“There’s no cornfields here.” Katrina paused. “I mean, hopefully no clowns too.”
“In my mind, corn and clowns and farms all go hand-in-hand. And bears. Are there bears?”
Rhiannon was being deliberately silly, and Katrina appreciated it. “That I’m not sure about.”
“If you see a bear, run zigzag.”
“That’s a crocodile. Or an alligator?”
Rhiannon gave an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, do I look like a farmer?”
Katrina was still chuckling when she hung up. She searched for Jas outside. At first she’d thought he’d disappeared, but then she caught sight of him at the top of the ladder next to a tree, a drill in his hands. Cameras, she guessed.
She tucked her phone in her sweatshirt pocket, adding her little gray fidget stone before she left the room. Though she couldn’t zip up the hoodie, she did pull it tighter around her.
Katrina made her way slowly down the creaking stairs, clutching the wooden banister for balance. There were multiple framed photos on the staircase, like a small baby museum, full of chubby thighs and fat cheeks. The photos appeared to date back maybe fifty or sixty years—she assumed one of the more recent ones was Jas—ah, that one. For sure, this was him.
She paused at the last photo, smiling. Jas was maybe a couple years old, his eyebrows already beautiful at this young age, and he stared out at her with a militant glare.
She imagined he’d probably grunted at the camera as this was taken.
She ran her finger over the silver frame and looked up at the rest of the photos. There was history here, family history.
Katrina placed her hand over her heart. She’d stopped thinking of her maternal extended family long ago, but occasionally a memory or longing tapped on her consciousness. She tried to sit with that discomfort the way she did her fear, but it was a little too sharp today, exacerbated by the upheaval.
A schedule. She checked her watch. Too late for working on her latest project or the newspaper, not that she had one, but she could get to work on breakfast.
She walked through the house, taking stock. She’d lived in lavish houses for a long time, but this was about the size of her childhood home, and it was neither big nor small, but cozy, hugging her like Rhiannon’s sweatshirt.
A sliver of excitement rose inside her. Some city folks paid big bucks to go stay in a well–kept up honest-to-God farmhouse like this.
She ran her hand along the chipped, gleaming Formica counter in the kitchen and opened the fridge door. Completely empty, save for a box of baking soda and the small amount of food they’d brought with them. She pulled her starter out of the cold and placed it on the counter. “Been a while since we’ve traveled together, kiddo,” she murmured. “I’ll feed you shortly, once we get some good flour.” Was talking to sourdough starter a step too far? Possibly.
She closed the fridge and walked a couple steps to the back door, where the glass window was covered by gingham curtains. She’d see if Jas could give her an update on what the grocery situation was here, if there was delivery.
Also, she’d see Jas. Possibly doing manly things with a drill. Nice.
Back to logistics. If the food was going to take a while, she’d have to rearrange her new farm schedule, move breakfast to after a check-in with her investment team.
She turned the door alarm sensor off—Jas had used these in hotel rooms when they traveled—and tugged open the door.
And promptly screamed and jumped back.
Chapter Nine
HER SCREAM MADE the man outside also scream and dump the paper bag he held. It split open, food spilling everywhere. An apple rolled across the grass to stop at his feet.
“Oh my God,” she wheezed, and pressed her hand over her chest. “I’m—I’m—”
The man mirrored her actions and straightened to his full height, big brown eyes wide. The handsome twentysomething guy was about as tall as her, solidly built, and dressed in worn, faded jeans with a big belt buckle, a plaid shirt, and a black turban. “What the hell? You scared me!” he yelped.
She braced against the doorjamb. Most serial killers crouching outside of people’s doors probably didn’t scream or lead with chastisement. “I’m sorry.” She stretched her hand out to him. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t expecting anyone outside.” He gave her a suspicious once-over and grunted, and it was with that grunt that Katrina realized who this must be. “You’re Jas’s brother, aren’t you? Bikram?”
Before Bikram could answer, Jas came running into view, drill in his hand, fearsome scowl on his face. “What’s wrong? Why are you two screaming? Bikram, I told you to just put the bags outside the door.”
“I did not scream,” Bikram said with great dignity, and crouched to pick up the produce. “I yelped. I was startled by your . . . client.”
“So was I. I’m sorry I startled you. Everything’s fine, Jas.” Katrina stepped outside and picked up an apple. An inappropriate urge to laugh came over her. Hadn’t she thought yesterday that a solid meet-cute was someone dropping their fruit for pickup?
Well. She dusted off the dirt on the apple. That meet-cute didn’t take into account the toll on the poor fruit.
Bikram only harrumphed. She helped the men with collecting the dropped items and took them inside. Bikram trooped in after her and unceremoniously placed the rest of the food on the counter, Jas following with the other two still-intact bags that had been sitting on the grass. He spoke to his brother over his shoulder. “I asked you to stock the kitchen last night.”
“This isn’t some Airbnb.” Bikram placed his hands on his hips. With the three of them in here, the small kitchen was crowded.
She cleared her throat. “Jas, this is your brother, right?”
“Yeah. Bikram, meet Katrina King.”
Bikram nodded at her, and she didn’t think she imagined the frostiness in that one gesture. “Charmed.”
She linked her hands in front of her. What a great first impression she’d made. “Thank you for your hospitality in letting me stay here. And the food. Again, I’m sorry I screamed.”
“Yeah. Well. Jasvinder asked for a favor, and he doesn’t do that often.” He gave her another hard look she couldn’t interpret, but spoke to Jas. “Gotta go work. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait.” Katrina faltered when Jas’s younger brother turned to her. “Would you . . . can I make you some breakfast?”
Bikram blinked at her, then shook his head. “No.”
Jas grunted, a warning grunt, and Bikram straightened. “No, thanks. Bye.” He walked out the door, tromping across the grass to get to the front of the house.
Katrina made a face at Jas. “Does your brother dislike me? For something more than startling him?”
Jas went to the sink to wash his hands. His shirt and jeans were pristine, even though he’d been up a tree. His brother looked like a rugged farmer. Jas looked like a model on a shoot where he was playing a farmer. Both men were making those looks work for them.
“How could he hate you?”
“Uh, well, I said dislike, not hate. You think he hates me?”
He turned off the faucet. “He neither hates you nor dislikes you. He literally met you five seconds ago.”