“I can take you to court—”
“Go ahead. I encourage that. Call your lawyer and file the paperwork. Preferably from a hotel far away from me.”
He herded me toward the door again. I ducked under his arm and darted into the living room, a beat-up wooden kitchen table and chairs now between me and the immovable mountainman.
Yes, I was being irrational.
But I didn’t know how property law worked. He already lived here; did that give him an advantage? If I left, would it count as abandoning the property? Would I lose claim to something that should be mine?
I couldn’t risk it.
And I was tired. Bone-deep, heart-deep tired. I needed something familiar, something that belonged to me. I hadn’t visited Uncle Walt in too long, but I had childhood memories of this place — fishing, swimming, and campfires.
Everything around me had memories. I’d snuggled under a blanket on that tacky old couch. Watched thunderstorms from out the living room window. I’d stubbed my toe on that bookshelf, had family dinners at that table.
This entire cabin was like a warm, familiar blanket. I need it now, more than ever.
“Are you in Uncle Walt’s room or the guest room?” I blurted.
“I never moved into his room after he passed. It looks exactly the same. If you were a normal relative and not someone trying to house-jack me, I’d let you look through his things and take anything sentimental.”
A lump rose in my throat. “I want to see his room. You can stop me if you want.”
I turned, heart hammering, and walked down the hall.
He didn’t follow.
Chapter Two
Grant
Iwatched the mystery woman—Kara—walk away, having gone from furious to emotional at the mere mention of Walt’s things. I believed her when she said she was his niece. Walt had mentioned her all the time. I had probably seen a picture of her at some point and just hadn’t connected the dots.
I wasn’t sure what to make of the rest of it.
She disappeared into the hall, leaving a leopard-print suitcase and a couple of cardboard boxes cluttering the entryway. I slumped back onto the couch, stretched my legs, and let out a long exhale. I didn’t do well with people. I had always been a loner until I met Walt and started taking care of him. Going back to being alone after his death had been harder than I’d expected, but surely easier than having this hurricane as a houseguest.
I needed a plan. This was my home. I had the paperwork toprove it. But what if she did too, and I ended up out on my ass?
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. Hank. Sheriff Lawson. Well, acting sheriff—but the title didn’t matter for getting answers.
The phone felt heavy in my hand, slick with sweat despite the chill in the cabin. I stared at the worn knot in the pine wall across from me, tracing it with my eyes as it rang. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it, and I forced myself to breathe through my nose.
“Sheriff Lawson,” his voice came through, all calm authority.
“No need to be formal, Hank. It’s just me.”
He chuckled. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need me in my capacity as sheriff.”
“Whatever. Listen, I need some advice.” I told him all about the whirlwind that was Kara, and the predicament I found myself in.
As I spoke, my gaze drifted to the hallway where Kara had vanished. The faint smell of citrus lingered in the air after she’d gone, clashing with the old wood smell of this place. I hated how noticeable it was. Hated more that I noticed at all.
I could practically see Hank’s blue eyes twinkling behind the receiver. He was laughing; I was sure of it. He was one of the few people who found my standoffishness funny rather than steering clear of me and thinking I was an asshole.
“Tell me this,” he said finally, “do you think this woman is a threat to you?”
“Not unless stress can kill in a very short amount of time.”
