Page 26 of Blackwood

“Don’t mention it.” He shifted from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with my gratitude.

“I think tomorrow I can do a little walking.”

“Not yet.” He furrowed his brow. “You aren’t recovered enough.”

“I won’t go far.” I grinned. “And what’s this newfound love of my company?”

He scowled. “Get over yourself. I just don’t want you getting hurt worse and then spending yet another two weeks here.”

“Neither do I.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’d probably die of starvation from your cooking.”

His smirk appeared, and my heart warmed at our not-so-friendly banter.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He turned to leave, then paused, as if unsure. “Red?”

“Yeah?” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tested my calf.

“I just…”

I stared at his back. “Yeah?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll see you at dinner.” He strode away, his steps thundering down the stairs.

I spent the rest of the day walking around the house and feeling pleased with my leg’s recovery. It was weaker, but having the stitches removed made every movement easier. Pausing in front of Garrett’s door, I stared at it, wondering what he kept inside. I wasn’t much of a lock pick, especially given that the door had an antique handle that took an actual key.

Jiggling the handle, I found it locked yet again and sighed. This time, though, I noticed light through the keyhole. His room faced west, the afternoon sun pouring through. If the light could get out, maybe I could see in.

I stopped and held my breath, listening for Garrett. Nothing moved in the house. I imagined him locked in his library, bent over a book, his dark locks tucked behind his ears as he concentrated on each precise stroke of ink. Kneeling, I hunched forward and looked through the keyhole. The light blinded me, so I had to sit back.

“Shit,” I whispered to myself and decided to sit and wait until the sun’s angle was bearable. Every moment risked me being discovered, but I would hear Garrett coming. I listened intently and waited for the light to fade. After what felt like an eternity, the glare died enough for me to peek through. My eye adjusted after a short moment, and I got a glimpse of a large bed, the wide window, and something hanging on the wall. I squinted and leaned forward, my forehead pressing into the door handle. What was that?

Angling to the side, I got a better view of the wall. Rope. He had various coils of rope hanging on some sort of rack. I couldn’t see the rest of it, just the edge. I sat back on my haunches. What the fuck?

A knocking sound had me on my feet and trudging back to my room at a fast clip. If he caught me, I wasn’t sure what he’d do, but I had an idea based on what he kept handy in his bedroom. The thought of being tied to his bed sent a thrill through me when I should be disgusted or scared.What is wrong with you?

The fleshy knock grew louder as I passed the stairs. I paused. The sound was familiar—someone was knocking at the front door. I hurried down the stairs, my left leg aching in protest. With no Garrett in sight, I got on my tiptoes and peered out of the peephole.

“Fuck.” I plopped back down on my heels.

“I know she’s in there. Open up!” Dr. Stallings pounded on the heavy door, but it only rattled a little.

The library door stood open, and I didn’t see any hint of Garrett. After a calming breath, I turned the bolt on the door and pulled it open.

Dr. Stallings rushed in and took me in his arms, picking me up in a dramatic fashion.

“What happened? Are you okay? The sheriff wasn’t giving me any information. I was worried sick. Did they hurt you?” He rattled off the questions, then pressed hot kisses to my neck.

I cringed and pushed him back. “I’m fine. Promise. They’ve been taking good care of me.”

He lowered me to my feet and looked around the foyer. “They kept you locked up in this ghastly house?”

I frowned. The house had grown on me over the past couple of weeks. But, I followed his gaze to the tatty rug and dusty chandelier, I could see his point. “I’ve been recovering here. It made sense. The boar attack happened nearby.”

“Who’s here with you?”

“The property owner. He’s around somewhere.”

“Has he touched you?” He ran a possessive hand through my hair.

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