Chapter 33 #2
That makes sense. I told Eleanor and Frank about the ferrets at Nancy’s Diner two nights ago. Small-town gossip travels at light speed.
“They’re thriving now.” Saying it out loud lifts some of the grief. “But they still have a long way to go.”
“See? Just because one couldn’t be saved doesn’t diminish what you accomplished with the others.”
“Thank you. Sometimes I need to hear it from someone who isn’t paid to make me feel better.”
“Does Ms. Rodriguez have difficulty managing your guilt spirals?”
I laugh, surprised by how easily he can shift the mood. “Maren gets paid to deal with my medical crises, harassing animals, and terrible jokes. The emotional support is just a bonus, required by her best friend status.”
“And here I thought all that came free with friendship.”
I motion toward the mansion, needing to redirect before I do something embarrassing like step closer to him.
“So what’s the story here? Why did you buy it? I mean, with its history and all.”
His expression doesn’t change, but he follows my gaze to the mansion’s imposing facade. “You mean Jeremiah Morrison?”
“What happened here is well known.” I study his profile, trying to read his expression. “It’s not exactly the kind of place most people would choose for a weekend retreat.”
Damien walks toward a section of the porch where new support beams have been installed, running his hand along the fresh wood. “That’s exactly why I bought it.”
“Because of the history?”
“Because of what it represents. Morrison took something beautiful and twisted it into something dark. He let evil poison this place, turning it into a monument to suffering. But underneath all that darkness, the bones of something grand still exist.”
He moves along the porch, his hand trailing over ornate carvings that have weathered decades of neglect.
“Most people would have torn it down.”
“Most people can’t see past the surface.
” He pauses at one of the towering columns, looking up.
“They let fear and superstition blind them to the potential underneath. I prefer to take something viewed as evil and broken and give it new life. New meaning. Besides,” he continues, his voice lighter now, “the isolation is perfect for my work. No neighbors, no distractions. Just me and my projects.”
“What kind of projects require this much seclusion?”
His smile turns mysterious. “The kind that change the world. Or at least, certain people’s worlds.”
A chattering sound from overhead interrupts before I can ask what he means. A family of squirrels has appeared in the old oak tree beside the house, and one of them is decidedly different from the others.
“Sassy?”
I’d recognize that stubby tail anywhere.
I haven’t seen her since I released her.
Almost as if she knows her name, she stops her chattering and fixes her black eyes on me.
For a moment, we stare at each other across the space between the ground and the branches.
Then, to my amazement, she makes her way down the trunk.
“Do you know that squirrel?” Damien asks, sounding incredulous.
“I treated her at the sanctuary months ago.” I crouch as Sassy approaches, moving with the fearless confidence I remember from her recovery. “Her tail got cut off in a weed whacker accident.”
Sassy reaches my outstretched hand and allows me to scoop her up, her small body warm and vibrating. She sniffs my fingers and settles into my palm like she belongs there.
“That’s incredible.” Wonder fills Damien’s voice. “She remembers you.”
“Animals remember kindness.” I stroke Sassy’s soft fur with one finger. “Especially when they’re in pain and someone helps them.”
“What happened to her? You said it was an accident?”
The sharpness in his tone makes me look up. His expression has gone cold, and there’s a dangerous stillness about him that reminds me of a predator scenting blood.
“Old Man Henderson was trimming weeds along his fence line. He didn’t see her in the tall grass. When he realized what he’d done, he was devastated. Brought her straight to me.”
The tension in Damien’s posture eases, but his eyes remain sharp. “So it was genuinely an accident.”
“Completely. Henderson wouldn’t hurt a fly on purpose. He brings me vegetables from his garden and asks about Sassy every time he sees me.” I smile down at the squirrel. “He’s the one who named her. Said she was too sassy to let a little thing like losing her tail slow her down.”
“And he was right, it seems.”
Sassy launches herself back toward the oak tree, rejoining her family with typical squirrel drama. The spell of the moment breaks, and I realize I’ve been kneeling in the dirt communing with a squirrel while Damien Wolfe watches me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Sorry.” I brush off my knees as I stand. “I get a little excited about my animals.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s remarkable. The connection you have with them.” He pauses. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Luna Foster.”
My body leans forward without permission. Just a fraction. Just enough that I have to pull myself back.
“So.” The word comes out breathy. I clear my throat. “What are your plans for this place? Beyond reclaiming it from the wilderness?”
“Complete restoration. The structural work is nearly finished. Then comes the fun part.”
“Fun part?”
“Making it mine.” He leans against the porch railing in a move that seems casual but somehow brings us closer together. “New kitchen, modern bathrooms, but keeping the original character. I want to honor what it was meant to be before Morrison corrupted it.”
“That sounds like a massive undertaking.”
“The best projects usually are. I’m bringing my designers in next month. The structural work needs to be finished first.”
“What’s your vision for it?”
“Something that honors the craftsmanship while adding modern conveniences. I’m too much of a techie not to have all my toys.”
I run my fingers along a section of gingerbread trim, marveling at the detail carved into the wood several centuries ago. “It must have been amazing in its day.”
“It will be again.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through.”
“I always think things through very carefully, Luna.” He steps closer. “I don’t make impulsive decisions.”
“Never?”
“Almost never.” His eyes drop to my lips for just a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Though you seem to inspire some… unusual impulses.”
My breath catches, and the air between us hums. The isolation of this place presses in around us, a reminder of how alone we are. My lips part on their own as I imagine erasing the distance between us, pressing my mouth to his, and finding out if he tastes as sinful as he looks.
Instead, I step back, putting a safer space between us. “When do you think it’ll be finished?”
If he’s disappointed by my retreat, he doesn’t show it. “Six months for the major work, maybe eight if we run into complications. Historic houses always have surprises buried in their walls. I’ll have to have you over when it’s finished.”
“I’d like that.” The words are out before I can consider whether they’re wise.
“Good.” He steps closer again, and this time I don’t retreat. “I wanted to apologize again for having to cancel our dinner so abruptly.”
“It’s okay. I understand business doesn’t always follow convenient schedules.”
“I’d still—”
My phone rings, interrupting him. The sound is jarring in the quiet afternoon, and I fumble to pull it from my pocket. Maren’s name flashes on the screen.
“I should take this.”
“Luna!” Maren’s voice comes through the phone before I can even say hello. “We just got a call from animal services. Rhonda is bringing in a coyote that was hit by a car on Trail Ridge Road. ETA fifteen minutes.”
My stomach drops. That stretch of Highway 34 is notorious for wildlife collisions, especially during fall dispersal season, when pups, born in the spring, leave their dens to establish their own territories and find mates.
“How bad?” I already know from Maren’s tone that it’s serious.
“Probable internal bleeding, definitely multiple fractures. I’m prepping for surgery now. I know you needed this afternoon to yourself, but without Ethan, I need you here.”
“On my way.” I end the call and look up at Damien with regret. “I have to go. Emergency at the sanctuary.”
“Of course.” The disappointment shows in the way his shoulders drop. “Go save another life.”
“Shadow, come.” But he’s already at my side, sensing the shift in my energy.
“Luna.” Damien’s voice stops me mid-turn. I pause, torn between the crisis calling me back and the pull to linger here in his presence. “Do you need a ride?”
“No. I know all the shortcuts. It’ll be faster on foot, but thanks.”
“Well, be careful out there. And thanks for stopping by.” His expression shifts, his mouth quirking into a half-smile that borders on wicked. “Feel free to peep through my windows anytime.”
I meet his eyes and mirror his obvious smirk with a matching one of my own before I turn and head toward the woods.
Turns out there’s more to Damien Wolfe than brooding intensity and storm-cloud eyes. The man has a sense of humor hidden under there somewhere.
Shadow keeps pace beside me as we run through the familiar paths, my mind already shifting to what needs to be done when the coyote arrives. But I can’t shake the memory of how natural it felt, standing there talking with Damien among the ruins of the Morrison Estate.
Behind us, the Gothic mansion disappears, but I can still feel the weight of Damien’s gaze.