Page 96 of Hunter or Hunted

Still confused, she squinted up at me. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m not following.”

“Okay, come here.” I held out my hand. She took it, and I started toward the house. “This place has been sitting for fifty years. I kept telling myself I’d fix it up. Maybe donate it to Rhiannon, or let Lizzie sell it when she’s older, but then we decided to… well, you know.”

“Kill people?” She kept up behind me.

“That, yeah. Watch your step.” I nodded to the caved-in corner of the bottom stair and trekked slowly the rest of the way up. “But we need somewhere to do it safely, right? Somewhere with no eyes on us. And look around.”

Now on the porch, I gestured to the yard. It stretched a few hundred feet in all directions. All that stared back were snow-dusted trees.

“It’s private,” she murmured. “Far from town, far from Lizzie. Far from the ranch.”

“And fixing this place up serves as a good excuse for us to be here.” I squeezed her hand. “Wanna see inside?”

Face somewhere between blank and confused, she nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

I fumbled for the keys in my pocket and got the right one into the old brass knob. “It’s a disaster. Total chaos.”

I pushed the door in and flicked on the old light switch on my right. Overhead, the sparkling chandelier—like a spider on a web—flicked on. It illuminated the winding cherry staircase on the left, casting enough light to brighten the office behind glass French doors and the formal dining room on the right.

“But tell me you don’t see the potential.”

Her big eyes flicked around. No words left her parted lips.

I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction I was hoping for, but silence wasn’t it.

“It’s over a century old, but electricity and radiated heating were installed in the sixties,” I said. “The kitchen is the size of a closet, but the living room beside it’s massive. We could easily knock that wall down and make it bigger. And there’s a really nice canopied bed upstairs. It’s not quite as detailed as the one in my parents’ room, but I know you’d love it. And you’re always talking about character and craftsmanship, and just look at the woodwork.” I gestured to the strips of mahogany before the falling plaster around the cased openings. “I think a pipe burst up there, but the wood’s in great shape. We could remove it, put up new Sheetrock, refinish the wood, and put it back where it was. Or move it somewhere else. We could do anything. We can make this place whatever we want.”

Those eyes that’d been flicking around the room, taking it all in, finally landed on mine. She just held my gaze for a tick or two.

“You hate it?” I asked, chest hollowing. “That’s okay. I mean, it is a mess. And my grandparents were kinda horrible people, so it’s not like I’m all that sentimental about it, but⁠—”

“We?” she asked.

I cocked my head to the side. “What?”

“We,” she said. “You keep saying ‘we.’ We can make this place whatever we want.”

“Well, yeah,” I said.

Her eyes glassed, and my stomach fell into my ass. Shit. This was too much. We hadn’t been together very long, and now I was pushing for too much.

“I mean—I’m not saying—I just—” A half laugh left me. “I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself. I know you’re happy at the ranch, and I’m not saying that we have to fix this place up. I was just—well, I⁠—”

“You’re planning for a future,” she said slowly. “Our future.”

Heart in my throat, I swallowed hard. “I was, yeah. And I probably should’ve talked to you about that first. I just got to thinking about everything with Evan. What we need to get away with it. And then I remembered this place exists. There’s a barn out back that we could easily make into a garage. One that’s easy to clean, and quiet, and secluded⁠—”

“This isn’t about a kill room, Sebastian,” she said, still cautious. “This is where you see us.”

“Not tomorrow or anything.” I spoke so fast, some of the words merged together. “I know you’re not ready for that. I’m not either. Not yet, anyway. And this place—it’s not a requirement. I told you I’m in, and I am. I’m gonna help with Evan and⁠—”

“Okay, let’s take murder out of the equation,” she said. “That’s not why you were excited.”

Swallowing hard, I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t.”

“You’re excited about”—she took another look around, swirling in a slow circle—“this. Us, living life together.”

I had been, yeah. Now she was stone-faced, and I didn’t know if I had any right to be. “Am I getting ahead of myself? I am, aren’t I? I’m freaking you out⁠—”