She scrambled off the sofa and ran to the door. The light was still on in the office. She grabbed her key and ran across the hall.
The old man looked up as she entered. “Just caught me,” he said with a smile. “What can I do for you, lass?”
“Is there anywhere near I can get some oranges?”
If he was surprised by her odd request, he certainly didn’t show it. “There’s very little open at this hour, I’m afraid.” He frowned thoughtfully, gnarled fingers tapping the desk. “But I’ve a couple of old ones out back. If all you want is juice, they’d be fine.”
Maddie grinned in relief. “That would be great. Thanks.”
She collected the oranges and returned to her room. After locking the door, she found a knife and sliced them open, putting the halves into a small bowl before returning to the sofa.
Her heart raced uncomfortably—a rhythm caused more by uncertainty than fear. She’d failed at everything else she’d tried to do in her life; she didn’t want to fail at this.
She brought the bowl up to her nose and took a deep sniff. The faint scent of citrus ran around her, sweet and compelling. She picked up the chain and once again pictured Evan’s smiling face in her mind. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then darkness rushed at her, pulling her down. She fought the tide, thinking of Evan, trying to compel the dream in that direction.
The darkness swirled, then slowly cleared, revealing the familiar interior of the old cabin. In one corner she could see the bundle of blankets that was Evan and the second teenager. In the other was a bright fire. And sitting in a chair beside the fire was Hank. She frowned. What was he doing at the cabin when he was supposedly the night watch at the inn?
The dream shimmered, fading slightly, and she forced herself to concentrate. She had to try to direct the dream to the cabin’s exterior …
The image blurred for a minute, then re-formed. Suddenly, she was outside. Tall, snow-dusted pines surrounded the clearing like sentries on duty. A windbreak, she thought; the trees were too regimented to be anything else. The dream drifted forward; a rutted, slushy track led away from the front of the cabin and through the pines.
Her dream followed it. The track wound down the mountainside, past the bluish pines and into mountain wilderness. Finally, it came to a main road. The mailbox on the side of the road said Malkin Cabin. The dream drifted on and came to a sign—“Jewell, 15 miles.”
A huge crash wrenched her from the dream, and with a squeak of fright, she leaped to her feet, her heart thumping rapidly somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.
Someone or something was outside her room.
MADDIE TOOK A DEEP BREATH, THEN GATHERED HER COURAGE and walked across to the window. Pushing the curtains to one side, she looked out.
Jon was sprawled across the front of her truck. That must have been the crash she’d heard—but how the heck had he gotten there? He looked as if he’d been thrown there, and he certainly wasn’t moving.
Her breath caught in her throat. Was he hurt?
She ran for the door. He jerked upright when she rushed out, a smile touching his full lips.
“Maddie. Glad to see you.”
There was a cut on his cheek. Though it didn’t look deep, blood was smeared over the right side of his face. His speech was slurred, and his blue eyes were slightly unfocused. Great, she thought sourly, he’s drunk. And he’s dented my damn hood. Then she frowned and glanced upward. To cause such a big dent, he’d have to have done a swan dive from above the car, but there was no overhanging verandah, nothing he could have leapt off. So how had he managed to land face first in the middle of her hood? Fly?
Her gaze widened at the thought. Ohmigod, he can fly. He had told her he was a shapeshifter. That his other shape was a hawk. She licked her lips, studying him nervously. She hadn’t really believed him before. Something deep within had refused to, even though she’d been attacked by ghosts—creatures whose existence she would have relegated to the realms of fairy tales right along with shapeshifters.
Her gaze slipped to the dent underneath him. If he can fly, you’d think he’d at least be able to land a little better.
She saw the old guy in the office peering out his window and offered Jon a hand. “Here, let me help you inside before we attract too much attention.”
The last thing they needed right now was the manager calling the cops.
He grabbed her hand and slipped off the hood, but his movements were unsteady, almost awkward. She frowned. Sweat beaded his forehead and darkened his golden hair, and his breathing was shallow and rapid. This had to be more than mere drunkenness—maybe he was ill. Worry snaked through her. Maybe she should just take him to the hospital instead.
She slipped his arm around her shoulders to hold him upright. His gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a warmth that cut through her soul. He touched her cheek, then ran a finger lightly down to her lips. She resisted the temptation to kiss his fingertips and jerked away instead. She had no intention of starting a fire she could not control.
His hand dropped back to his side. “We should get inside,” he said shortly, looking away. “It’s safer.”
Safer from what? Eleanor? What had happened during their so-called date? Maddie frowned but helped him into the room. She sat him on the bed, then went to lock the door.
He didn’t say anything, but his gaze followed her as she walked across the room. Heat crept into her cheeks. She wet a cloth in the bathroom, then walked back to the bed. He hadn’t moved. Was barely even blinking.