Page 11 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

My neighbor. The thought irritated me to no end. I hadn’t bothered to get to know the previous owners. They’d been an older couple who’d come and gone for vacations, never once bothering to introduce themselves. Just how I liked it.

But then there was this one. What was her name?

Piper. Piper Campbell. God, even her name annoyed me.

Why? I wasn’t sure. Probably because of how quickly Piper had gotten under my skin.

I glanced down at my palm. The scab that had reminded me of her for a month was nearly gone now. The day she’d come over, I’d just sliced a gash in my hand.

I was peeling an apple that afternoon, trying to remove the skin in one long spiral. It was something my mom had always been able to do. I was half asleep from too little sleep for too many years, and after a long hike that morning, my muscles were weak. The knife slipped, cutting deep into the fleshy part of my palm.

After throwing the knife and the apple across the room, I scrambled for a rag. The cut bled like a bastard, and I was trying to staunch the flow when Piper knocked on my door.

One look at her and the pain in my hand vanished. Her chestnut hair was long and full, parted in a perfectly straight line down the middle. It hung past her shoulders in thick, silky strands. Her deep-set eyes were the color of my favorite dark-roast wood stain.

Her lips were plump beneath the regal bridge of her nose. The green forest light illuminated her olive skin. Her classic beauty was out of place on my dusty porch.

My body responded immediately to the swell of her breasts and the lush curve of her hips. After three years of living in solitude with limited social interaction, I’d all but forgotten how quickly my dick could harden at the sight of a beautiful woman.

Or maybe it was just her.

My body’s reaction only fueled my anger, so I shut the door on her stunning face.

Though the damage had been done. Every one of her features had been imprinted on my brain, and I’d been unable to block them out since.

I stepped up onto my porch, picturing her in this exact spot, and glanced over to her place. Was she remodeling it? Or tearing it down?

Curiosity got the better of me and I turned, retreating down the stairs I’d just climbed. The old path between our properties was overgrown but still passable thanks to the deer that kept it broken in.

I walked toward her property, not planning on getting too close. I had no desire to speak to anyone today—or any day. But when I saw the disaster this woman had created, my footsteps just got faster.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I shook my head, gritting my teeth as I scanned the area.

The construction workers had brought in a large metal Dumpster. It was parked between our properties, overflowing with broken boards and sheetrock. Old ceiling panels stuck out of one end.

And what wouldn’t fit in the Dumpster was now scattered on the ground.

There were Formica countertops crushing bushes. Yellow cabinets were stacked up against a young tree. Rolls of old carpet were scattered over the forest floor.

My forest floor.

Piper’s house was built on the edge of her property, much like mine. The two places hugged the boundary line between our individual acreage. The logic behind that decision was a damn mystery. Maybe the people who’d originally built on these properties thought neighbors were a good thing.

But since I didn’t, the proximity of our homes had always bothered the hell out of me.

When I’d first moved up here, I’d contemplated having my cabin relocated to the center of my fifteen-acre plot. But when I’d learned that my neighbors were never here, I’d decided to just let it be.

Big fucking mistake.

I should have moved my cabin. Better yet, I should have bought her property and guaranteed myself the seclusion. But since I was a furniture maker, not a billionaire, I hadn’t had that option.

Funerals were expensive.

I’d been lucky just to pay for my own property and have enough left over to build my shop.

My savings account was slowly growing again because I didn’t need much to live on. I didn’t eat out or go to bars or buy new clothes. My only expenses were groceries, utilities and the cell phone I rarely used.

But as I reached the invisible line between our properties, I cursed myself for not taking out a loan to buy her place.