Honey and Smoke Read Free Page A

between the two of them. Flights of fancy and recklessbehavior were a bad combination, she knew from past experience.
    “Just take another hike,” she told him. “Back where you came from. And don’t trespass on my land again.”
    “What were you doing inside that cave?”
    “Growing mushrooms.” She gave him a rebuking look. “Ordinary, edible mushrooms.”
    “You have pieces of mushroom on your sweatshirt.”
    She glanced down at her gray shirt and winced. A lot of work had been mashed. “Great.”
    “I’ll pay you for damages.”
    “Forget it. Just leave.”
    “This cave is called Quint’s Hideout. Back in the early nineteen-hundreds a local named William Quint mined gold in it. Later he made moonshine here.”
    “I know. I’m his granddaughter. I own the cave now.”
    “You mean—” he glanced toward the north. “You bought the Quint place?”
    “That’s right.”
    “There hasn’t been a Quint around here for fifty years. The house belonged to the Gibson family, the last I heard. And none of them live here anymore either.”
    “Right. It’s been vacant for a few years. I just bought the place from the Gibsons.”
    “It must be in terrible shape.”
    “No worse than my nerves at the moment.”
    “You look steady. I’m impressed. And apologetic. Really. I’ll walk you home, and you can explain why you love mushrooms so much.” He leaned toward her with disarming effect and smiled. “I live just north of town. We’re practically neighbors.”
    “I can walk myself. It’s just over the ridge. And if I ever see you on my land again, I’ll call the sheriff.”
    “Your lantern is still burning inside the cave. Wait here.” He took the gun from his back, laid it on the ground at her feet like a warrior surrendering his sword, then slid into the cave opening. “Be right back.”
    Betty numbly tugged her gloves off, then used her cap to wipe her face. So he thought she looked steady?Her hands were trembling, and inside she was nothing but a tangle of questions. Max Templeton. Max. She mouthed the name. He was local. She’d see him again. The thought gave her a trill of excitement along with dismay.
    A throaty, plaintive
meow
caught her attention. Betty looked toward the tall stump of a dead tree. Faux sat there, a wary expression on her face. “Come here, baby. It’s all right.” The brindle cat leapt down and trotted to her, using the stump of its hind leg almost as gracefully as a foot.
    Faux crawled into her lap and curled up, her body spilling out over Betty’s knees. Her tufted ears twitched at the sounds of Max Templeton’s return. “It’s all right, Faux,” Betty assured her, stroking her head. “I
hope
so, anyway.”
    Max Templeton shoved himself half out of the cave, then spotted Faux and halted, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “The stealth cat,” he said gruffly. “What kind of cat is it?”
    “Half bobcat, half Manx. The product of a very strange romance.”
    Betty’s attention was riveted to him. He must be over six feet tall, almost a head taller than she. The paint had begun to streak on his face, accenting the hard thrust of his chin but also curving around the sensual lines of his mouth. His nose was straight and chiseled; his eyes were large. It was a surprisingly elegant face in contrast, to a brutally handsome body. A unique and troublesome combination.
    Betty set Faux Paw down and rose to her feet. Max Templeton stood also, and she discovered that she had been right—he was a good six inches taller than she. “Ms. Quint,” he said politely. “Your cave is secure. Your strange cat is safe. You’re not hurt. Will you accept my apology?”
    He could sound so formal. He had a very straight-backed, chin-up posture. His voice had the light drawl of a southerner who’d spent a lot of years away fromhome. It wasn’t as crisp as her voice, with its urban-Atlanta lilt, but it wasn’t gruff and twangy, the way the natives talked up here.
    “Please accept my