by Jessie Evans
Sawyer cursed beneath his breath and backed a step away. He didn’t want to believe in ghosts, but this wasn’t the first time he’d felt like he had company when he was allegedly alone in an old building with a colorful history. And he hadn’t imagined that touch. He could still feel the way the fingers had curled around the top of his shoulder, digging into the muscles there.
He backed another step away, intending to head for the stairs and a quick inspection of the second floor, when a loud crack broke the silence.
A second later, Sawyer’s feet went through the floor.
He braced himself for impact with the foundation, but his feet kept going, far below where he expected to touch ground. The jailhouse was elevated about four feet above street level, but he was over six feet tall.
He cursed again—not so softly this time—and reached out, digging his fingertips into the floorboards, managing to stop his fall before he went entirely through the floor. But his legs were dangling in open air, and he could feel a cool breeze blowing up the legs of his jeans, making him wonder what the hell had happened to the jailhouse’s foundation.
Sawyer was craning his neck, trying to get a glance over his shoulder, when a gasp sounded from the entrance to the building. He looked up to find Mia standing in the doorway, the sunlight streaming in behind her transforming her red curls into a ball of fire.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asked, starting toward him. “Let me help you up.”
“Stay there,” Sawyer warned. “The floor is rotten, and I’m not sure what happened to the foundation, only that it’s not where it’s supposed to be.”
“What do you mean it’s…” She trailed off, eyes widening as she stared past him, into the hole in the floor. “Holy shit.”
Sawyer started to turn his head again, but Mia stopped him with a sharp—
“Don’t turn around. We need to get you out of there.” She sank to her knees on the wooden floorboards a few feet away. “I’ll lay down so my weight will be more evenly distributed, and pull you up.”
“I weigh over two hundred pounds,” Sawyer said, holding her steady brown eyes as she lowered herself onto her belly. “Might be a little heavy for you.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, scooting closer. “Adrenaline is a powerful thing. I’m strong when I’m scared to death, I promise.”
“What’s down there?” he asked, but Mia only shook her head and held out her hand.
“Take it,” she said, fear and determination mixing in her expression. “I swear I won’t let you go.”
Sawyer hesitated, logic warring with gut instinct. His head said he was too heavy for a slender woman like Mia to lift, but his gut said he could trust her with his life. In his twenty-eight years on earth, his head had led him down dead end roads more than once, but his gut had never let him down, and his gut said to grab hold of this woman and hold on tight.
Sawyer reached out, wrapping his fingers around Mia’s wrist. A moment later, her hand clamped down, and she pulled hard, groaning as she dragged her arm across the floor, pulling Sawyer far enough out of the hole for him to swing his leg up and over the edge of the floorboards.
He rolled across the floor, releasing Mia’s wrist as he moved, but he didn’t stand up. He kept rolling until he was back on his belly near the wall. Only then did he come to his feet and make his way around the edge of the room to the doorway, where Mia stood brushing the dust from the front of her tank top.
“You okay?” she asked, gripping his hand as he stopped beside her.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He gave her fingers a grateful squeeze before turning to look toward the center of the room. The moment he saw the view through the hole in the floor, the bottom of his stomach dropped out. “What the hell…”
Where the foundation should have been, there was only dark brown rock surrounding a crevice that plunged straight down for at least twenty feet before the light grew too dim to see any farther.
“I don’t know,” Mia said, still clinging to his hand. “I’ve heard stories about caves near the butte where people would hide their liquor during Prohibition, but there was never any mention of the caves being underneath the jail. This area was already practically a ghost town at that point. Almost everyone moved up to the newer part of town when the highway went through.”
Sawyer took a step forward, leaning in to peer into the inky black at the center of the chasm.
“Don’t.” Mia squeezed his palm so hard his finger bones rubbed together. “I thought I was going to be sick when I saw you hanging over the middle of that thing. You could have broken both legs.”
“Or worse,” Sawyer said, glancing down at her. “Good thing you’re strong when you’re scared.”
Her breath rushed out, harsh and uneven. “Guess so.”
“Would it be nosy to ask why a woman who runs a lingerie store has experience with adrenaline fueled rescue situations?”
Her tongue slipped out to dampen her lips, drawing Sawyer’s attention to her plush mouth. “Would it be cowardly to say I’d rather not talk about it?”
He shook his head. “I think you’ve proved you’re not a coward.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, chin lifting as he stepped closer. “If I wasn’t a coward, I would have said yes to dinner.”
“You have nothing to be afraid of from me.” He lifted his free hand, letting his fingers slide around the back of her neck to thread through her soft curls. “I told you, I’m harmless.”
Mia bit her lip, the look in her eyes so haunted, Sawyer felt compelled to add—
“And I know what it’s like to live through things you’d rather not talk about. Sometimes it’s best to leave the bad things in the past, where they can’t bite you in the ass when you’re least expecting it.”
“But I haven’t left the bad things in the past,” she said, softly. “That’s the problem. The bad things have their teeth sunk in too deep.”
“Might be something that could be handled with a sterling silver amputation set,” Sawyer said, hoping to lighten the moment, feeling ridiculously proud of himself when Mia smiled in response. “We could borrow it from the museum.”
“Yeah?” She lifted one brow. “Would you perform the procedure yourself?”
He winked. “If it gets me closer to your ass.”
She chuckled again, but her smile faded as she took a step closer and looked up at him, bringing her lips to hover temptingly beneath his own. “What are you looking for, Sawyer?”
“A good time, a few laughs,” he said, honestly. “A friend who likes the way I kiss.”
“I think I like the way you kiss.” Mia’s arms went around his neck. “But I was a little tipsy the other night. I might need something to refresh my memory.”
“That can be arranged,” Sawyer said, heartbeat stuttering as she leaned into him and her full breasts pressed against his chest.
She stood up on tiptoe, and Sawyer met her halfway, claiming her mouth with a soft moan of pleasure. Her lips parted and his tongue swept inside, stroking against hers, advancing and retreating, teasing through every sweet inch of her mouth as his hands drifted down her back, urging her closer. She tasted even better than she had the other night, like smoky tea and honey and something dark and mysterious that was Mia’s taste.
Kissing her felt like being trusted with a secret, a clue to who this woman truly was. Mia, beneath the sharp wit and the easy smile. Mia, behind the easy going small town girl image, down deep at the heart of her where there lived a woman who was brave enough to admit that she was afraid, and who had risked her life to help a near stranger without a second thought.
Sawyer couldn’t put a name to that taste, he only knew that it tasted real, beautiful. He never wanted to stop kissing Mia Sherman. He wanted to get closer, kiss deeper, let his hands whisper over every inch of her bare skin, making promises until she trusted him to keep them. He wanted to be there when she dropped her walls, and unleashed all the longing Sawyer could feel linge
ring below the surface, straining to be free.
“God, Mia,” he mumbled into her mouth, groaning when she made a sexy little sound in the back of her throat and shifted her hips, pressing against where his erection strained the fabric of his jeans.
Sawyer dropped his hands to her hips before sliding his palms around to cup her ass, urging her closer, rocking her against his aching length until she gasped and her head titled back, giving him access to the column of her throat. He trailed kisses across her soft, fevered skin as he pushed her back against the doorframe, shifting their position until his leg slid between her thighs and his hands could smooth beneath the tight fabric of her tank top.
He let his palms play across her stomach and around to her back as he circled his hips, nudging his thigh muscle against her core, knowing he was hitting the sweet spot when Mia’s breath grew shallow and a flush spread across her pale cheeks.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured as he slid the strap of her tank top off her shoulder, kissing his way across her clavicle as he tugged at the cotton fabric, baring her left breast.
Sawyer glanced down, a fresh wave of desire rushing down to fist between his legs at the sight of her peach-colored nipple, already drawn into a tight bud that practically begged for his attention. But before he could drop his head and pull her puckered flesh into his mouth, Mia squirmed out of his arms and lunged toward the road.
“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 once 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.
CHAPTER SIX
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 was that annoyed. 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 d
olls, 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.”
Mia hummed in agreement. “You’ve got to get promoted. Then you’ll have your own team to supervise and get Hank the hell off your back.”