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Josie teased me about it on that last visit. I’d built Harry his own separate place to stay when he came back from college—a gift from one grown man to another. The gift of privacy, respect and space.
Took my time with it, too, building him a proper en suite bathroom and an open plan kitchenette; floor to ceiling bookshelves and a reading nook. There’s nothing fancy about that barn, but every inch of it is well made and hand-finished.
Harry flushed bright pink when he saw it. I even got a rare nephew hug.
And, “You have an addiction, Mr Bray,” Josie had said, a grin twisting her pretty mouth.
Well, joke’s on me. She stayed in Harry’s barn that summer instead of mine, didn’t she? On the sofa bed, sure, because they were broken up by then, but she was still too far away from me. Separated by all those walls.
An owl hoots as I approach the water’s edge. The trees dotted around are pitch black, their gnarled branches blocking out the stars, and already my chest feels looser.
Some days I think I can’t stand it: wanting Josie like this. Being parted from her while every cell in my body screams out to have her near. On nights like this when I can’t wind down to sleep, I get the craziest thoughts about loading myself into my truck and setting off for the city; tracking her down and bringing her home slung over my shoulder.
Hell, I’d stay there with her, if that’s what she wanted.
Like I said. Crazy thoughts.
But it’s fine. It’s just like pushing through any other hard thing: I need to take it one step at a time. One breath after another. Like sanding down an endless rough piece of wood, my muscles burning and eyes dry, hoping that sooner or later, the splinters won’t keep pricking and making me bleed.
A distant thump makes my back tense. There’s someone out by this creek with me.
I’m silent, not even breathing. Holding still while my ears strain for another sound.
Knew I should’ve got a dog. I kept meaning to, and could sure use the company out here, but I put it off. Told myself Harry should help me pick one, so I could be sure they’d get along when he comes home to visit.
Now I’m out here alone, on the edge of wilderness. The town’s over a mile back down that dirt path, and the nearest neighbor is nothing but a few squares of golden light across the dark fields.
I’m not scared, but I don’t like this either. Strange noises at night mean nothing but trouble.
Crack.
That’s a foot crushing a twig, no doubt about it. The sound drifts from further along the bank and my jaw is hard as I turn, strolling toward the disturbance, hands still in my pockets.
There’s a hatchet back by the woodpile, but I don’t need it. Whoever this is, I’m guaranteed to loom right over them. I’m as big as the wooden cabinets I build.
Rustling noises whisper through the night. There’s the dull thump of footsteps over rock, then splashing from the creek bed.
I get close. Real close. I’m a quiet man when I want to be, my strides silent over the scrubby grass and baked dirt. I get so close, I can hear my trespasser’s ragged breathing, and I stand over their shadow as they splash their face with the shallow water.
I clear my throat. “That’s not clean.”
The troublemaker shoots about ten feet into the air, letting out a feminine gasp. And I’m all ready to lecture about sneaking around on a man’s property in the dark, but then a wobbly voice says, “Mr Bray?”
I know that voice.
I’m fucking haunted by that voice.
It slinks through my dreams and whispers in my ears at night. It curls through me, low and smoky, whenever my restraint finally crumbles and I take myself in hand; it urges me on as I work my shaft, saying my name. My name, not his.
“…Josie?”
The shadow moves, and it’s exactly the right height.
And okay, now I’m startled, stumbling back. An unknown trespasser, I could handle with no problems. But this?
“Josie Martin?”
She huffs a bitter laugh, and even though it’s pitch black out here, I can see her face in my mind’s eye. Her toffee brown hair that glints gold in the sun. Her freckles and the gap between her front teeth. I know the exact expression she’ll be pulling: the wry twist of her mouth, and the way she squints one eye shut for a split second.
“You caught me,” she says.
I fucking wish.
But there are too many questions, all clogging my throat. Too many worries, and too much visceral, raw delight. Having her near again is like touching a live wire—I’m suddenly so awake, my whole body crackling with energy. The hairs on my arm stand on end.
“What are you doing here?”
The little shadow that is Josie gusts out a long sigh. “Yeah, Mr Bray. That’s the million dollar question.”
