by Cat Johnson
And if I got all my words written early, then I’d be free and available—boy, was I available—in case Stone stopped by.
That settled it. I punched in what I vowed would be my final text of the night.
Harper: Good night.
Stone Steak Master: Good night, beautiful.
My heart melted into a puddle at his reply. But not a bad puddle like the muddy holes in Agnes’s driveway after it rained the other day. More like the sweet hot gooey center of the molten chocolate cake Bethany had dropped off to me last week.
How was I supposed to sleep after that reply? My mind raced. Were we in a relationship now? Was Stone my boyfriend or were we just hooking up?
With a sigh, I twisted and stretched my arm backward again. I managed to set my cell on the nightstand without disturbing the cat snoring against me.
Another sequence of creaks above me sounded louder than usual. I huffed out another breath. I wished Miss Kitty’s cat friends would just settle down and go to sleep already so I could get some sleep too.
Scowling, I rolled just a bit to spoon the cat sharing my pillow. If this cat had fleas I was screwed. I had to hope she didn’t since she hadn’t scratched once since getting into bed with me.
With that as my reassurance, I turned my mind to mentally reliving the night with Stone. Probably not the best way to fall to sleep, but what was playing out in my mind was too good of a show to turn off.
Sex with Stone was definitely binge-worthy.
From the Journal of Rose Van de Berg
MUDVILLE INQUISITOR
1956
A new Drive-In Movie Theater will open on State Highway 7 on May 29.
TWENTY
Stone
“Booty text?” Cash asked.
The bastard had snuck up on me. He’d gone to the bathroom and Boone was over at the jukebox, so I figured I was safe to reply to Harper.
Now I was caught. Pinned down as Cash peered over my shoulder to get a look at my phone.
But he was out of luck. We’d said goodnight so I was free to put my cell away and not look at it again.
“Nope,” I answered, even though it kind of was. I had no doubt if I’d asked if I could come over right now she’d have said yes.
But I hadn’t asked and even though I was close to getting hard just picturing her snuggled up in that big bed, I was sticking to my resolve. Things were moving way too damn fast between us. Whatever this thing was.
We both needed the night to process. Until then, Cash’s scowl as I slid my phone into my back pocket was enough of a pleasure.
Boone came back and slid onto his barstool as Cash was still getting back to his own seat.
“What did I miss?” Boone asked.
“Seems big bro’s performance tonight left her wanting. He’s getting midnight booty call texts.”
“It wasn’t a booty call text,” I reiterated.
Boone grinned wide. “Those are the only texts I get at midnight. Well, except that time Cash here got stranded at a lady’s house and needed a ride back to his truck.”
I laughed. “You mean he needed a rescue.” I knew my brother too well to think otherwise.
If Cash had been enjoying the lady he’d gone home with, he would have been happy to wait until morning for her to drive him back to his truck. No doubt he had hook-up remorse and was trying to sneak out after she fell to sleep.
Cash shot me a narrow-eyed sideways glare. “Watch it, bro.”
I grinned but in the back of my mind, heeded Cash’s warning. Now he had something on me—actually Harper and me—I’d best not tease him too much.
When I’d been living like a monk, Cash couldn’t threaten me. But now—Now, I was enjoying myself immensely but I still had to be careful. I could handle Cash’s relentless jabs, but Harper shouldn’t have to.
Actually, I shouldn’t have to either. I’d almost finished my beer. I’d settled up with Carter. I could leave. I decided to do just that.
After downing the final swallow from the pint, I planted the empty glass on the bar and stood.
Cash’s smile spread wide. “Yup. Knew it. Booty call.”
Boone turned to shoot me a grin. “Have fun.”
I rolled my eyes. “See you both at home, where I’ll be, in bed.”
“Yup. Sure.” Cash reached for his beer, still looking cockily triumphant.
Boone, the kinder and gentler of the two, waved. “Later, Stone.”
With a nod to the bartender, I turned to go and noticed how empty the place had gotten. Even the guy who’d walked in after me had rushed through his one drink and left already.
Cash’s teasing aside, it was late and time to go.
The farm was two and a half miles from the bar. I knew that for a fact. I’d clocked it after I’d walked home one night, shortly after my twenty-first birthday and after I’d had a few too many drinks but was too stubborn to call my parents for a ride.
But tonight the closeness was not the best part about its location. The best part was that I had to drive past Harper’s place to get home.
This time of night I was the only vehicle on Main Street. I slowed to a crawl as I passed the big Victorian.
Most of the windows were dark except for those off the upstairs and downstairs hallways. Harper must leave the hall lights on all night. Can’t say I blamed her, all alone in a strange house in a new town.
I was about to hit the gas and head for home before I entered creepy stalker territory by staring at the house where she slept, when a light in the attic window caught my attention.
Frowning, I stared at the window and there it was again. A quick flash of light that looked like a beam of a flashlight.
Was Harper creeping around up there in Rose’s diaries?
No. It couldn’t be her. Not only was she afraid of the attic, she would turn on all the overhead lights if she were up there.
She’d had every damn light on the back stairs and in the attic lit when I’d been up there with her. There was no way she’d be crawling around in the dark attic in the middle of the night with a flashlight.
Unless something was wrong with the power. The other lights downstairs were on, but maybe she’d somehow tripped an electrical breaker up in the attic.
I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew I was concerned enough to investigate further. It was worth at least a text.
After pulling to the curb and throwing the truck in park, I picked up my cell and typed in a message.
Stone: Are you upstairs in the attic?
Only a few seconds passed before I saw the bubbles of her pending reply appear on screen as she typed.
A few seconds more and the message appeared.
Harper: No. Why?
Shit.
I could barely type the reply fast enough and it was riddled with mistakes that auto correct fixed.
Stone: There’s somebody in your attic. I’m outside. I’m coming in. STAY IN THE BEDROOM!
Harper: WHAT? OMG!
I was already running across the street when her message came through. I didn’t take the time to answer it. I knew where Agnes kept her spare key to the back door, hanging on a hidden nail under the exterior kitchen staircase.
I’d left the basement door to the kitchen ajar so the cat could go downstairs and get outside again through the open basement window if it needed to.
If Harper hadn’t gone downstairs and locked that door, I was good. I’d be inside. But it was also my fault that the intruder was inside if he went through that same open door.
Even in my panic I’d remembered to grab the small flashlight from the truck’s console. I used it now when a quick sweep of my hand felt the hidden nail but no key.
Fuck. The intruder probably had it. Everyone in this town probably knew where Agnes left her spare key. It was there so anyone who needed to get inside could.
In fact, I should have thought long before now to tell Harper to move it. The practice of open doors and spare keys for the neighbor
s to use might have been safe in the old days, but now—I didn’t like it. Especially with Harper alone in the house.
I didn’t know if I felt more or less relieved knowing whoever was in the attic was apparently a local since they knew about the key. All I knew was Harper was holed up in the bedroom probably scared out of her damn mind.
Reaching for the doorknob, I discovered that it turned in my hand. It was already unlocked.
Panic-induced adrenaline fueled my sprint as I took the basement stairs up to the kitchen two at a time.
The door between the kitchen and the basement was still ajar just as I’d left it. An open invite for the intruder who’d gotten in with the missing spare key.
If anything happened to Harper because I’d left that damn door open for that stupid cat instead of locking it behind me . . .
I was starting to lose it. Guilt. Panic. Fear. It all had my mind spinning as I took the few steps to the door that led to the attic stairs.
Agnes kept her hunting guns in the bedroom. I’d seen them tonight locked in the glass cabinet. So if the intruder hadn’t come armed, at least he didn’t have access to those weapons now. Harper did though.
Would she use one if it came to that? Would she even know how? Doubtful. Still, she could end up shooting me instead of whoever was upstairs.
All these thoughts flew through my mind lightning fast as I planted my foot on the first step, torn between barreling upstairs like a charging bull, or taking it slow and quiet so I could sneak up on whoever was up there.
Probably better to go slow.
I crept up the back staircase to the attic as quietly as I could, which ended up not being all that quiet. This was an old house with noisy stairs and I wasn’t a small man.
I froze and listened.
The staircase—used by the servants back in the days when the owners had them—went from the attic all the way down to the kitchen so I could hear him up there on the third floor. Actually hear him moving around.
Resuming my ascent, I heard the sounds the intruder made get louder.
When I was on the final landing, where he would see me if I turned one more corner, I was almost certain what the intruder was doing.
If I wasn’t completely off base, this person was going through Rose’s trunk full of diaries.
The noises were becoming clearer. He was rifling through pages and then setting the book on the floor before his change in position had the floor creaking as he went back for another book.
Mother fucker.
But why? And who was it? Of all the things to break into a house for—Rose’s old journals made the least sense.
There was only one way to get my answers. I needed to take this last set of stairs and confront whoever was up there. And I had no doubt there would be a confrontation.
I was standing between this person and escape. Even if he did just want to run rather than fight, I was blocking the only way out.
Damn. And here I was armed with no more than a flashlight and a cell phone.
My phone. I whipped it out and made sure to switch the sound to silent, then I typed into the group text between Boone and Cash and me that was always sitting there in my inbox, in progress.
I tried to keep it short but urgent, letting them know where I was and why, before asking if they could get over here to back me up.
When the replies appeared I half expected it to be Cash mocking me for doing exactly what he’d accused me of—coming back to Harper.
Boone: Holy shit!
Cash: On our way. Wait for us!
Thank God my brothers had figured out I was being serious and that I was possibly in trouble here.
I hesitated, waiting for them as Cash instructed.
My patience lasted for about a minute. The thought of Harper downstairs changed my mind. I wasn’t wired to wait around for help.
More importantly, I wasn’t convinced she would do as I asked and stay put. If she decided to come out of the bedroom with one of Agnes’s weapons . . .
Yeah, no good would come of that.
Determined, I shoved my cell back in my pocket, held my flashlight like a weapon and ran up the remainder of the stairs, shouting, “Stay where you are! Hands up! Show me your hands.”
Yes, I watched too many cop shows on TV. I was glad of it now. I had the stance and the lingo down. Enough so the intruder went wide-eyed and pale under the beam of my light and raised both hands in the air, one of them still gripping a journal.
It took a second but the nagging familiarity finally yielded a memory.
“You,” I breathed out.
The guy from the end of the bar. The one who’d been listening to our conversation then ran out.
What had I been talking about then? Besides crude sex innuendos with my brothers the only other topic of conversation while this guy had been there was about Rose’s diaries being in Agnes’s attic.
Bingo.
But now that I had my answer regarding who had broken into the house, I still didn’t have the answer as to why.
“What are you doing here? What do you want with these books?” I asked, trying to maintain my air of authority even though I wasn’t asking any questions a real cop would.
The guy must have realized the same. I could see the moment the idea to run crossed his mind, then he was moving, coming straight at me.
He shoved my shoulder hard, spinning my body enough he could edge by me and get to the stairs.
I wasn’t about to let him get away. I took off after him, barreling down the staircase as fast as I could in the dark. I hit the light switch on my way past, but the light gave him as much of an advantage as it did me.
There was one difference between us, however. I’d grown up running up and down this staircase, chasing and being chased by my brothers. I knew how the treads got real narrow in one spot as the staircase turned the corner between the second floor and the third. The intruder did not.
I heard him fall before I turned the corner myself and saw him, arms flailing as he reached for the walls and the railing that wasn’t there and never had been, though I should probably install one before Agnes or Harper hurt themselves.
His footing lost, he rode the staircase down on the back of his heels before his ass hit one tread and he bounced down a few more stairs on his butt.
Sitting, he glanced back at me. I was close enough to reach out and grab the back of his shirt.
“Gotcha!” I said.
He twisted, trying to get out of my grasp just as I heard heavy footsteps hit the stairs below us.
A moment later I heard Cash shout, “Stone! You up there?” and then he and Boone appeared on the steps just below the guy.
He was trapped and he knew it. He slumped on the step. His posture, his whole demeanor, broadcasted defeat.
“Oh my God. What’s happening?” Harper, looking too sexy to be here dressed in PJs in front of my brothers and this stranger, came up the stairs behind Boone and Cash.
After I got my mind and my stare off her hot little body I noticed she was carrying one of Agnes’s shotguns.
“Jesus, Harper. I told you to stay in the bedroom.”
“I had to let the police in.” She moved to the side, still grasping the barrel of the weapon in one fist, and I saw the uniformed man behind her.
“Deputy sheriff, actually,” he said, and gently moved past Harper on the steps, his eyes on the gun she held as he moved.
“Callahan.” I tipped my chin to the guy I’d graduated high school with.
“Stone.” He nodded to me in greeting. “What’s going on here?”
“I caught him up in the attic.” I hooked a thumb toward the intruder.
Callahan glanced down at Harper. “He have your permission to be in here?” he asked her.
Her eyes flew wide. “No, he most certainly did not.”
She looked about to go off the rails so I decided to step in before she did.
John Callahan was a dick in high school. All evidence
pointed to him still being a dick now, but with a badge. He hadn’t even put the guy in handcuffs. He was acting like this was all some big misunderstanding.
“I was driving by when the beam of a flashlight in the attic window caught my eye. I texted Harper to see if it was her up there. When she texted back no, I knew something was wrong. I texted my brothers and came to investigate. I found him up there in the dark going through some personal items left in Agnes’s care.”
“This true, Joe?” Callahan asked the guy on the stairs.
Now it was my turn to be shocked. “You know this guy?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Callahan didn’t elaborate and glanced back at his criminal friend. “Joe?”
The guy drew in a breath and let it out. “Yeah. It’s true.”
“All right. Let’s go back to the station and sort this out. The rest of you, go home. I’ve got this handled.”
If Callahan really did have this handled, why did I still feel so uneasy about the whole thing? But at least he was leaving and taking Joe the cat burglar with him. After they left I’d be able to make sure Harper was really okay.
This had been a hell of a night.
The six of us funneled down the staircase and into the kitchen.
Joe left peacefully with Callahan, but I knew my brothers wouldn’t.
But I had other concerns. The front door had barely closed behind the odd law enforcement and law breaker duo when I tipped my chin toward Agnes’s vintage double barrel L.C. Smith in Harper’s hand.
“You think we can put the gun down now?” I asked her, still nervous as she carried it around like it was a broomstick.
She frowned at me. “Why do you look so worried? I know how to handle a gun.”
“Do you?” I raised a brow.
“Do a lot of shooting in the big city, do you?” Cash asked, grinning.
She scowled. “First of all, I’m not from the big city. I grew up in the suburbs.”
I couldn’t help my smile as Cash was treated to Harper’s lecture, just as I knew he would be after the city comment, having fallen into that trap myself a time or two.
“Second,” Harper continued, “I’m an excellent shot. I can shoot all kind of guns. I’ve even gone to one of those shooting places near Vegas where they let you shoot military-type automatic weapons. It was research for a book.”