Page 9 of Hollow Forest

The food was a good start. Next, I needed to make sure she had a safe haven. That the drafts in this house wouldn’t chill her to the bone. That she could thrive here. Then…I would fucking spoil her.

Chapter 4 – Samantha

Anormal person wouldn’t be able to sleep after discovering a fridge full of food that hadn’t been there before. Hell, a sane person wouldn’t have touched it. What if it was drugged? Belly full and mind short-circuiting, it was easy to give into the exhaustion.

Until the sound of vehicles rumbling, doors slamming, and barking masculine voices ripped me out of one of the best sleeps I’d had in weeks.

“What the hell?” I grumped, rolling onto my side and dragging myself to the windowpane. The aged glass blurred the scene below, but I understood the gist of it.

A crew of twenty-some guys were unloading tools and supplies in the front yard.

I scrubbed my hands over my face and blinked hard. They were still there, bustling about like a troop of army ants.

I dropped my head on the glass with a groan. “What now?”

The window was chilly. Absently, I noticed a bit of frost in the bottom corners, right where the black mold claimed residence. The nights were only going to get colder. Maybe these guys were renovating, and it wouldn’t be so damn drafty in this house.

Yeah, that would be nice.

But a heads up would have been better. I didn’t know how much more stress my poor heart could take. I would need to find an outlet to let some of this stress out. Maybe I would go hunting. There had to be some low lives in this quaint little town. No place was without scum, and the streets would be cleaner if I practiced a bit of self-care!

There was nothing for it but to throw on a pair of jeans and go down to sort out this new turn of events.

“Good morning, ma’am,” a guy in a brown henley said.

I glared at his cheerful face through the now open front door. “What’s going on?”

He dropped his stack of planks next to the front porch. “Boss said this place isn’t fit to be lived in.”

Well, that was stating the obvious.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I demanded and jumped out of the way as a team of guys carried in supplies. “My landlord didn’t inform me that there was going to be anyone working today.”

Giving me a sheepish grin, the man lifted his ball cap and smoothed his hair back before replacing the hat. “Do you want us to stop?”

I swept a glance over the crew, already swarming through the open front door. Leaning against the rickety banister of the front porch, I took a long breath. Crisp air flooded my lungs.

“It’s just a surprise, that’s all,” I groused.

He nodded and chuckled lightly. “Sorry about this, but Seph isn’t great at communication.”

That was true.

With a long sigh, I raked my hair back. It was brittle from the fake dye. I hated the necessary precautions that made it short, ugly, and unhealthy. I gave the man a nod and stepped aside as a group of guys hauled another load of supplies into the house. A new front door—a bright cheerful blue one—was amongst the lot.

This wasn’t their fault. Already planning a strongly worded message to my landlord, I was about to disappear upstairs when the man I’d been speaking to stopped me short with a casual observation.

“A Geogia Bull Dogs fan, eh?”

The words didn’t register until he jerked his chin at my sweatshirt.

Oh, right.

I wasn’t going to tell him it was just something I’d picked up when the bus stopped south of Atlanta. It was either a Buc-ee’s sweatshirt or this.

“I’m a Gator’s fan myself,” the man beamed.

Great. Someone familiar with Florida. At least I didn’t have a discernable accent, so he wouldn’t place me as a Miami native.