The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

fixer-upper?” she asked, surprised. The Cole she’d known had wanted the newest and best of everything.
    “You could call it that, if you’re feeling generous.” He opened the door.
    She got out. “What would you call it?”
    “Pretty decent now. Uninhabitable when I bought it. I wanted the land, the view, and planned to tear down the cabin and put up something new and shiny. Somewhere along the line, though, I got hooked on power tools. The cabin’s been my excuse to use them. Do you need all of that carried in?” He gestured at the piles in the back.
    She grinned. “I warned you.”
    “So you did.”
    Dixie carried the smaller suitcase and the tote with her paints. Cole grabbed the other suitcase and the huge roll of untreated canvas. This diminished but didn’t empty the pile in her suvvy.
    The door to the carriage house was unlocked. Dixie pushed it open and stopped a foot inside.
    Nothing had changed. From the pine paneling tothe white curtains to the simple furniture, everything looked just as it had eleven years ago.
    Cole nudged her. “Sightsee later. This is heavy. Are you sure you don’t have a body rolled up inside?”
    “Of course not. The blood would make a mess of my canvas.”
    “Your weights, then? Move, Dixie.”
    She moved, stopping beside the battered leather couch. The last time she’d seen that couch, she’d been naked. “Isn’t this the same Navajo blanket on the back of the couch?” A bit worn now, but the colors were as beautiful faded as they had been new. Bemused, she ran a hand over it.
    “I remember how it looked wrapped around you.”
    Her hand remained on the blanket. Her gaze flew to Cole’s—and the past crashed into the present, smashing itself all over her, making a mess of her mind and her heartbeat.
    At that moment she wanted him. Wanted him badly.
    Twenty-two fuzzy pounds thumped against her leg, nearly knocking her over and making a noise like a chain saw.
    Cole’s eyes widened. “What in the world—?”
    “Meet Hulk.” Thank you, Hulk, she told him silently, bending to pick him up. He sprawled, limp with pleasure, over her shoulder while she ran a hand over cowlicky gray fur. Hulk loved attention.
    “As in The Incredible?” Cole looked dubious. “He is a cat, right?”
    “That’s the rumor.”
    “I’d better let my mother know about him.”
    “She’s not allergic or something, is she? Mercedes said it was okay to bring him.” She rubbed him under the chin the way he liked, and his motor revved loudly. “He always travels with me.”
    “I’m sure it will be fine. I don’t think she was prepared, though. She hasn’t stocked the grounds with antelope or gazelle for him to feed on.” He eyed the cat. “Good thing there aren’t any small children in the neighborhood.”
    “Very funny. Hulk’s big, but he’s a sweetie. He loves everyone, children included.”
    “For dessert?”
    She huffed out a breath. “What do you have against my cat?”
    “Tilly.”
    “There shouldn’t be a problem. If he has to, Hulk will take to a tree, but he isn’t easily intimidated.”
    “Tilly is. Though terrified describes her better.”
    Oh. She grimaced. “I’ll try to keep him in.” She detached Hulk and poured him onto the couch. He gave her a reproachful look and jumped down. Cat honor demanded that he not stay where he’d been put, even if he wanted to.
    It took three more trips to finish unloading her suvvy. Dixie managed not to slide back into memory land, but she was very ready for Cole to leave by the time they brought in the last few items. Her emotions were a jumble. She needed a sit.
    With typical contrariness, once he’d depositedher bag of books Cole seemed ready to stay and chat. “Weird pillow,” he said, nodding at the zafu she’d placed on the floor by an empty wall. “Gives me all kinds of kinky thoughts.”
    “It’s for my sits.” When he looked blank she added, “Meditation, Cole. You have heard of meditation?”
    “Ah.” He nodded. “Does that mean you aren’t practicing witchcraft anymore?”
    “It wasn’t my path.” She huffed out an impatient breath. “Look, do you still run all the time?”
    “Two or three times a week.”
    “That’s your mental-health break. I sit.”
    He burst out laughing. “No, no—” he said, holding up a hand. “Don’t blow up at me. I just thought that I should have known you’d prefer sitting to running.”
    She couldn’t help grinning. It was appropriate. “I