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“You okay?” He reached for her as she half-jumped, half-fell off what was left of the pedestrian walkway that had once kept women’s skirts out of the mud and dung clogging the streets.
“Fine, I’m fine.” Mia tugged up her tank top before squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. “No, I’m not fine. I can’t do this.”
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” Sawyer said, cursing himself for moving too fast. “I didn’t mean for things to go that far, I just—”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, eyes flying open, anger flaring in the whiskey-colored depths. “I’m not a victim, okay? I wanted it as much as you did, but I just…can’t right now. I need some space.”
He started toward her. “Listen, I’m sorry, I—”
“I told you, don’t apologize. And don’t follow me.” She took a step back, pointing a warning finger at his chest until he lifted his arms in surrender. “You have the key, lock the jail on your way out and make sure the main gate shuts tight behind you.”
With that parting shot, she bolted, heading back toward the gate at a trot, running away from him like he was a ghost who had brushed up against her in the dark.
The thought made Sawyer glance over his shoulder into the jailhouse. The sun streaming in the doorway cast a cheery ray of light across the hole in the middle of the room, but the building still had an ominous energy, and Sawyer’s skin felt cold, despite the fact that his blood was still rushing from kissing Mia.
A part of him was tempted to stay and finish his walk-through—he wasn’t finished talking to Mia, but she obviously needed space right now—but the other part of him couldn’t shake the memory of that hand on his shoulder, or those cold fingers digging into his skin.
With one last glance around the mysterious jailhouse, Sawyer pulled the door shut and locked it. He walked down the rest of the main drag, and around the corner to where the remains of a few clapboard houses leaned drunkenly against the hillside, but he didn’t go inside any of the structures, and he didn’t stay long. Without his tour guide, he didn’t know how many of the buildings the society wanted to be restored, and he was having a hard time keeping his mind on work, anyway. He told himself it was the near death experience that had him rattled, but deep down, he knew it was the kiss that was to blame.
Mia Sherman was a study in contradictions, but she was also the sexiest woman he’d met in a long time. He was already craving more of her sweet mouth and the addictive taste of her skin, dying to get his tongue curled around her nipple, and discover what kind of sounds she made as her desire reached the tipping point. But almost as much as those carnal curiosities, he wanted to know what had a strong woman like her so spooked. He wanted to know who had hurt her, and to help her put the past to rest.
He would also enjoy planting a fist in the face of whatever asshole had laid his hands on her. The way her voice had cracked when she’d insisted she wasn’t a victim had set off alarm bells. Only people who knew what it was like to be held down were that adamant about making sure you knew who was on top.
The thought of some worthless sack of shit hurting Mia made his stomach ache, and made him that much more determined to prove he wasn’t that kind of man. He would never touch a woman in anger, and he hated to see a spirit like Mia’s damaged. She was someone special, the kind of woman who needed to be lifted up so the world could see her shine, not locked away in a prison of her own fear.
But before he could help her outrun the demons of her past, he needed more information, and he had a pretty good idea where to find it.
Closing the gate to the crumbling ghost town behind him, Sawyer reached into his saddlebag, exchanging his Stetson for his helmet, and slid onto the Harley’s hot-to-the touch leather seat. He started down the long narrow road leading back toward his hotel, leaving the ghosts of old Lonesome Point to their own devices.
By the time he reached the first intersection on the way back into town, the chill he’d felt in the jailhouse had vanished from his skin. Whatever spirit might be lingering in Old Town, it had the sense to keep to itself and not go wandering around where it wasn’t wanted. It was a relief, but it also made Sawyer a little melancholy. It would be nice if it were that easy to put all the things that haunt a person in the past where they belong.
CHAPTERSIX
By Wednesday night,Mia was tired of hiding in her shop and sending Sawyer’s calls to voicemail. She wasn’t sure how he’d gotten her number, unless her grandmother—who wasn’t happy to hear that Mia had bailed on the tour, even if the jailhouse floor had collapsed and nearly killed their restoration expert—had given it to him.
But Mia had promised to meet back up with Sawyer late Thursday afternoon, when Bubba would be free to accompany her to the site, so she didn’t think Gram wasthatannoyed. Sure, she would have to wait a few extra days to get her quote, but the historical society had already paid for Sawyer’s hotel for two weeks. Sawyer would get his tour, Gram would get her bid, and Mia would get through another encounter with Sawyer without ending up half naked, and humping his leg in a doorway.
Everyone would get what they wanted, and Bubba’s presence would ensure that Mia kept her mind on business, not pleasure.
Her second Sawyer kiss had been even more electric than the first. Within moments, she’d been trembling in his arms, dying for him to touch her, willing to abandon all control and let him trail his talented lips anywhere he wanted, so long as he kept making her body buzz like a live wire. She knew if she kissed him again, it wouldn’t stop at a kiss. Something about the man made every bit of common sense and self-restraint she possessed fly straight out the window. Even with Paul, she had always been able to hold back. The voice in her head that insisted she wanted to wait until they were engaged, warred with the voice that believed in the curse, leaving her conflicted enough to put off making the big decision for yet another night.
Mia’s mother insisted the Sherman Family Curse was simply a legend Emily perpetuated to sell ghost town tickets, but that was easy for her to say, she’d married into the Sherman clan, not been born into it. Mia knew what it was like to be raised a Sherman firstborn daughter. Gram’s stories had put the fear into her, and no amount of logic or reason could completely wedge it out.
But logic and reason made a run for the hills whenever she was in Sawyer’s arms. That meant it was best to stay out of them, and away from the man himself.
Still, as much as she loved her cozy two-bedroom apartment above the shop, by Wednesday night, she was starting to feel claustrophobic. She had made an entire wardrobe of doll clothes for Clementine’s monster dolls, alphabetized her spice rack, and organized her pantry—twice. It was time to get out and live a little. She couldn’t go to The Blue Saloon—that was Sawyer’s turf until he left town—but she could certainly swing by The Ticklish Iguana for karaoke night with the boys. Bubba never missed a karaoke night, and it had been almost a month since Mia had been out for margaritas and fire-roasted red pepper salsa.
So, at ten minutes until seven, she wiggled into her tight black jeans, paired them with a white ruffled tank top, her chunky silver jewelry, and her favorite black cowgirl boots, and headed toward the far side of Main Street. She took the long way around, walking up the Old Town Highway and cutting over to Rancho Grande, which ran parallel to Main, avoiding the hotel, and arrived at the restaurant as Bubba was pulling up in his massive black pick-up truck.
“Long time, no see,” he said, grinning when he saw her outfit. “You’re looking ready for a good time. Nice boots.”
“Thanks.” She leaned in for a hug, lifting an eyebrow when she caught a peek inside Bubba’s truck, and saw three boxes of donuts sitting in the passenger’s seat. “Planning a donut orgy later?”
“I’m going to bring them into work tomorrow,” Bubba said, slamming the door behind him. “Gotta butter Hank up so he won’t bitch about me taking off early tomorrow.”
Mia frowned as she glanced up at Bubba, the light from the neon iguana on top of the restaurant cast his face in a lime glow. “I don’t want you to get bitched at. I can go alone if leaving early is going to cause problems for you at work.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Bubba reached out to get the heavy wooden door. “It’ll be fine. Hank loves to bitch. If it wasn’t about this, it would be about something else.”
