Jefferson grinned. “Sweet thing, would I lie to you?”
Willow met his gaze. In a voice as flat as glass, she said, “Well, honeybun, I don’t know. Would you?”
“Heh. You’re feisty. I like that.” He hiked his thumb toward his chest. “Me? I’m a historian.”
“Historian, my foot,” called the receptionist behind the desk—a different woman than the one from last night. She bit off a hunk of red licorice and chewed with relish. “The only thing Jefferson’s ever studied is how to talk people out of their wallets.”
“Now, Sara,” Jefferson said, pressing his hand to his heart. “You wound me.”
“You’ll live.”
He turned back to Willow. “Twenty bucks. I’ll take you to Deadman’s Hollow.”
Sara didn’t look up. “Trail’s marked. You don’t need a tour guide.”
Jefferson raised an eyebrow. “But I’ve got stories.”
The smart move was to walk away. But she hadn’t run off in the middle of the night to play it safe.
“Twenty bucks,” she said.
He held out his hand. “No refunds.”
She peeled a twenty from her wallet, making sure he didn’t see how much cash she had stashed away.
Jefferson winked. “Would’a done it for five. But I like your style.”
~
The sun beat down as they walked. They passed a post office the size of a gas station and a hardware store with a scarecrow out front. A few houses had cars on cinder blocks wearing out the lawns.
Jefferson talked as they strolled. “That’s the mayor’s house, or was till he ran off with a woman from the county fair. Over there’s the old grocery store—burned down twice. First time was an accident. Second time... let’s just say nobody cried about it.”
Willow didn’t mind his rambling. The rhythm of his voice let her breathe without making decisions.
“And you?” he asked. “Ever been to Hemridge before?”
“Nope, first time.”
“Okay, okay. Drove up from Greenville? Charlotte?”
“Atlanta,” Willow said without thinking.
“Atlanta,” Jefferson repeated, shooting her a look. “Pretty city, full of prettier girls.”
Willow didn’t respond. The plan had been to not share her personal business with Jefferson—or anyone. She needed to be sharper, stay more focused.
The town thinned out, houses giving way to stretches of trees. The pavement faded into packed dirt, the road narrowingand twisting as if drawn by some ancient, forgotten hand. Ahead, stark against the encroaching wilderness, stood a weathered sign carved with deep, splintered letters: “Deadman’s Hollow.”
Willow’s breath quickened, and a pull thrummed in her chest, steady and insistent. The forest wanted her.
“You sure you want to do this?” Jefferson said. His voice was just this side of skittish, though he tried to hide it, jamming his hands into his back pockets and hitting her with a folksy smile when she glanced his way.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“All right. Sure.” He caught her arm. “Just, this forest... it’s not like other forests.”
She yanked free. “Good.”
