Page 46 of Another Man’s Treasure

“We need a date night on Mabel,” I say as I sling my hand through the crook of Wilder’s elbow. It’s acting; that’s all it is. Who knows if Saint is lurking around some corner? Except, right now, the acting doesn’t feel like acting at all, and Wilder tucks my hand close to his side even as he glances over his shoulder at the gorgeous red and black train.

He turns with lifted brows. “Mabel? The train that goes around the whole haven?”

I nod. “We’ll get you a copy of the welcome book once the sale’s complete. It’ll be fun to go through that together once you’re officially official.”

The moment I say it, I blanch, lashes fluttering. Once the sale’s complete, Wilder won’t need a fake mate anymore. We haven’t discussed what last night meant, but I can’t assume it means we’ll continue on. Or maybe it does?

We should probably have some kind of conversation about it when we’re alone, because I’m desperate to know how he feels about what we did in his bed. He’s silent, not responding to the comment, and that makes butterflies rocket around my stomach like they were shot out of a grenade launcher.

I’m fully lost in my thoughts again by the time we reach the Keeper’s mansion. Her black wrought iron gates are thrown open wide, the first time I’ve ever seen that.

Lemon waggles her brows at me when I notice the gates. “You know how long it took me to convince her to do that? I’m thrilled to see it stuck, though.” She reaches out and rubs the iron lovingly. “My sweet girl.”

The house at the end of the walkway shimmies and creaks out a series of hoots and crackles that sound eerily like laughter.

Lemon’s tinkling laughter joins it. “You’re out of practice, dear girl, but we’ll have you all fixed up in no time.”

I marvel at her and the mansion’s easy connection. It makes no real sense to anyone—Lemon’s not a Keeper; we established that when she first arrived in Pine Gulch. But for whatever reason, the house took to her immediately, and it’s been in love with her ever since.

The mansion’s front doors are wide open as well, footsteps echoing from inside the foyer. As I stare up the newly repaired brick path, Willa walks past the opening, muttering as she holds the poem in her hands.

Wilder sighs. “She’s in full Detective Willa mode. This is gonna take all day.” He winks down at me. “You sure you’re down for this, Oz? Won’t offend me if you don’t wanna deal.”

“I want to,” I assure him, hoping there’s some way I can remind him that last night meant something, that it wasn’t just acting. “Can’t imagine anything better to do with my day than dive into this mystery. For real.” My tail lashes side to side as I shuffle my wings, hoping he can read how very into this I really am. And it’s more than the mystery. It’s him and the opportunity to spend a day together doing something fun.

Bluebell appears behind us, tossing a box from Skylight Bakery into my hands. “Again, y’all are adorable, but hold that while I grab another biscuit, okay? I ate one on the way over, and I’ve gotta get rid of this hangover before Hadrian shows up with a prompt I-told-you-so about that last shot of tequila.”

Chuckling, I open the box so she can pick from the variety of baked goods inside.

Once she finds a biscuit she’s happy with, I offer the box to Wilder. He eyes the carbs with nostrils flared, but eventually shakes his head. “Save that chocolatey-looking one for Willa. She’s a sucker for chocolate, and she’ll inhale that.”

“I heard that!” Willa shouts from inside the mansion.

The house herself lets out another rough noise composed of tile clatters and rippling siding.

Bluebell grumbles as she trudges up the walkway, munching on the biscuit. Lemon, Wilder and I follow her to the front entryway, where Willa stands with the poem in hand. She reads it aloud, looking utterly lost in thought as she looks around the house.

“An eleven must strike.” She sucks at her teeth and stares around, planting both hands on her hips. After a moment, she looks at Lemon. “Doesn’t that sorta sound like we’re talking about time? Lemon, have you found any sort of clock or anything around here? This place has so many rooms, I don’t even know where to start.”

Lemon nods and grabs the bakery box, rummaging around inside it. “Yep, there’s a grandfather clock on the second-floor landing. It’s not working, though.”

Willa spins on her heel and jogs toward the curved staircase leading up to the second story.

“There she goes,” Wilder says with a little sigh.

Lemon and Bluebell share a look as Bluebell shoves an entire half of a biscuit in her mouth. Lemon turns to follow Willa up the carpeted staircase.

Wilder presses a hand to my lower back as he leans in close, his nose brushing against the tapered shell of my ear. “Git, Oz.”

Oh godssssss. Sexy commands?

“Don’t mind if I do.” I turn with a saucy little wink. Walking up the stairs after the girls, I focus on the fact that he’s possibly staring at my ass the entire way up. I know it looks good today because I wore my tightest jeans in the hopes we’d have more time together.

At the top of the stairs and down to the left, the girls stand around a tall, dusty grandfather clock, staring at its face.

“I haven’t had time to clean or reupholster any of the furnishings,” Lemon says. “We’ve been focused on renovating the guts of the house, which is done at this point, for the most part.”

Willa cocks her head to the right as she stares at the clock. “Find anything weird during renovations?”