the room with his halting gait, running his fingers along a table carved from a log, brushing his knuckles across a hand-painted pillow and studying the watercolor landscapes on the wall. “It’s like a museum in here.”
“Some of the pieces are for sale if you’re interested.”
Snapping his fingers, he said, “You were into all those art classes at school. You got suspended for painting a Native American mural on the wall outside the gym.”
“Some of my best work.”
He leaned forward to study a small painting of a storm-swept Washington coast. “Did you go outside right after you heard the noise?”
“I didn’t say I went outside.” She swallowed and took a step back to the door, curling her fingers around the knob.
“I heard a door slam.” He straightened up and shoved his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. “I figured it had to be the door to this cabin since there aren’t many others around here, are there?”
“N-no.” Did he have to remind her about the isolation of their cabins? And how had he heard her door from a mile away? Since she’d bought this place, the Kennedy cabin had stood empty, but she knew it was a good distance away. She ran her tongue along her lower lip. “Let me get this straight. You heard a scream from inside your cabin, went outside to investigate and then heard my front door slam?”
“No.” He moved in front of the fireplace, and a log rolled off the grate, causing a shower of sparks. “Do you have a poker?”
She reached behind her for the weapon she’d brought to the door for protection and grabbed it. If Jim Kennedy tried anything funny, she had no problem using the business end of this poker on him.
What was the business end of a poker?
He narrowed his dark eyes and they glittered behind half-mast lids. “I was already outside taking a walk when I heard the noise. I took off in the general direction of it, didn’t hear anything else until the sound of a door shutting. I knew the Butler cabin was out this way, so I came over to investigate.”
Rolling her shoulders, she strode forward with the poker in front of her and handed it to him—point first.
He took it around the middle and then prodded the log back into place, where it lit up in a quick blaze. “So, did you go outside after you heard the scream or just open your front door?”
“I stepped outside, but I didn’t hear anything else, either. I’m thinking it might’ve been a wounded animal, and either it died or took off.”
“Maybe. It sounded—” he shrugged “—familiar.”
She thought he was going to say human, because that’s what it sounded like to her.
“It gave me the chills.” She held her hands out to the warmth of the fire, and the flickering flames caught the light from the many rings she wore on her fingers, creating a light show on the wall.
“I’ll let you get back to your book.” He tipped his chin at the book she’d left open on the recliner. “When I saw the lights on, I just wanted to make sure you were okay in here.”
“Thanks.” She led him to the front door and opened it wide for him to pass through. As he crossed the threshold, she inhaled his woodsy, masculine scent. On impulse, she touched his arm.
“Where’ve you been all these years, Jim Kennedy?”
He turned, brushing a lock of black hair from his face, and for the first time she noticed a scar across his forehead.
“Here and there.”
She stood at the door watching him as he walked down the two steps with his halting gait. Just as she was about to close the door, a howl rose from the forest, causing a ripple of fear to skim across her flesh.
“It sounds closer here.” Jim took off with surprising speed, and Scarlett followed him.
“Wait for me.” She grabbed on to his leather jacket, stumbling against his broad back.
“Hey, who’s out here?” Jim crashed through the branches of the trees as he illuminated the ground in front of him with a flashlight he’d pulled from his pocket.
He’d obviously come prepared, and then she saw the gun in his other hand. Prepared for what? She released her hold on him, and he continued forward, thrashing his way through the foliage, off the designated trail.
She staggered backward, twisting her fingers in front of her. What was Jim really doing out here and why did he have a gun? She knew hunting weapons, and that gun wasn’t intended for use against some hapless deer.
As Jim called out again, she found her footing on the cleared path. She should make her way to the cabin and lock herself inside. This time she wouldn’t open the door for anyone—former high school classmate or not. Jim Kennedy could take his sexy self back to here and there.
Tapping the light for her cell phone, she pivoted on the toes of her sneakers and took a step forward.
Then a hand grabbed her ankle.
The scream chilled his blood. It was the sound of a terrified woman—Scarlett.
Why had she stopped following him? Why had he let her?
“Scarlett?” He reversed course, staggering and tripping through the underbrush, cursing his bum leg. Cursing the men who’d caused it.
She screamed again, just as loudly but with a little less edge. His flashlight flickered on the path ahead of him as he charged back the way they’d come.
He plowed through the tree branches back onto the trail, which allowed him to move faster. “Scarlett?”
“I’m here, Jim.”
His light picked her out, crumpled on the ground at his feet, and he jerked to a halt. He grabbed on to a tree branch to stop himself from falling on top of her.
“What happened?”
She pointed into the underbrush beside her. “There. It’s a man. H-he’s injured or...”
Jim crouched beside her and aimed his flashlight at the bushes, where it illuminated an outstretched arm, hand fisted into the dirt.
He pushed aside the foliage that covered the man and reached out with two fingers to feel the pulse at his throat.
“He’s dead. How did you even see him there without a light?”
She gasped, covering her mouth. “He grabbed my ankle. Are you sure he’s dead?”
“What?” He scooped aside more of the underbrush and flattened his palm against the man’s chest. Blood seeped through his shirt, moistening Jim’s hand with its stickiness. He bent forward, putting his ear close to the man’s nose and mouth.
“Call
