by Debbie Mason
“Yeah. You’re good.” He was about to add to go, but he couldn’t in good conscience let her leave before dealing with the possibility of pond scum infecting the tiny wounds. “Probably best if you grab a shower sooner rather than later. I can hunt you up some clothes to borrow.” If Liz was still here, she would’ve offered.
“I’ll do that, thanks. But don’t worry, I have my own clothes.” She lifted her hair off her neck, then her eyes went wide and her hands dropped to her sides. “You don’t think they’re in my hair, do you? I swear, I felt something move.”
“It’s just your imagination.”
“Maybe, but I’d really appreciate it if you checked. And you kind of owe me, right?”
“How exactly do you figure I owe you?” he asked, then, remembering the toad, he motioned for her to turn around with his finger.
“I wouldn’t have fallen in the pond if it wasn’t for your dog.”
“You wouldn’t have fallen in the pond if you looked where you were going or listened to me. So no, I don’t owe you,” he said even as he moved her long spiral curls aside.
“But I thought I was in danger, so yes, you do owe me. You should have your dog on a leash, you know. And if you don’t mind me saying, you should also change his name before some other poor woman has to go through what I did.”
“I’m not changing my dog’s name.”
“Don’t forget my traumatic experience with the leeches,” she said as if he hadn’t said anything. She made a face, and her shoulders went up to her ears. “There aren’t any in my hair, are there?”
He ran his fingers over her scalp and then shook out long curly locks. “You’re good.”
She turned with a smile and offered her hand. “Thank you. I’m Abby, by the way. Abby Everhart. And you know Bella. Wow, she really seems to like your dog. She doesn’t usually play well with others.”
“Hunter Mackenzie.” He shook her hand and glanced at the rat, who was offering Wolf a stick. There was a small pile building in front of his dog.
“Come on, Boo. Mommy needs a shower.” She crouched and patted her thigh, obviously not anxious to get closer to Wolf.
Hunter walked over and scooped up her dog, who looked like she was about to bite his arm. Until she got a look at his expression. She whined, glancing back at Wolf. “You won’t get any help from him. He knows who his master is.”
“Are you implying she doesn’t?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure she knows exactly who the alpha is in your relationship. Her.” He laughed at Abby’s annoyed expression, surprising himself. His laugh was gruff, rusty from disuse. It was past time the rat and the lady left. “Word of advice: if she doesn’t listen to you, you need to keep her on a leash when you go for a hike.” He gave her sandals a pointed look. “You might want to get yourself a pair of hiking boots in town.”
She snorted a laugh. “Do I look like someone who hikes? Yeah, I didn’t think so,” she said in response to his not in this life look. She made a face when he handed her the dog. “We both need a shower, Boo.” Then she looked up at him. “Do you think it would cost a lot to drain the pond? It has to be a health hazard.”
“Come again?” She couldn’t seriously be suggesting he drain the pond because she fell in.
“The pond. I’m thinking of draining it.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am, and I don’t know why you’re looking at me as if I have two heads.”
“Because you’re talking about draining my pond. I don’t know how things are done where you come—”
“Oh, okay. I get it now. You’re a squatter.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, and he knew it was sympathy he saw on her face because he’d gotten enough of it when he’d come back from his last tour to last him four lifetimes.
“I’m not a squatter. I…” He trailed off as an alarming thought hit him, and he turned to look at the farmhouse. A suitcase and a pink purse sat on the stone path. No, she couldn’t be.
“You don’t have to feel bad about it or apologize. Trust me, I totally understand what it’s like to have your whole life implode. The people you thought were your friends abandon you, you end up on the street, never knowing where your next meal is going to come from or how you’re ever going to get back on your feet.”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “I wish I could give you more time. But a couple days is all I can afford, then I really do have to insist you leave. I’m putting the farm on the market.”
Her words wiped away his desperate hope that she was simply a lost tourist and not Liz’s long-lost great-niece. He crossed his arms and stared her down. “Ah, no you’re not. Half the farm is mine, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Three
At the sound of voices coming through the open bedroom window, one voice in particular, the deep, gravelly one that belonged to the man who seemed to have the deluded idea that he owned half of Honeysuckle Farm, Abby inched the bathroom door closed. She didn’t want to wake up Bella, who was out cold in a doggy bed made of towels on the bathroom floor, bundled in her favorite pink-hooded bathrobe.
Abby tiptoed across her great-aunt’s guest bedroom to avoid the creak of the ancient floorboards. At a drawn-out squeak, Abby froze with her foot poised an inch above the threadbare area rug. The stress of the past few days ensured she lost her balance, listing to the side, arms pinwheeling in an effort to keep herself upright. The towel she’d wrapped turban-style around her wet hair after her shower unraveled and took out the mug on the dresser. It fell to the floor with a loud thunk, and she swallowed a groan.
She strained to hear if the men stopped talking. They had, and that made her mad. At herself, because this was her home now. They had no business being here. It’s not like she’d invited them.
When they picked up their conversation where they left off, she was about to stomp to the window to send them on their way but stopped herself in the nick of time. Not only was she clad in just a towel, but announcing her presence would ensure they didn’t pick up where they left off, and she’d have no idea what she was up against. There was no doubt in her mind that Hunter Mackenzie would do everything in his power to block the sale of Honeysuckle Farm.
She’d been right when she saw him coming out of the woods; he was a killer—a killer of hopes and dreams.
Just let him try. She wasn’t going to take it anymore.
“Do you hear that, Universe? I’m not going to take it anymore,” she whisper-shouted the words at the white, wood-planked ceiling and noticed a yellow water stain the size of the bed that made her want to cry. Instead she grabbed her phone off the avocado-green dresser and flipped to where she’d started a list of work the farmhouse needed. The length of the list made her want to cry too.
And it wasn’t because she was afraid of getting her hands dirty or of learning how to repair water-damaged ceilings or the hundred and one other minor repair jobs on her list—Google and DIY videos would be her new best friends. The problem lay in paying for the supplies and in the length of time it would take for her to tick off every last item on her list.
“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve all the crap you’re raining down on me,” she muttered at the ceiling, then thought about the woman whose house she was standing in. “It’s not like I wished my great-aunt dead, you know.”
When Elinor had informed her that she’d received a registered letter from a lawyer in Highland Falls, North Carolina, Abby had been positive there’d been some kind of mix-up. She didn’t know anyone in Highland Falls, let alone North Carolina. But after puzzling over the connection for hours, she’d remembered her father talking about an aunt who lived in a small mountain town in North Carolina.
The only reason Abby remembered the conversation—she’d pretty much blocked out anything to do with her father after he’d left her and her mom—was the older woman’s reputation as the black sheep in the family. Abby had found that intriguing.
But not intriguing enough to look up her
great-aunt when she was old enough to do so. She’d closed the door on the Findlay side of the family a week after her thirteenth birthday. It had taken a month to realize her mom was telling her the truth and that the father Abby adored wasn’t coming back.
She looked around the bedroom, thinking her circumstances weren’t any better here than they were in LA. If anything, they were worse, she thought as she added the guest room ceiling to her to-do-before-putting-on-the-market list. She’d had ten items on her list even before she’d broken into the farmhouse through the front door. There’d been a tiny crack in the glass so she hadn’t felt too bad about breaking it. Except replacing the window now ended up on her list too.
She’d decided not to wait for the lawyer to arrive with the key, and she hoped it didn’t come back to bite her as hard as breaking into Chandler’s cosmetics company had. If not for smelling like rotten eggs and her skin being coated in pond scum, Abby would’ve waited for the lawyer to arrive. Then again, putting a locked door between her and Hunter Mackenzie had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Securing the towel at her chest, Abby ducked to climb onto the big brass bed that was framed by two windows. She winced when the headboard clunked against the log wall, waiting a second before leaning across the mountain of pillows to get a look at the men.
Without window coverings, she had to be careful of leaning over too far. She imagined that her great-aunt felt curtains were unnecessary since the farm was in the middle of absolutely nowhere. If Liz Findlay was as big a nature-lover as the paintings in the farmhouse suggested, the older woman probably enjoyed her unfiltered view of the trees.
Obviously, she and her great-aunt had nothing in common, Abby thought as she looked down at the two men on the patio below.
She gasped. Hunter Mackenzie had called the police! She recognized the older man as a policeman from his navy uniform, shiny gold badge, and big gun. Still, he was way less intimidating than the man sprawled on the chair opposite him. Hunter looked to be about thirty years younger than the gray-haired man with the handlebar mustache. He also had at least six inches on the older man and a good deal more muscle.
Unbidden, an image of Hunter shirtless came to mind. The way the sun had shone down on his thick, wavy chestnut-colored hair, bringing out the copper highlights. How his golden-bronze skin had glistened. The way his muscles…Okay, that was enough of that. She tried blinking the image away. But, like the man, it was a very stubborn image and seemed destined to remain on her visual keeper shelf.
Not that she was into men who belonged on the cover of Men’s Health. Some women went crazy for the hot lumberjack type, but not her. She preferred men who were long and lean. Pretty boys, her father would’ve said. She frowned. For years, she hadn’t spared her father a passing thought but in the past few days, he’d been on her mind a lot. It was only natural, she supposed. Liz was his aunt, after all.
Abby refocused on the man sprawled on the red Adirondack chair. Hunter had changed into an olive-green T-shirt that hugged his wide chest, hinting at the eight-pack beneath. There was a military insignia she couldn’t make out on this left pec. Given his bearing and the way he liked to bark orders, it wouldn’t surprise her if he’d been a ranking member of the armed forces. He probably knew a hundred ways to kill a person, she thought with a glance at his big, powerful hands. They were steepled on his chest as he watched the man across from him light a cigar.
The police officer blew out a tendril of sweet-smelling smoke. “I don’t know what possessed Liz to leave the place to that girl. Before you came along, she’d promised it to me, you know.” He nodded, looking around before refocusing on the man in front of him. “If it wasn’t for you, Hunt, I’d take the city gal to court. Fight her for this place. I’d probably win too.”
Abby buried her face in the pillow to cover her gasp upon learning another man might stand in her way.
“You probably would, Owen.”
Abby lifted her head to frown down at Hunter. He certainly didn’t seem to mind if this Owen person inherited the farm.
“Yep, probably.” The older man nodded again and chewed on the end of his cigar. “At least with me, you know I wouldn’t be selling the place. You’d always have a home here. But as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to go against Lizzie’s last wishes. She must’ve had a reason for leaving it to the girl. You sure she never said anything to you?”
“Not a word.”
Panic loosened its grip on Abby’s chest, and she breathed a little easier. At least they weren’t going to try and steal her inheritance away.
“She promised the place to you, didn’t she? And not just the meadow and barn.”
Hunter nodded, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “A couple months after I’d been here, Liz started making noises about leaving me the farm. I told her she’d probably outlive me and to stop talking about it. I had no idea she’d left me the land and barn until Eden called.”
“Eden gave me a bunch of bull crap about lawyer-client confidentiality, but as far as I could tell, Liz changed her will a couple months before she died. You think she was of sound mind when she did?”
Abby held her breath. Owen was still looking for a loophole. And worse, Hunter wasn’t lying. He really did own half of Honeysuckle Farm. A lucrative half, given that the barn appeared to be in better condition than the farmhouse, not to mention the amount of land he owned.
Hunter raised eyes that Abby knew were the color of the summer sky at the man sitting across from him. From Owen’s defeated sigh, she imagined the older man had been on the receiving end of an icy, penetrating stare similar to the one Hunter had leveled at her earlier.
“Fine. I won’t contest the will. But by the time I’m finished with her, that city gal will be begging you to take the farm off her hands.”
Abby gasped, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Careful now, Owen. You never know who’s listening, and that sounded like a threat. You’re chief of police for another few weeks.” From the way he glanced up, Abby could’ve sworn Hunter had heard her gasp.
“No harm in showing Miss Fancy Pants what she’s getting herself into, now is there? You told me yourself she was going to be a pain in your ass. So the way I see it, the sooner we get her gone, the better. In all these years, she didn’t so much as pay Lizzie a visit or give her a call. And now she waltzes in here and steals the farm out from under us? Seems only fair we give her a taste of Highland Falls retribution.”
“I’m a pain in your patootie, Mr. Lumberjack? Well, let me tell you something,” Abby shouted out the window. She went up on her knees on the mattress, leaning over to grab the window frame. She wanted to make sure they heard her loud and clear and saw that there wasn’t a speck of fear on her face. “You—”
Her towel let loose. With a panicked eek, she grabbed the edge of the fabric and scrambled backward, only she went too far and fell off the bed.
* * *
Hunter was beginning to think Abby Everhart was the most accident-prone person on the planet, or the clumsiest. Either way, Owen might be doing her a favor with his plan to frighten her away. Except she hadn’t looked scared up in that window a few minutes ago. From the glimpse he’d gotten of her expression before her towel fell off, she’d looked angry. He couldn’t recall her face once she lost the towel but the view had been spectacular.
His lips twitched as he recalled the muttered curse words that followed her yelp and the thud of her falling off the bed. She had a creative way of expressing herself.
At the squeak of the back door opening, Hunter said to Owen, “Not a word.”
The older man looked up with a frown. His hearing wasn’t what it used to be. His eyesight wasn’t either, which Hunter imagined Abby would be happy to hear. But that wasn’t something he’d tell her. He couldn’t without giving himself away.
He heard her whispering something to her dog before he saw her. It sounded like she was warning Bella away from Wolf. He fo
und himself bracing for the moment Abby came into view and wasn’t exactly sure why. He was attracted to women who were strong and determined. Women who didn’t want or need a man to make their life complete. Women who were happy with the simple things in life.
So when Abby Everhart sashayed onto the patio wearing a cherry-printed dress that matched her dog’s, the last thing he should be feeling was heat low in his belly. He should be snorting a sardonic laugh at her mile-high shiny red heels, not craving the feel of her lush curves filling his hands.
Hunter shifted in the chair. Owen was right. Abby Everhart had to go, and she had to go now. But when he looked into her eyes, he couldn’t say the cutting words that would help send her on her way. He didn’t know why. He had no problem saying the words that kept his family and friends at bay. The only explanation he had for his reluctance to hurt her was that there was something he recognized in her eyes.
“Hello, gentlemen. I don’t see a housewarming present so I’m assuming you’re not here to welcome me to the neighborhood.” She went to set Bella—who wore a leash—on the ground, searching the sky before doing so. “Would one of you like to share?”
Her lips flattened as Bella sniffed around Wolf, who looked up at Hunter as if to say Do I have to? He knew how his dog felt. He felt the same way about the rat’s owner.
“Well?” Abby asked with a boatload of attitude, hands on her hips.
Feisty, Hunter thought. Wondering if it was an act or a characteristic of the red hair. She’d braided her long, curly locks and the braid hung over one shoulder, leaving a damp circle on her left breast. Hunter forced himself to look away.
Owen stared at the rat. “What the hell is that?”
She narrowed her eyes at Hunter before saying to Owen, “She’s my dog. And she isn’t a that.” Hunter heard the unspoken or a rat. “She’s a Yorkshire terrier, and her name is Bella. She can be vicious, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”