Page 28 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
"When you live alone as long as I have, you need skills." He smiled and held out his hand. I didn't hesitate this time. I slid my fingers into his and savored the resulting ache his touch elicited.
Rick led me across the street, the basket swinging from his elbow.
"You look like Red Riding Hood with that basket," I quipped.
He paused, turning toward me. His intense stare made my heartbeat quicken. In a deep whisper, he said, "When you look at me like that, I feel like the big, bad wolf."
Damn! I swallowed hard.
He continued to an iron gate that looked exactly like the one in my backyard. This was an entrance to the same cemetery. From the street, you couldn't see the headstones because of tall hedges and a series of maple trees framing the wide, gravel path within.
It dawned on me that this was where I'd first laid eyes on him, driving into town. A heap of fresh earth told me why he'd been digging; a new signpost to the left of the gate read Monk's Hill Cemetery: trespassers will be prosecuted.
"Do you get a lot of trespassers?"
"You would be surprised."
"What about the people who come to visit loved ones? How do they get in?"
"There are none. The youngest grave is over one hundred years old. No surviving relatives."
"So you maintain this place for no one?"
"It has historical significance, but to be honest, you're correct. It's been years since anyone else was here."
Weird. As we crossed the threshold of the gate, I felt both privileged and a little freaked out by the remoteness of it.
"Did you know there's a gate behind my house?" I asked.
"Yes. The only other one besides this one."
"Why?"
Releasing my hand, he retrieved a heavy key from his pocket and locked the gate behind us. "I wouldn't want you to get away, mi cielo," he said playfully, ignoring my question.
Mi cielo. There it was again. My sky. A warm feeling blossomed behind my breastbone at the pet name. Swoon-worthy. The smell of the outdoors rolled off him again, this time with a hint of fresh rain. My mind went blank.
"Are you wearing cologne?" I asked.
He lifted the corner of his mouth. "You like how I smell? This is a good start."
Captivated by his smile and the way his lips moved when he spoke, my head swam, maybe because all of my blood had rushed south. I stepped off the trail and almost walked into a headstone. When I realized what I'd done, I pulled up short of the faded stone marker.
"Watch your step," he said, steadying me with a hand that seemed to fill the space between my elbow and shoulder. "You're treading on Martha Whitacker."
"Oh!" I scurried back onto the path.
He laughed. "Just teasing. She's a long way from caring. This is one of the oldest graves in the cemetery. She was an early financier of Reverend Monk's."
"Reverend Monk?"
"The man Monk's Hill Cemetery is named for." He pointed up a steep hill toward a quaint chapel. "I want to take you there, to Monk's church. I'll show you where he and his wife are buried."
"All the way up there?" I rubbed my toe in the loose gravel. "I see why you warned me to wear my walking shoes."
He laughed. "I wouldn't take you for a diva. Would you rather I carried you?"
I gave him an exaggerated gasp of outrage. "Not on your life." I jogged ahead a few steps, the loose stones kicking up behind me.
