oddly,
