Page 45 of Haunted Spurs

"And. With. Me. Too."

I practically growl it, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. I step forward, reach out, and possessively grab his other arm, pulling him slightly toward me in a clear, shameless gesture of claiming.

The entire living room falls dead silent.

I feel Ron's muscle go rigid beneath my fingers. His gaze, when it meets mine, lights up with a look so brazen, triumphant, and loaded with promises that reality suddenly crashes down on me.

I realize what I just did. Heat flares across my neck and cheeks.

"I... I need inspiration. For my novel," I add hastily, my words tripping over each other, mortified beyond belief.

I drop my grip on his forearm in a split second, yanking my fingers back like the flannel of his shirt just caught fire. But the damage is done. And Ron Willers' devouring smile confirms that he is absolutely not going to let me forget it.

Exactly ten minutes have passed, and I am determined to erase the incident from existence. But Ron—my “new-cowboy-my-ass”—has clearly decided otherwise.

“Knock it off,” I hiss under my breath, shooting him a glare out of the corner of my eye the moment he casually throws an arm around my shoulders.

I have to go through every mental survival strategy I own just to stop myself from melting into him. It’s honestly exhausting. My body wants to give in, lean into his solid side, and get completely swallowed up by his warmth and that infuriating scent of cedar and leather.

Argh.

I grit my teeth and, with a sharp movement, shrug his arm off and step away.

“And yet…” he murmurs, leaning in slightly, that smile of his turning into pure trouble.

“I distinctly got the feeling ten minutes ago that you wanted to—”

“AHHHH!”

A sharp scream cuts him off, followed by a heavy thud as something crashes to the dirt floor.

Emma jumps back, tripping over her own feet, one hand flying to her chest as she nearly scares herself to death.

A bale of hay has just fallen from the upper loft, landing an inch from her boots.

We’d come out exploring the grounds and just stepped inside the old barn.

Twilight barely seeps through the gaps in the warped wooden planks, casting long, distorted shadows across the dirt floor. The high ceiling disappears into darkness, and old iron chains and rusty hooks hang from the beams above, as if waiting for something—or someone—to get caught in them.

In one corner, leaning against a termite-eaten pillar, are old farming tools: scythes, pitchforks, things that look like they’ve seen better centuries.

If a killer with a machete stepped out from behind the broken stalls, he’d honestly fit right in with the décor.

“Easy, easy, it’s nothing,” Levi says, already stepping in, voice steady as he comes to his friend’s rescue. He grips her arms lightly and looks up toward the shadowed loft.

"I-I nearly died of a heart attack," Emma stammers, shaking like a leaf, instinctively clinging to the firefighter's t-shirt.

And then, breaking the macabre tension of the place, Carolina chimes in. Timely and brazen as always.

"You know what we need to break the ice?" she starts, planting her hands on her denim-clad hips and looking around, her eyes sparkling. "Let's play Truth or Dare."

Cole watches her from under the brim of his hat. I strongly suspect he's just looking for yet another excuse to flirt with her.

"Are you serious?" he answers, his voice a slow, amused drawl. "That is always how horror movies start, Princess."

"Actually," Carolina counters, crossing her arms under her breasts and lifting her chin, "they usually start at an isolated summer camp in the woods, or on a vacation to Mexico."

Apparently, she got a solid cinematic education before signing up for this reality show.