Chapter 2

Rosemary

I was beyond exhausted by the time I rolled into my sleeping bag late that evening. My arms were burning from the extreme workout I’d given them while lugging all the trash out of the house. I’d piled everything that immediately had to go into a big heap out in the yard, which included all the mattresses and decayed bed linens.

I groaned on my thin sleeping roll, twisting and stretching my spine in a vain effort to get more comfortable. I’d picked the room with the massive oak bed frame to camp out in because that one just felt right, but without a mattress for now, my bedroll and the floor were my only options.

At least I was pretty sure the movers could do their job when they arrived tomorrow. I’d focused my first efforts on the porch, ripping out all the rotten planks and provisionally replacing them with wood I’d found in the barn that was still good. It wasn’t anything pretty, but it would be safe to walk across for the time being without anyone risking a foot or an ankle.

From where I lay curled in my sleeping bag on the floor, I could gaze at the beautiful wooden trees that framed the entire bed like a canopy. My mattress wasn’t going to be the right size for this massive piece, but I’d make do once it got here. If I decided to stay after a year, I could easily afford to buy the most luxurious, king-sized mattress that fit this bed.

It was thinking of a mattress as soft as a cloud that soon had me drifting off into a deep slumber. That, and the physical exhaustion of all that hard labor the previous couple of hours. I needed all the rest I could get if I wanted to get even more work done the next day.

“Rosemary,” a voice called to me. The deep timbre of the sound sent shivers down my spine. Something curled low in my belly and sensation flickered across my skin. I twisted in my sleeping bag, mouth dry, physical aches forgotten as fire sizzled through my veins.

“Rosemary, my love,” the voice insisted again, the dark, sinful tones flicking across my mind like a caress. I tossed back the flap of my sleeping back, suddenly far too warm. My hands slid across my belly, cupped my breasts, and stroked over the feverishly warm skin at my throat. It felt like it was someone else touching me, like it wasn’t even me but the big palms of a man that caressed my aching flesh.

“Find me, now! Do it, find me, Rosemary,” the voice drawled in my ear and I rose. I was too warm, too bothered, everything was off. Stumbling from the room, my bare feet made no noise on the hardwood stairs. The front door moved without any effort, though it groaned and shrieked like a banshee as I dragged it from its crooked frame.

“That’s it, my love,” came the voice again. It sounded like it came from right behind me, heat bathing my back, whispering like breath across the sensitive shell of my ear. It felt like there was a body curled around my back as I hovered there on the derelict front porch for a long, disorienting moment.

When I stepped off it and into the lush, loamy dirt with my bare toes, heat traveled up my legs. This was far different from the heat against my back. This was warm and welcoming, not scorching. With confident steps, I was across the lawn, ducking around the farmhouse. I found myself in the partially buried vegetable garden, my feet unhindered by the overgrown plants or the sprawl of massive rocks that dotted the place.

The mudslide that had partially collapsed the cliff here sprawled across the back half of the garden and that’s where I stopped. Staring at the pile of massive stones, I swayed on my feet, my mind struggling to comprehend what was happening and what I was seeing. In my delirious state, I swore that the pile of stones looked like a slumbering dragon. A big, sinewy body curled up at the base of the cliff, the giant head at my feet, and stone wings arching up like sails.

I blinked, my vision hazy, swaying on my feet. What was I doing here? Why was I even outside? Blinking again, I raised a hand to wipe the sleep from my eyes, but froze when the voice came again. “Don’t falter, my love. I’m right here. Dig. Free me!” Sultry, dark, and filled with a promise I didn’t understand, my body jerked forward to obey.

Curling my hands around a boulder as big as my upper torso, I groaned as I lifted. With a heave, I tossed the thing over my shoulder and watched in a stunned stupor as the giant block rolled away like a marble, crushing the wild growth of weeds and plants. No way, I had to be dreaming. Nobody lifted a block of stone that size without a fucking forklift.

“Good girl,” the seductive voice cheered, the deep, resonating tones skating up my spine. What the fuck? Where was that voice coming from? Why was I outside? As a cherry on top of this cake of utter confusion, the clouds broke high above my head, and rain started pouring from the heavens.

Standing with my bare feet in the muck, my sleep shirt plastered to my back from the sudden downpour, I couldn’t quite figure out what had just happened. I had sleepwalked outside, and as the last cobwebs cleared from my mind beneath the cold shower, I could only vaguely recall a deep male voice calling to me.

This was the strangest dream I’d ever had, not to mention the sleepwalking. I had never done that before and it was deeply unsettling to find myself outside in a place I didn’t even know. Uneasy, I eyed the jumble of rocks that had collapsed from the cliff that butted up against the remains of the vegetable garden.

Just a random pile of rocks, nothing strange to see. There were no threatening, fantastical shapes in them. The voice and the dragon had all been part of my dream. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around my middle and turned around. I needed to get back inside before I caught a cold. I didn’t want to end up sick in a place that could still end up falling apart around me.

It wasn’t until I was halfway through the garden that I happened to glance to the side. The boulder. It was still there in the crushed weeds, a trail of bent and broken plants marking the path it had rolled along. With a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was I was seeing it right.

That boulder had definitely not been there earlier today when I’d walked through the garden to see what was there. There was no way I could have moved it on my own. It was impossible that I had tossed it like I’d dreamed, but what other explanation was there?

I was still thinking about that damn boulder the next morning when I crawled from my sleeping bag a tired, sore, and broken mess. I was going to be so grateful when my mattress arrived today. If I had to sleep another night on the damn floor, I was going to go crazy. If I hadn’t already.

Just to be sure, I trotted out into the vegetable garden with my cup of instant coffee in hand. Was the boulder still there? Had I dreamed the whole thing? I scanned the weeds, but in last night’s rain, the tracks I’d made were already obscured. My breath still caught when I spotted the stone in question, a good dozen feet away from the original rock slide and lying at the end of a crushed trail of plants. Recent, but how recent?

My mind was still mulling over that when I returned to the front porch. I needed to inspect my improvised repairs to make sure the movers were safe to walk on it in a few hours. Then I needed to make sure there was space for them to stack my boxes of things and the meager amount of furniture.

I just took the last sip of my mediocre coffee when the sound of a car engine reached my ears. So far, everything had been deadly quiet out here from the moment I’d stepped out of that cab yesterday. The dirt road that led to my farm was so off the beaten path that nobody would be on it unless they meant to be here.

Checking my watch, I was pretty sure it couldn’t be the movers yet. They still had several hours to drive until they got here. I didn’t know anyone in town, and I hadn’t even visited yet because I hadn’t felt like walking all the way. I’d have to when my water and food ran out, but I’d been putting it off until after the movers.

So who could it be? I felt a little uneasy as I scanned the empty, overgrown fields that surrounded the farmhouse. I heard the car, but I couldn’t see it. Who was it? I was just a woman alone, and I suddenly had the image pop into my head that I should be reaching for a shotgun to aim at any intruders.

The car that turned into the pothole-riddled driveway was a tiny, olive-green Volkswagen beetle. The type of car that wouldn’t look out of place in the French countryside or something. It was the last thing I expected to see, and it instantly put me at ease. Whoever was driving that tiny, ancient vehicle couldn’t be much of a threat.

It parked in the dirt yard in front of the farmhouse and out got this tiny, beaming older woman. She had her arms filled to overflowing with a basket and flowers, her steel gray hair a wild mass of curls around her weathered face. “Hello!” she greeted me, crossing the yard to my derelict porch in sturdy work boots, still splattered in dried mud.

Raising my hand, I waved back, a little confused about who she was and why she was here. She was so kind and cheerful with her bright smile, however, that I couldn’t help myself. In a few strides, I was off the porch and meeting her halfway, just in time to catch the box she’d tucked under one arm before it slipped and fell in the dirt.

“Oh, right in time dear, thank you! Wouldn’t want to ruin your welcome-home gifts! The whole town pitched in, you know?” The woman said, baffling me even further. The whole town? Gifts? What was she talking about? I hadn’t let anyone know that I was going to be here, definitely not anyone in town.

Once my arms were filled with boxes and baskets, my nose was filled with all kinds of delicious smells at once. I was pretty sure I was holding several casseroles, tins of home-baked cookies, and one precariously balanced cake with half-melted pearly white frosting.