Page 8 of Auctioned to the Devil

I should leave her alone.

Not my property.

Not my woman.

Not my problem.

Then her foot slips.

“Shit.” I’m moving before I make the decision.

I take the lower trail and cut through the trees, keeping her in sight. She catches herself against a pine and looks down at her boots with obvious disgust.

“Great choice, Emily,” she mutters. “Very outdoorsy.”

I almost laugh. Instead, I keep following her. She reaches the lodge a few minutes later.

Frank’s place has been empty for almost two years. It shows. Half the porch railing has rotted through, moss covers the north side of the roof, and the foundation settled badly after the spring runoff last year.

Emily walks straight toward the worst section.

“Stop.”

She jumps and spins around. Those green eyes find me immediately. Recognition flashes. Then irritation.

“You.”

“Me.”

She plants a hand on her hip. “Do you normally sneak up on women in the woods?”

“You normally wander around mountains without paying attention?”

“I’m paying attention.”

I glance at her boots.

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t.”

“Those are going to get you hurt.”

“They’re boots.”

“They’re fashion.”

Her mouth drops open.

I walk past her toward the lodge.

“Excuse me?”

“Wrong tread. No ankle support. Not waterproof.”

“I didn’t realize there was going to be a footwear inspection.”

“There isn’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”