Jeremy moved closer to her. “Did the bat suffocate?”

“Never. In the morning, we’d go outside and just the blanket would be there—no bat. We’d never know how it got into the house, how it got out of the blanket, where it went. Lots of times it would come back the next night, and the next. Then it would just stop coming.”

“I’ve never understood bats.”

She looked at him. “Right now, Jeremy, I can feel the bats crawling on me. And all I’ve got is an empty blanket.”

After Ashley went to bed, Jeremy stayed up for a while. He tried locking the doors: there were locks, but no keys. And he’d promised Ashley and David he would tend the animals. They seemed irate about their late feeding; he did his best to appease the disgruntled creatures and not get various varieties of manure on his shoes.

Ashley had refused to discuss the episode in the woods, and for the moment, she was in no condition to be badgered. In any case, Jeremy could draw his own conclusions.

Bartholomew Wakefield had gotten the tiara and the choker.

Jeremy wondered where the hell Mac was. Had the supposedly simple and amiable Barky disabled Mac as easily and cold-bloodedly as he had his niece and nephew?

Confusion and exhaustion overwhelming him, Jeremy trudged up the steep stairs.

He peered through an open door into the small slant-ceilinged room that faced north.

Ashley lay atop the worn covers of the twin bed. A lock of dark hair had fallen over one cheek. He went to her. As she slept, the angles of her face seemed softer. He noticed how smooth her skin looked, how full her mouth was. She had found an old flannel nightgown with buttons missing and a tear in the armpit, and its raggedness only added to her mysterious allure. Her long legs were lean and well-muscled, the kind that evoked images of wild lovemaking.

The ice he had wrapped into a dish towel had melted, soaking her pillow and the ends of her dark hair, and the towel was lying on the floor. Outside, the temperature was dropping. Jeremy lifted her by the hips and drew back the covers, holding her aloft. She twisted limply in his arms, sighing softly, asleep. Her nightgown was askew, revealing the curve of a pale breast. She smiled in her sleep. One eye opened halfway.

“It’s me—Jeremy,” he whispered as he placed her back down.

She flopped over onto her back. “Hullo.”

“Feeling better?”

She threw one arm over her head. Both eyes opened. Even in the dim light, they were bright “Much.”

She rolled against the wall, then snuggled under the warm covers. She was on her stomach now, butt pushed out toward him.

“Ashley?”

A slender hand reached out and patted the narrow spot alongside her. “Sleep.”

He leaned over and peered down at her eyes. They were open-—sort of. She smiled, not showing any teeth. Her eyes closed, and she gave a soft moan.