Free Mountain Mystic by Debra Dixon Page A

“Why?”
    “What good is a nap if you can’t get comfortable because your feet are dangling over the edge?”
    Victoria laughed. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have that problem. My feet barely make it to the end of the sofa.”
    He remembered how he’d pulled her up to meet his kiss, how small she’d felt in his arms. “Yours may not, but mine definitely hang over.”
    “You shouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.” Victoria sat in the corner of the long sofa and crossed her legs.
    He looked at her expectantly, prompting her with the lift of his eyebrows.
    “Stop looking at me like that. I gave you my opinion. It’s a great house. Really. I love rich earth tones. I think the Carol Grigg watercolors are incredible, especially the big one behind you of the Indian woman leading the horse. What’s it called?”
    “
She Walks with Horses.
” Joshua held his hand up in the Boy Scout oath. They both grinned.
    “Appropriate. I’ve always admired her work. She has this gift for capturing the past and making you feel the moment with those moody shades of plum and blue—”
    “I’m glad you like my taste in art,” Joshua interrupted. “Now tell me what you really think about my house.”
    Victoria sighed. “Friend to friend? Real truth?”
    “Real truth. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”
    “This house looks like it’s waiting for someone to move in. Everything’s too perfect, too new.” She carefully folded her hands on her crossed knee and waited for his reaction.
    “Tell me what you mean,” he said, scooting to the edge of his seat.
    “I grew up in houses like this. Mess it up a little, for God’s sake. It’s beautiful, but it’s got no personality. I like a place you can walk into and feel vibrations from the memories. You should be able to sit in an easy chair and get a sense of what kind of person molded it. There’s nothing of anybody here.”
    She missed the stunned look on Joshua’s face at her comment because she got up and walked over to the shelves of cups and bowls, picking up a piece of the reproduction pottery. “Take these, for instance. They’re lined up and lighted like museum pieces.”
    An odd smile turned up Joshua’s mouth, and he stood to take the fat goblet from her. “That’s because they are.”
    All the color drained from Victoria’s face as she gently handed it to him. For a moment a memory flashed and then faded too quickly for her to grasp. Joshua returned the piece to the shelf.
    “I’m so sorry.” She stepped away from him. “I am so sorry. I thought a decorator found these to go with along with the arrowhead collection.”
    “No. They’re mine.”
    “Is archaeology a hobby of yours?” Victoria asked, and tilted her head in interest. “Are you one of those amateur diggers?”
    “Not really.” Technically, that was true. It had been his occupation, not his avocation. He changed the subject before she could ask him where he’d gotten the artifacts. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
    “Oh, no.” She checked her watch. “I should get ready for tomorrow. I’ve got my first appointments at the Bodewell clinic.”
    “There you go again. Doing what you should,” he teased with a warm smile. “Maybe another time?”
    “Yeah, that would be nice,” Victoria said even though she knew spending time with Joshua wasn’t a good idea. She said good night at the door and waved once when she pulled away in the truck.
    Standing in the doorway, Joshua watched her go until her taillights had disappeared. What she’d said about his house was true. Except for books, the arrowheads, and the collection, everything was new. Brand new. He hadn’t thought anyone but him would notice how sterile it was. But Victoria had. She’d seen it the moment she walked inside.
    Maybe that was why she didn’t trust him. Maybe she was worried that his house was a reflection of an empty soul. Regardless of the attraction between them, she wasn’t ready to take another