The Fifth Season Read Online Free PDF Page B

skin.
    Deep in thought, Stone hadn’t been paying attention to his actions and suddenly discovered he stood beneath the deck. There she was. Like a moth to light, he’d been drawn to her essence.
    Emma leaned against the wood railing, face turned up to the brilliant stars that scattered the sky like a swarm of fireflies. Her hair hung loosely down her back. His fingers itched to run the silken strands across his palms, to feel it tickle his bare chest.
    It would never happen.
    Retreating back into the shadows, Stone headed silently to his room.
    His brain reviewed what needed to be done. Fix up the resort, scrutinize the books, prepare to sell, ignore the gorgeous redhead that fired his blood.
    Stone’s eye caught the shadow of a man walking along the fence post. Every sense went into overdrive, and he melted into the night, to observe…to protect.
    The man stopped about a hundred yards from the back deck and let loose a low, eerily familiar whistle. Emma waved and leaned across the wooden boards to blow kisses at the stranger. It didn’t take long for bitter awareness to spark…the man’s height, his stance, his overconfident superiority oozed across the space.
    For the first time in twenty years, Stone stood less than a state away from his father.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    Emma sat up in bed. What was that noise? She thought she’d heard a thump, but couldn’t be certain. She sat and focused on her surroundings then slid from the warmth of her bed and tip-toed to the door. Another loud crash reverberated against the walls of the resort. Her heart slammed against her chest. She grabbed her umbrella as a weapon, flung open the doors and ran into the main kitchen.
    Nothing.
    She heard the roosters, General Coleman and Colonel Mustard, announcing daybreak. A quick glance outside confirmed the early morning hour. Emma started to turn her head away from the window when she saw debris smack onto the wooden deck.
    What on earth?
    Footsteps shuffled above. There was someone trying to break in through the roof. Rushing down the hall, she knocked quietly on Stone’s door.
    “Stone.” Emma kept her voice low, attempting not to alert the intruder. When he didn’t answer, she cracked it open. “Stone?”
    Damn. Where was he?
    Emma considered her options. She could call the police, but at thirty miles away they’d take forever. She could grab Margaret’s .22 and deal with the intruder herself. Yes, Emma decided. That’s exactly what she’d do. It was time to take a stand and stop being the fraidy-cat her life had molded her into.
    With light footsteps, she retreated to her corner of the resort. Emma pulled on a pair of jeans and old denim shirt, mentally pep-talking her way through the upcoming scene.
    Get the gun.
    Go to the attic.
    Climb on the roof.
    Shoot the bastard.
    Piece of cake.
    Why wouldn’t her hands stop trembling? She went to the locked safe in the garage and swapped her umbrella for the Ruger. Silently ascending the staircase, Emma passed the upper suites and opened a small, narrow door at the end of the corridor. The squeaky hinge made her wince. Did the intruder hear? And where was Stone?
    Her step was light, but the age of the rickety staircase leading to the attic signaled her presence. The gun rested in the crook of her arm, a comfort against the dangerous element outside.
    Bending beneath the low beams and creeping forward, Emma stifled a sneeze silently promising to clean the place out before the next influx of guests. Another crash echoed from outside. For an intruder, this guy wasn’t very sharp.
    Cursing her pride, Emma realized how difficult she’d made the past few days for Stone. He didn’t feel responsible for River Run because she’d not allow it. It was hers. But it wasn’t. It was Stone’s, and if she’d acknowledged that then he’d be the one protecting the resort and not her.
    He’d been withdrawn but amiable to any request she made. They’d worked out a schedule. Rolling