Half Moon Hill Read Online Free

entire walk back through the woods, she stayed alarmingly aware of the places their bodies connected—which, under the circumstances, were quite a few. She continued to drink in his mannish, musky scent. And she tried not to look up at his face, but sometimes she did anyway—and it always came as a shock.
    Of course, at first, what she noticed was mostly the beard, and all that scraggly, uncombed hair. Would it really be so much trouble to pick up a brush? But as the disquieting journey continued, and as she got a little more accustomed to studying him—surreptitiously, of course—she began to narrow in on other things. His eyes, which had drawn her attention earlier, too. Now they appeared sad and resolute, and maybe just a bit empty. And the little crinkles at their edges seemed to punctuate what she saw in them, marking him as a man who’d walked a tougher road than she—which, in her opinion, was saying something. She also lowered her stealthy gaze to that scar on his cheek. It was easier to see on closer inspection that it was fresh. There was something raw about it—the pink flesh looked tender, not quite healed, even though it had been a while since the accident. Maybe some wounds never healed.
    They didn’t speak as he carried her, which was a relief. In addition to the scent of Duke himself, the smell of honeysuckle and a hint of wild roses wafted past. And despite all her discomfort, a strange part of her was almost sorry when they emerged into her yard, back into what suddenly felt like real life.
    After heading across the gravel driveway, then up the sagging front steps onto the porch, he asked, “Can you get the door? My hands are kinda full.”
    She looked to see if he was smiling, since it had sounded almost like he was making a joke—but he appeared as serious as he had most of the time so far. In response, she reached down for the screen door handle, opening it wide.
    A few seconds later, he was lowering her to the couch in the front room.
    “Don’t happen to have any crutches, do ya?” he asked.
    Normally, the answer would be no. But . . . “Actually, I think I’ve seen an old wooden pair in the attic, but I’m sure I don’t need them.”
    He just gave her a look through those gray eyes that had turned steely again since leaving the shade of the forest. “Nah, somebody who can’t walk wouldn’t need crutches for anything,” he said dryly, then turned to start glancing around the room—before peering down the hall. “How do you get to the attic?”
    She rolled her eyes—which felt safe mostly because his back was to her. “Folding steps drop down from the second floor hallway, but . . .”
    He was already headed toward the stairs like he owned the place, so she just saved her breath on the rest. And maybe he even had a point. She just didn’t enjoy feeling like an invalid with him any more than she already did.
    A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps on the staircase just before he reappeared, the old crutches in one hand. He wordlessly leaned them against one arm of the overstuffed couch. “I’m sure you’re a smart enough girl to use these,” he said—and then, just like that, he started back toward the foyer.
    She was contemplating if she should say something when he glanced over his shoulder. “You’re not gonna tell anybody I’m here, right?”
    And Anna hesitated. She really didn’t like the idea of keeping a secret from Lucky—God knew there’d been enough secrets in their family.
    But she also understood wanting to distance yourself from people, and seeking a little solitude. So even if she still didn’t understand why Duke Dawson was living in a horrible little shack in the woods, she finally said, “No, I won’t.”
    In reply, he simply gave her a short nod and turned to go.
    “Duke.”
    With his hand on the screen door, about to push it open, he stopped, looked back again.
    “Why’d you take me to the cabin if you were only going to carry me back