Page 21 of Sing Sweet Nightingale

“Did you say Ginger?”

“Yes?” she says it like a question, like she’s not sure she wants to confirm it was my sneaky sister who rented her my cabin.

I sigh, internally groaning. “Ginger is my sister. I’m Hunter. I own this cabin and the land surrounding it.”

The tight pinch in her brow softens, and her shoulders sag, relieved. Apparently, my sister has been talking about me but not to me. I have a feeling this is the thing she was hiding from me. I knew she had a secret; I just wasn’t expecting this.

“Oh, she told me about you.”

“Did she now?” I ask, not at all surprised.

“Yes. She, however, didnotmention you owned the property and had no idea I was here.”

She gives me a sweet, innocent smile, and my heart does something funny in my chest. It pounds a little harder, a little faster. The ache grows and spreads like vines twinning around my insides.

Her teeth are pearly white and perfectly straight. Deep royal blue eyes stare up at me from beneath thick, fluttering lashes, and I’m thrown even more off-kilter seeing her now than when I first spotted her in the forest. Apparently, wolf me is more composed than human me.

“You say you’ve already paid?” I ask, breaking my silent gawking. My voice unexpectedly gravely.

She nods. I clear my throat and shift my weight from foot to foot, not sure what to do now. She’s looking up at me with such hopeful anticipation. And for some reason, I don’t want to crush her smile or make her leave. I want the opposite, actually. I want her to stay. I want to smell more of her intoxicating scent and feel her fingers run through my fur again.

“What’s your name again?”

“Lottie. Lottie Pickle.” She holds out her hand, relief lighting her face.

“Pickle?”

“Yeah, as in dill.”

I laugh, and the sound surprises me, so I smother it. Taking her hand, I shake it. Her skin is soft and smooth under my fingers. I jolt at the sudden desire to touch more of her and the sharp static tingling that shoots through my body. Pulling my hand away quickly, I shove it in my pocket. Any woman who makes me feel that much with one touch is dangerous indeed. It's best if I don’t touch her again.

“I suppose I don’t have to call the Sheriff then. But Ishouldcall my sister.”

That seems to comfort her, and she fidgets with the short ends of her hair before pushing a lock behind her ear. It falls looseinstantly, and she pushes it back again. Obviously, the short length is unfamiliar to her. I like the blunt ends that look soft to the touch.

Damn it, Hunter, stop thinking about touching her.

“Okay, right. Well, sorry to interrupt your evening.”

I shouldn’t stay here any longer than necessary. Allowing myself such an indulgence will only make things more complicated. And I hate complicated.

“It’s fine; it is your property. You’re welcome to stop by any time.”

Stepping off the porch, I back away, but Lottie follows me, stepping to the edge of the wooden planks and wrapping one arm around a column. I admit to myself—very quietly—that she looks rather good there.

“I shouldn’t need to unless you run out of wood or something.”

“Right, Volunteer fireman, good with an ax.”

Lottie’s scent catches on a breeze and washes over me. Causing unsolicited senses to perk up and pay attention. I rub the back of my neck, feeling a strange prickling, causing my hair to stand on end. Trying to smother the unwelcome sensation, I frown when it doesn’t fully diminish.

“Right. I fear for what else my sister has told you.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing embarrassing.”

From the wicked grin on her face, I don’t think she’s telling the truth. But I don’t ask. She can keep her secret if she knows something embarrassing about me but still smiles at me like that. I don’t need to get to know her or start up a conversation. She’s here. There’s not much I can do about it at this point, but I should berate my little sister.

“Goodnight, Lottie,” I say instead of the multitude of questions sitting on the tip of my tongue and cut the conversation short.

---