I can’t speak. My tongue feels frozen, jaw slack.
The fuck is happening to me?
“Who are you?” I ask roughly.
The girl swallows hard. “Uh…you’re Thorne Dalton, right?”
“I know who I am,” I grit out. “I’m asking whoyouare.”
There’s a beat of silence as the girl looks at me warily. Probably debating whether to turn around and run away. Little Red Riding Hood running from the Big Bad Wolf. Hell, I wish she would. I can’t handle her staring at me with those pretty brown eyes.
“My name’s Aria Lawson,” she says eventually.
The surname is familiar.
“You related to Bonnie?” I ask.
“I’m her granddaughter.”
There’s a hint of an accent when she speaks. New York. Hell, Aria has city girl written all over her. Expensive coat. Unscuffed boots. Neatly polished nails. Bonnie’s son, Frank, moved to New York back when I was just a teen. This must be his kid. Which means…
Shit.
The pieces fall into place with a jolt of realization.
“You’re here about the cabin.”
My words are a low growl—a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” Aria bites her lip. “I’m here to talk about it.”
When my dad left me this cabin, I knew it was only half mine. The other half belongs to Bonnie’s son, Frank Lawson. But he’s never shown any interest in this place. Hell, why would he care about some tiny log cabin? The man is busy making serious money in New York real estate.
I don’t give a damn what the paperwork says.
This place is mine.
It’s taken years of hard work to make it a home, and now some pampered princess thinks she can show up and take it from me.
“Can I come in?” Aria asks.
“No.”
Her face falls. “I just want to talk, Thorne.”
Hearing my name in her sweet little voice loosens something in my chest. I know I’m being an asshole. This girl is half my age, half my size, and looks intimidated as hell. But I can’t help feeling pissed. She doesn’t need this cabin, and neither does her dad. Hell, the man’s a multi-millionaire. They must live a life of luxury back in the city. What could they possibly want with my tiny little cabin?
“Listen, princess,” I say gruffly, “if you want to talk, get your dad to call me. Doesn’t need to send his kid to do his dirty work.” I start to close the door on her.
“My dad’s dead.”
My hand freezes on the door handle, ice slipping down my gut. I look at Aria. Her mouth quivers, but she meets my gaze without wavering.
“I’m sorry…didn’t know.”
I barely knew Frank Lawson. Only met him once or twice before he moved to New York when I was a teenager. But I feel my chest tighten in sympathy as I look at the daughter he left behind.
“He had a heart attack three months ago,” she says, blinking hard. “He left me half this place in his will. That’s why I’m here…” She tapers off with a shiver, an icy chill cutting through the surrounding forest.
