Don't You Wanna Stay

by Kait Nolan

Her bitter laugh echoed in the foyer. “I wish it had stayed gone.”

  “Let me ask you something, Deanna. Have they ever approved of anything you’ve done? Or is every conversation a chance to remind you of your mistakes?”

  He was close enough now he felt the breath she expelled.

  “Have you been tapping my phone?”

  “Don’t have to. They’re afraid for you. That much is obvious. Anything that’s more than walking the straight and narrow, that’s more than living small and safe, is going to feel like a risk to them, and that means you could get hurt again. They’d rather see you stay in a safe little box than get hurt. And that means they’re going to be disappointed no matter what because you don’t fit that box. Continuing to try will just crush your soul. So you might as well take the risk.”

  As Wyatt watched her pupils blow wide, he realized he wasn’t just talking about the house. He wanted to touch her. To slide his hands into all that silky hair and take her mouth until they’d both forgotten her parents’ visit.

  Deanna’s breath went short and shallow, her chin tipping up just a fraction. “You’re an incredibly astute man.”

  He was astute enough to realize she wouldn’t push him away if he gave into desire and kissed her. The idea of it had his fingers curling, itching to reach for her. But he had just enough presence of mind to remember that all of this was a terrible idea. They worked together. Lived together. She needed him professionally, and neither of them could afford to fuck that up.

  With a herculean effort, he took a step back. “I just don’t want to see you kicking yourself. You’re here. You’re doing the work. That’s what matters.”

  She blinked and cleared her throat. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you believe in me. In what we’re doing here.”

  “It means a lot to me that you don’t think my dream is crazy either.” Feeling strangely vulnerable and needing to do something to banish the lingering tension, he headed for the back door. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  Deanna followed him out of the house, across the weedy lawn to the old barn.

  “I was doing some exploring while you were at work the other day.”

  “I can’t believe I haven’t been out here yet.”

  “You’ve been focused on getting the house to the point of reasonably livable. Nothing wrong with that. But I think you’ll be glad to see what I’ve found.”

  “What did you find?”

  Putting his shoulder into it, he wrestled open the door. “A honey hole.” Dragging it as wide as he could, he stepped inside. “At some point, I guess whenever somebody renovated before, they hauled all kinds of old stuff from the house out here to store. The door was hella stuck, so I don’t think anybody’s been out here in years.”

  Her steps were soft on the dirt floor. Dust motes danced in the sunlight that streamed through the door, gilding that golden hair. Damn, she was beautiful.

  She reached a hand out, trailing it over an old carved mantle as if it were the finest velvet. Reverent. He watched as she picked her way through the stacks of wood and old trunks, eyes skimming over antiques in various conditions. With a gasp, she leapt forward, hands outstretched to touch the piece he’d known she’d fall in love with.

  “Wyatt. This buffet.” And when she looked back at him, he saw it. The light in her eyes her parents had extinguished.

  He joined her, stroking a hand over the dusty wood. “Solid mahogany. The finish has seen better days, but it can probably be salvaged.”

  “We have to save it. It would be gorgeous. In the dining room. Or maybe the kitchen.”

  “Plenty of time to decide. And to go through the rest of this stuff to see what else you want to use. There’s a big pile of old lumber I want to plane and see what we have. I’m thinking we might be able to make custom butcher block countertops for the kitchen.”

  “That would be amazing. And I love the idea of using stuff that was already here, already a part of the house’s history.” Delighted, she looked around at the rows and stacks of other treasures. “I need to make an inventory.”

  “That’ll be a good rainy day project. For now, we need to get back to that wiring so we can get the AC back on. I think if we give a solid push this afternoon, we can probably finish up tomorrow morning. And that means we can start talking walls.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language. Let’s do it.”

  Satisfied he’d banished the shadows from her eyes, he led the way back to the house.

  Chapter 9

  Lightning flashed beyond the sheets tacked up over Deanna’s bedroom windows. Thunder grumbled as wind and rain lashed the house, making it groan like something out of an old school horror flick. She couldn’t sleep.

  Despite Wyatt’s prior assessment that the roof was perfectly sound and had been replaced sometime in the past fifteen years, this was the first true summer thunderstorm since they’d moved in, and she was paranoid about leaks. She’d had an up-close-and-personal view of exactly how much damage water could do in short order. When she’d been a kid, the water heater in her parents’ house—the one some genius had put in the attic—blew up, flooding the entire lower floor of the house. Ceilings, walls, and floors had been ruined. Given the current state of deconstruction, there was less to ruin in Blackborne Hall, but they still couldn’t afford more setbacks.

  As she flopped over again, punching the pillow, she had to admit that it wasn’t the thought of a leak keeping her awake. It was that almost kiss from last weekend.

  She was way, way out of the game, but she knew she hadn’t read that wrong. He’d wanted to kiss her, and she’d wanted to let him. They’d had a Moment, damn it, as they’d bonded over unnecessary parental judgment. He’d opened up about himself in a way she hadn’t expected. A way that had made her feel seen and supported.

  Then he’d pulled back.

  It was the smart move. She’d already established it would be a mistake to get involved, and she’d definitely met her quota of those. She ought to be relieved. Instead, she was hot and restless and so very aware he was sleeping just on the other side of that bathroom. Not for the first time, she considered doing something to relieve the ache. But she knew firsthand how thin these walls were, and what if he wasn’t asleep?

  Oh, yeah, sorry. Your truly decent behavior has made its way into my fantasy bank, along with you in a tool belt.

  Nope. Not a conversation she wanted to risk. Too many potential sources of mortification.

  Giving up on sleep, she switched on the bedside light. Distraction. She needed distraction. Instead of grabbing her laptop and falling into work, checking the stats on the campaign she’d designed to increase Wyatt’s following, she brought her sketchpad back to bed. Over the past several days, as they finished the wiring and plumbing for the new kitchen layout and the en suite master bath upstairs, her brain had been working overtime on how she could use the treasures out in the barn—the only thing interesting enough to rival her unwilling fantasies about the man who’d showed them to her.

  Setting pencil to paper, she filled up page after page with design concepts, room arrangements, and upcycling projects. Quick, loose sketches that captured the impression she wanted for each room. Of course, these projects required space and tools and time. Most were outside her current skill set, so she’d need Wyatt’s help. If they rearranged out there, it would be fairly simple to turn part of the barn into a workshop. A permanent installation of his tools would be more efficient than the mobile setup he was operating with now and would be more practical for future projects.

  She caught herself halfway through a sketch of a workbench.

  What the hell was she doing? Neither of them would be here long term. They were finishing this house, selling it, and moving on. That was the deal. Nothing had changed, no matter how much she’d fallen in love with the house and in serious like with her contractor.

  Disgusted, Deanna tossed the notebook aside. She’d grab a bottle of water from the mini fr
idge and try to go back to sleep. Aware of the risk of stepping on something in the construction zone, she slipped on shoes and headed downstairs. They left a small light on in their temporary kitchen, but the faint glow did little to light her way. The continued flashes of lightning cast creepy shadows that made her grateful she wasn’t alone in the house. She wasn’t particularly prone to self-induced scaring, but this place certainly had a less than welcoming atmosphere in its current state.

  Soon. Soon we’ll be putting back walls and you won’t be imagining homicidal ghosts hiding in every shadow. No more Supernatural reruns until then, though.

  The thought was a comfort as she twisted the cap off a fresh bottle of water and guzzled down half.

  Something thumped.

  Heart skipping a beat, she edged back toward the stairs, looking up for Wyatt. But he wasn’t there, and it had sounded like the noise was somewhere on the first floor.

  Don’t be a fraidy cat. Just go see what the noise is.

  Ignoring the voice in the back of her mind saying this is how the horror movie starts, she set the water aside and grabbed up a length of two-by-four. The sound came again. Probably a tree branch thumping against the house in the wind, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. Moving slowly, she crept through the house, ears straining. At another thump, she stepped into what had been a study but currently served as storage for all her packed boxes. Why the hell hadn’t she thought to grab a flashlight?

  A closer strike of lightning illuminated the space, revealing nothing unusual. Not that she could see much past the neatly stacked boxes of her stuff. But as the crash of resultant thunder faded, and she turned to go back upstairs, an eerie, keening cry sounded from inside the wall.

  Deanna screamed, dropping the two-by-four as she stumbled back and ran.

  A door crashed upstairs. “Deanna!”

  “Wyatt!”

  She collided with him on the landing in the dark. His arms wrapped around her and he pivoted, putting himself between her and danger. Or maybe just stopping them both from hurtling down the stairs headfirst. Either way, she hung on, pressing into the heat of his broad, muscled chest.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She shook so hard she could barely speak. “G… g… ghost.”

  He pulled back, his capable, callused hands wrapping around her upper arms and giving her goosebumps. “What?”

  “S… something s… screamed from inside the w… w… wall.” Deanna knew she was one step above gibbering, but she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

  Wyatt tightened his hold. “Where?”

  “S… st… study.”

  “I’ll go check it out.” He started to release her, but she clung to him.

  “Don’t leave me alone.”

  She appreciated that he didn’t tell her she was hysterical and that ghosts weren’t real.

  “Okay.” His hand closed around hers, a reassuring connection in the dark. “Stay close.”

  She practically huddled against his back like part of the Scooby Gang as they crept back downstairs. He hit the light switch at the base of the stairs. The sudden glare blinded her. As her vision cleared, she took in what she hadn’t quite realized when she’d been in his arms. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung basketball shorts. She’d screamed, and he’d come running just like this. If not for the fact that she was more than half scared to death, she’d likely be swooning at that because, holy shit, he was beautifully made, his body a playground of dips and valleys made by the swells of his work-hardened muscles.

  By the time they made it to the study, he’d set every light that remained to blazing. The spill of it cast long shadows from the stacked boxes. Deanna braced herself for the noise again as they went inside, but she couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her own heart and the wind whistling around the house. She didn’t see anything either when Wyatt finally made it to the light switch on the far side of the room.

  Could she have freaked herself out over nothing more than the sound of the storm?

  “Which wall?”

  Deanna pointed.

  Squeezing her hand once, Wyatt stepped away, eyes skating over the surface of the exterior wall. “I haven’t spent much time in here since you moved in. The room was structurally sound, so there hasn’t been much cause yet, other than taking out that unnecessary dividing wall.”

  There was nothing to see, and in the light, Deanna began to feel a little foolish. “I don’t know what I heard. Maybe I just psyched myself out.”

  “Maybe.” But he didn’t sound judgy as he began at one end and knocked along it.

  Something scratched back.

  He stumbled back a couple of steps. “Jesus.” Moving closer, he knocked again and got another answering scratch. “You’re not crazy. There’s something in the wall. An animal maybe?”

  “That sounds way too big to be a rodent.” She didn’t much want to consider what else it might be.

  Following the length of the wall, he tap tap tapped, until he reached a section that had a deeper sound than the rest. “It’s hollow.”

  “Hollow? How?”

  “This side of the house is still covered up with vegetation and stuff. Could be it extends further than we realized.”

  “To what end?”

  The smile he turned on her was full of little boy excitement. “It’s a really old house. Maybe there’s a secret passage.”

  The idea of that would probably be more appealing when it didn’t feel like she was living out a story that began with It was a dark and stormy night and ended with a face-to-face encounter with the undead. Still, she got up the nerve to cross to the wall and run her fingers over it herself. The thing in the wall whimpered. Rats didn’t whimper. Did raccoons?

  Wyatt determined where the deepest echo was coming from, and they both continued to examine every inch around it.

  “I think there’s a seam here. See, the wallpaper masks it.” He outlined a space that would’ve made up a small door.

  Riding on the memory of all the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books she’d devoured as a kid, Deanna examined the carved detail of the molding. It was a floral pattern. Tudor roses. Very unusual for the time period of the house. She began to press and prod each bump. Something shifted faintly beneath her finger. Leaning in, she put her weight behind it, feeling the center of the rose sink deeper into the trim. Something clicked and a chunk of the wall popped open a fraction of an inch.

  “Holy shit,” Wyatt breathed.

  He wedged his fingers in the gap and tugged. With a scraping noise, the door swung open.

  The thing inside the wall bolted out, a flash of white. Deanna’s scream cut off as it hurtled directly into her, knocking her flat on her ass. Throwing up her arms in defense, she cringed away… and felt a warm, wet tongue.

  What the…?

  As Wyatt began to laugh, she cracked open her eyes and came nose to nose with a skinny, filthy, wriggling dog.

  “What on earth?” She sat up, fending off kisses from the animal who was now wagging and whining. “How the hell did you get into the wall?”

  Wyatt stuck his head in the hole. “There are stairs going down. We’ll need flashlights to check it out, but I think for now, we should close it back up and deal with our guest.”

  The dog sprawled across Deanna’s lap, rolling belly up. With a sign of resignation, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of wet fur and mud—and rubbed his tummy, anyway.

  “Well, at least you’re a friendly ghost.”

  “If you can do without me for a bit, I want to go out to the barn to figure out which pieces I need to start refinishing.”

  Wyatt smiled at Deanna’s barely repressed excitement. He loved seeing her enthusiasm and couldn’t wait to see what she came up with out of their honey hole finds. “Go ahead. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends between work and the house the past couple of weeks.”

  “Come get me if you need me.” She tapped her thigh, an
d the dog immediately rose, tail wagging ninety to nothing. “C’mon, boy. Let’s go do some digging.”

  As Deanna and her canine shadow headed outside, Wyatt became aware of Levi’s stare. “What?”

  “I can’t believe you kept the dog.”

  “I’m not sure there was much choice. You’ve seen her with him. After a bath and a meal that first night, he curled right on up at the end of Deanna’s bed, and she was a goner.” And yeah, okay, maybe he was a little bit, too.

  “The fans certainly love him,” Simon conceded. “Everybody coos all over him on Instagram, and that episode we did about how you found him has been the biggest hit yet. People really like animals.”

  “Also secret passages. Even if they do only lead to a root cellar we didn’t know we had.” Wyatt also privately thought that they liked the glimpses of Deanna, too. He certainly did. Not just the memory of that little tank top and sleep shorts she’d been wearing the night of the storm, but over the last couple of weeks, she’d started to soften and bloom, really leaning into the project now that they were to the point of reassembling rooms.

  But he wasn’t about to talk about that with his brothers, so he kept the conversation on the dog. “I mean, you have to admit, he’s pretty damned cute.”

  “What is he? Part Husky?” Levi asked.

  “We think. And maybe Great Pyrenees. He’s got those double dew claws on his back feet.”

  “No collar?”

  “Nope. And his ribs are showing, so we don’t think he belongs to anybody.” Nobody had responded to their efforts to find an owner. Not that they’d tried too hard. “Either way, Casper’s definitely Deanna’s dog now. He’s got the collar, dog bed, and clean bill of health from the vet to prove it.”

  Simon arched a brow. “Deanna’s dog, huh?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothin’. I just think it’s funny how you two started out business partners, but now y’all are all cozied up living together and co-parenting a pet.”

  “We are not cozied up. We have separate rooms, thank you very much.” More was the pity. “And it only makes sense I help take care of Casper while she’s at work.”