by Sarah Hegger
Chapter One
The best thing to welcome Claire to Twin Elks stood on the porch of Winters House with his back to her. And, damn, what a back it was.
Claire took her shades off to get a better look. She had definitely not seen him around before.
In a mesmerizing stretching and bunching of muscle beneath his white T-shirt, he was hammering something above his head. Denim lovingly cupped an ass that deserved to be carved in marble.
The view was almost worth the trip to a miserable little town full of people who wouldn’t spit on her if she was on fire.
Almost, but not quite.
The knot of apprehension riding her belly the entire two-hour drive from Denver expanded. Looking at the imposing Queen Ann mansion made her feel three years old and clinging to her mother’s hand again. The overgrown garden had been tamed since Claire’s last visit, and the exterior boards given a fresh whitewash. The house’s trim and scrollwork had been painted forest green.
Porch hottie dropped his arms and tucked the hammer into his utility belt.
She couldn’t sit in her car all day. She wasn’t that frightened child anymore but a grown woman. A woman with needs. No, not those sort of needs—okay those as well—but other, more immediate needs like making sure she could eat. She would get out and begin her fight for those needs. In a minute or two.
Short dark hair poked out beneath porch hottie’s black ball cap and clung to the sides of his sun-bronzed neck. She got stuck on his wide shoulders as she wrestled with her nerves.
A quick makeup check in the visor mirror confirmed that her war paint was still in place, but she did touch up her lipstick. Take-no-prisoners scarlet gave her a courage boost. A woman with bright red lips was not a woman to be trifled with. Her black pencil skirt and white blouse were a statement, her battle armor.
She was Claire Mathews, and she was there to save her inheritance. After all her pain and suffering, that inheritance was hers. She’d earned it.
Porch hottie turned, pushed back his ball cap and stared at her car. He sauntered down the walkway toward her car like he needed to slap a pair of six-shooters on those slim male hips.
With a last fortifying breath, she opened her car door and swung her legs out. Her favorite pair of sky-high heels hit the sidewalk with a satisfying click, and she straightened to her full five foot nine and squared her shoulders. Propping one hand on her hip, she gave the car door a nonchalant flip closed. “Good morning.”
That was a good start. Her voice had sounded calm and firm.
Stopping, he made no secret of the slow journey his gaze took from her black stilettos, over her hip-hugging skirt, up her tailored blouse, and stopped at her mouth. He grinned and said in a deep voice with a light rasp, “And hello to you.”
Claire lifted her chin and stamped on her urge to fidget. Even in that God forsaken town she would have expected a bit more subtlety. If he thought that caveman bullshit would discomfort her, he hadn’t met Claire Mathews yet.
Which he hadn’t, because she’d never seen him before. So, it stood to reason that he hadn’t met her either.
Dear God, she wanted to leap back into her car and run away.
She caught herself midturn and forced herself back around. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He didn’t look the least abashed. “We don’t get a lot of women like you around here.”
“Shocker!” She loaded as much derision as she could into one word. Praying she didn’t hit a pothole, she strode forward. “I’m here to see Horace. Is he here?”
“Horace?” He blinked at her.
“Yes, Horace Winters.” Claire spoke clearly and carefully. “The man who owns this house.”
“Well…” The confusion lifted from his face and he snapped his fingers. “Of course, you are.”
Claire needed to save her dwindling store of ballsiness for the real battle, for when she saw her father. She strode forward. “Indeed.”
He stood in the middle of the path and impeded her progress. “He’s probably expecting you. All things considered.”
“What?” That threw her off balance. Horace forewarned would be Horace forearmed. And what did “all things considered” mean? She reined herself in and gave him a haughty stare. “You’re in my way.”
“Sorry about that.” He grinned down at her, easily topping her by a couple of inches, even with her heels, and held out his hand. “I’m Finn.”
Before she could stop herself, she put her hand in his. His warm, work-roughened clasp sent tingles up her arm. To hide her reaction, she added more frost to her tone. “And you’re still in my way.”
“I know.” He kept hold of her hand. “I’m hoping to keep you here long enough to get you to talk to me.”
“Subtle.” She had to fight to hide her smile. Finn had cobalt blue eyes brim full of laughter and charm.
“Normally I am, but the shoes threw me off my game.” He leaned in, smelling of sun and warm skin. “I’ve got a weakness for shoes like that.”
“Those same shoes really need to get past you.” Gah! Now he had her playing along. Most men would be giving her a creeper vibe by now, but somehow Finn got away with it. And he was distracting her when she really needed to keep it together. She went to sidestep him, but her heel sunk into the grass to the side of the path, and she stumbled.
His tanned hand shot out and cupped her elbow. “Watch yourself.”
“I’m fine.” Claire snatched her arm away and straightened her skirt. A clump of soil stuck to the end of her stiletto.
He cocked his head at her shoe. “Want me to get that for you?”
“That’s quite all right.” Claire snatched at the crumbling edges of her dignity.
He kept his face straight, but his eyes twinkled. “I’d be more than happy to sort you out.”
“Really?” Somebody needed to put him in his place. It might not be her if he kept looking at her like she was a bowl of ice cream, and he had a craving. “Does this approach work for you?”
“I’m not sure.” He raised an inky brow. “How am I doing so far?”
“Not good.”
“Damn.” He shook his head. “And here I thought I had you at hello.”
She tried to stifle her laugh, but he caught it anyway and grinned.
“That’s better,” he said and stood to the side. “I’m sure watching those heels go will be as good as watching them come.”
Claire almost stumbled. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Yeah, I know.” He winked. “But I got you to smile, damn near got a laugh out of you, and that’s better than you marching in here like Mike Tyson entering Maddison Square Gardens.”
Whatever that meant. She hurried away from him before she made more of a fool of herself.
“Hey, Claire,” he called after her.
Son of a bitch! He’d known who she was. Claire turned and gave it to him with a double-barrel glare.
He settled his cap back on his head. “Welcome home.”
“This is not my home.” No way would she ever consider Winters House her home.
“Damn straight it isn’t.” Her father, dressed in crappy trousers and a drab shirt, stood on the porch. Hair sticking out all over his head, he looked certifiable. And wore that charming combination of anger and bitterness on his face that Claire was sure he reserved for her. “What do you want?”
Claire forced a big smile. “Well hello, Horace.” She threw her arms wide. “Surprise!”
*
Finn really liked the way Claire’s ass twitched in that tight skirt as she sashayed into the house. He was less admiring of how tightly the woman was wound. She’d climbed out of her car vibrating tension.
Horace scowled at him. “Are you staring at my daughter’s ass?”
“I’m not dead yet, Horace.” Finn took a
stroll over to the car she’d arrived in.
As entrances went, Claire’s had been a good one. Very film noir. He got the feeling she’d planned it that way.
Claire’s packaging said ball breaker, but her big green eyes screamed lost and out of her depth. It’s why he’d flirted so outrageously with her. Well, that and the fact that she’d thrown him for a loop with how gorgeous she was. He had wanted to see the woman under the permafrost.
And he’d glimpsed enough to know he definitely wanted to see more.
He popped the trunk and pulled out her baggage. Matching, of course, and high quality but not quite LV. Also, there was a lot of it. He grabbed the two large suitcases, along with a smaller one and an overnight bag, and climbed the stairs to where Horace stood. “Looks like she’s staying a while.”
“Huh.” Horace ran a hand through his hair and gave it the Bart Simpson coif. Finn caught the brief flare of hope in Horace’s eyes. Like father, like daughter, all tough and crusty on the outside, but Horace hid a tried and true heart of gold. “She didn’t tell me she was coming.”
“Does she ever?” The bags were heavy, and Finn moved around Horace into the house.
Horace limped after him. “Nope, but she only ever comes for a day or two. Stays at Pattersons hotel so I don’t know why you’re playing bellhop.”
Claire’s heels clacked on the stairs as she climbed. She had killer legs and a fantastic heart-shaped ass that a man would have to be dead not to want to sink his teeth into. Saying so would probably earn him a slap from Claire, and Horace was handy with his cane.
Dragging his bum leg behind him, Horace trailed him up the grand walnut staircase. Stubborn old coot needed to get that hip fixed and fast. Living with pain was bullshit, but Horace was like the frog in boiling water, he’d gotten used to the pain.
Stained glass on either side of the landing threw jeweled patterns across the wood floors. It was pretty as hell and a romantic gesture from a man to his young bride. The first Horace had built the old mansion for his English bride.
Claire appeared in the doorway of Finn’s bedroom. Under different circumstances, he’d be happy to see her there.
Her gaze snapped to her luggage and took a detour via his biceps. Then she looked away, blushing. “What are you doing?”
“I thought I might try my hand at stealing your bags.” He gave her his most infuriating grin. Since Horace had appeared, she had all her walls back up. “I thought I’d show them to you first, so you could pick out the good stuff for me.”
This time he didn’t get a flicker of a smile. Instead, she leaned on the doorjamb and dangled one of his T-shirts from her forefinger. “Is this yours?”
“Yup.” He put the bags down and flexed blood back into his fingers. He glanced at Horace. “Unless you’ve taken a liking to Nirvana.”
“I’m a Christian.” Horace had his miserable bastard face on, but the yearning gaze pinned on his only child made a liar out of him.
You could stir the atmosphere in the hallway with a paddle. Finn’s fight reflex kicked in and he breathed deep to dispel it. Tension was a normal part of life. It didn’t always mean danger.
Claire dropped his T-shirt on the floor and nudged it with her come-fuck-me shoes. “It’s in my room, and I’m going to need you to move it.” She waggled her fingers at the room’s interior. “Along with the rest of your stuff.”
“Yeah.” Not going to happen. Finn picked up the bags and moved to the room opposite his. Four rooms on the second floor occupied opposite corners of the hallway with bathrooms sandwiched between. “How about we put you in here?”
“You’re using my mother’s room.” Heels clopping across the wood, she followed him.
Finn winced for the wood under the pressure of those stiletto points. “As she hasn’t used it in…” He glanced at Horace. “How many years?”
“Thirty.” Horace smirked.
“Yup, thirty.” Finn nudged the door open with his toe. “I figured it was up for grabs.”
“You figured wrong.” She got in front of him and stood with her arms wide. “Like a lot of people figured wrong about me and this house. I’m here to set them straight.”
He guessed that last bit was aimed at Horace. Poppy had told him how Claire had arrived before, breathing fire and righteous indignation about her inheritance. The same inheritance Horace had tried to give to Poppy.
Damn, things could get ugly. Adrenaline prickled beneath his skin.
“I should have known that’s why you’re here.” Horace sneered. “Scared you’re not going to get everything?”
“I’m not going to let you give it away to a stranger.” Claire squared her shoulders and stuck her chin out.
Adopting a mirror pose, Horace glared back. “Don’t see as how you can stop me. I’m not dead yet.”
“Maybe I can’t stop you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for you either.”
Claire was all ready to do battle with Poppy. Finn’s former sister-in-law was as honest as they came with a heart of caramel covered marshmallow, and she would be the first one to point out the house belonged to Claire and not her. She’d already done so.
Interesting days ahead.
Finn motioned the bags and looked at Claire. “Until you two get this straightened out, where should I put these?”
The struggle played across her face, but eventually she decided she had bigger fish to fry. “This is the smallest room up here.”
“Not by much.” He knew because he’d measured every inch of them as he helped Hank Styles restore the glorious old Victorian grand dame to her former beauty. Under Poppy’s influence, Horace had finally consented to spend money on the house. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to either. Rumor had it, Horace was loaded. Rumor also had it that was the only reason Claire ever came here.
“It’s also the only one free right now.” He jerked his head. “Ryan, my nephew, is right next door, and he’s convinced his room is part of Professor Xavier’s mansion, so good luck getting him out of there.”
Placing her bags next to the massive oak wardrobe, Finn ran his hands over the piece. Beautiful wood grain shone beneath the gentle patina of polish. Built solid and to last forever, she was a thing of beauty.
From the door, Claire watched him, and uncertainty flickered over her face. “What about the master?”
“Ben and Poppy are in there.” Horace limped into the room. “The couple needs the biggest room.” He stomped out again. “They’re welcome to stay anywhere they like in my house.”
And only Finn saw the raw hurt on her face, and only in the second it took her to disguise it and sneer at Horace.
Before he and Claire went any further though, Finn needed to set the record straight.
“Just so you know, I’m Poppy’s brother-in-law. Poppy used to be married to my brother, Sean.” Finn hoped she wouldn’t hold that too much against him.
“Great.” She smiled, but it looked forced, and her eyes told him an entirely different story. “Go Team Poppy.”
Chapter Two
As Claire’s evil nemesis, Poppy Williams was a severe disappointment.
Poppy stepped into the kitchen laughing at something one of the four children behind her had said. She caught sight of Claire, and her smile dropped. “Hello, Claire.”
Below average height and fragile looking, Poppy had a sweet face beneath a cloud of dark, wavy hair. Dressed in jeans and a pale pink sweater, she would never have gotten the part of grasping gold digger.
She also looked like the sort of woman Claire would have liked to befriend.
Claire clung to her purpose. Poppy was a threat, and she needed to be neutralized. “Poppy.”
Poppy’s stamp was all over the kitchen, children’s paintings pinned to the fridge, fresh herbs on the windowsill, a jug of wildflowers in the center of the scrubbed
kitchen table.
Claire had come to make a cup of tea, and now she felt like she was the interloper, which was crazy, because Winters House belonged to her. Poppy wasn’t even from Twin Elks. She’d only appeared a couple of months earlier. Claire gave Poppy props for having made good use of the time to get cozy with Horace so quickly.
Claire filled the kettle and put it on the range to boil. Good manners made her ask. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you. I was about to get the children some lunch.” Poppy helped her oldest son hang his backpack on the pegs beside the backdoor. “You look well.”
“Thank you.” Children needed to eat, and none of it was their fault. “I can get out of your way.” And then she wanted to kick herself because the only person she was ousting was herself.
“No, that’s fine.” Poppy supervised her twin daughters hanging their bright yellow coats.
The twins took their shoes off and stared at Claire. Identical twins, they both had their mother’s dark hair and eyes, and delicate bone structure.
The silence made Claire want to fidget, and she caught herself picking her nail polish. Also red, to match her kickass lipstick. “You look well too.”
Poppy managed a tight smile. “Thanks.”
Poppy looked much better than when Claire had first seen her a few months back. The stress lines around Poppy’s mouth had eased, and she carried a lightness around with her that hadn’t been there before.
The twin wearing an adorable checked dress stared at her. “Who are you?”
“Brinn.” Poppy shot her daughter a look. “If you’d like to know someone’s name, you introduce yourself first.”
Brinn looked momentarily abashed but recovered her grin and bounced up to Claire. “Hi, I’m Brinn.” Thumb jerk at her sister. “This is my sister Ciara. We’re twins.”
“So, I see.” Claire grew dizzy watching Brinn hop from foot to foot. “I’m Claire, and I can hardly tell you apart.”
“A lot of people have that problem.” Brinn pointed at her feet. “I like your shoes.”
Brinn’s ponytails bounced around her head as she hopped.