Is Kate a lawyer?
He had to know if Kate was Catriona Robinson, Attorney at Law, before this thing—whatever it was—went any further.
Good night.
Is that a yes?
That’s a “keep me out of this.”
Great. Was it possible that he’d just rescued the woman trying to evict him—twice? Worse, that he’d developed an insane attraction to her?
Damn his luck. Kate had it all wrong. She wasn’t the one who was cursed—he was.
He tossed his phone aside and stretched out his legs, which reached almost to the opposite wall.
Amazingly, in about fifteen seconds, he was asleep.
Chapter Six
There was a man in her room.
Kate almost screamed, but she remembered just in time that alerting the intruder she was awake might be a bad idea.
So she lay still, heart racing. A few terrifying moments from the past couple of months rushed back to her. Hearing someone at her window. Footsteps following her through her parking garage. The sound of a letter dropping through her mail slot.
Where the hell was she? This didn’t look like her LA condo. Or her room at Emma’s farmhouse. And yet she was tucked into a cozy bed and someone had obviously been taking care of her. A box of tissues lay next to her head.
Cautiously, she lifted her head just a bit. Would the man notice? Would he come after her? He was slouched in the chair, arms folded across his chest, long legs stretched out to infinity. His thick hair was mussed as if he’d been in bed, his face shadowed.
He was a big man, huge in that inadequate chair.
Big man…holy shit, it was the hottie bassist! She searched her mind for his name. Darius. The one who’d rescued her from the mud.
How had she ended up here with Darius, and why weren’t they both in the bed? Was this the least successful one-night stand ever?
Her head throbbed. Hangover. Oh, right. In bits and pieces, it all came back to her. She’d been doing shots with Maya and Jess, and then they’d danced, and then she’d gone up to the stage to flirt with Darius and then…she wasn’t entirely sure what had happened after that. She had a vague memory of getting hit on the head, but the details were still foggy.
Darius must have brought her back here and treated her. She remembered concerned gray eyes behind a pen light. Something cold. Trying to flirt and getting shot down.
Ugh. She had to get home. As long as blood wasn’t pouring out of a gash, there was no reason she couldn’t drive back to Lost Harbor.
Carefully, she pushed the blanket off her, realizing that she still had all her clothes on. That One Stupid Thing she’d been dreaming about—yeah, that obviously hadn’t happened.
Just as well, she really couldn’t afford to do anything stupid. She’d maxed out on stupid when she’d sacrificed her career for her deadbeat dad.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and gave herself a minute to adjust. Her head was pounding, the pain centralized around a spot above her temple. She touched it and found the raised surface of a bruise.
Add one more disaster to the heap of crap that was her life.
She tiptoed across the room. He didn’t budge. Should she wake him up and thank him? Or at least get his contact info? There wasn’t really any point. She’d regressed to Naughty Kate days and completely embarrassed herself. At this point, she was better off heading home and putting this entire mortifying incident in the rearview mirror.
Seeing no sign of her purse or jacket, she gave Darius one last look, committing his hotness to memory, and slid out the door.
Dawn was already turning the wispy clouds a shy pink, like a flock of blushing maidens. The cabin was one of several arrayed behind the Moose is Loose Saloon. She saw her Saab parked where she’d left it, along with a few other vehicles.
The roadhouse had a rough-and-ready look, like an old drunk sleeping off a late night. A nearly life-sized carved moose stood watch by the door, perched on its wooden hind legs. Giving it a wide berth, she pushed open the door. Unlocked, which wasn’t surprising around here.
The place was empty and still held the detritus of last night—empty bottles, dirty floor, even a couple of customers passed out on the tables. The stage was empty of everything except Darius’ standup bass, which lay flat on its back, as if it too had drunk a little too much.
“Hello?” she called, in case anyone was around.
No one answered, so she lifted the pass-through and stepped behind the bar. Jackpot—her bag and jacket were crammed onto a shelf against the wall, along with a random assortment of other lost objects—including a black cowboy hat.
That brought back a flash of lust. Darius in that black cowboy hat, playing his heart out onstage. Flashing that wild grin at her.
She still didn’t know if he lived in Oregon. Fingers crossed, he did and would be back there soon.
Her head throbbed and she decided to skip any more trips down memory lane. She extracted her jacket and put it on, then did a quick search of her bag and found nothing missing. Most importantly, her car keys were still there.
Okay then. Things were looking up.
Outside, the fresh dawn air kissed her face, reviving her even further. She slid into her Saab and let out a deep breath of relief.
Let that be a lesson, she told herself as she turned the key in the ignition. Kate Robinson can’t afford any Stupid Things.
No matter how hot they looked in a black cowboy hat.
Emma was already up and about, tossing feed to her beloved chickens and her flock of “guard” geese, when Kate crested the sloping drive that delivered workers and occasional visitors to the farm. She wore her purple flannel pajamas and clogs—her usual morning chores outfit.
Emma had lived a wild life. Her past careers included dog musher, crab fisher, city councilperson, and that was just scratching the surface. Occasionally she’d drop a casual comment about cooking at the North Slope or hitching a ride on a cargo ship that would blow Kate’s mind.
The first time Kate’s parents had sent her to Lost Harbor to stay with Emma, they’d been negotiating their divorce. Kate had been a hurt and angry pre-teen who’d had no idea such a thing as a peony farm existed.
She’d thrown herself into the summer peony harvest because it was something to do, and because she adored her grandma. Emma didn’t mind if Kate acted like a brat and dropped curse words. She seemed to understand why she got into so much trouble.
After all, Emma was a hard-core adventurer whose one marriage had lasted only long enough to have a baby girl. She’d decided at the age of sixty-five that she wanted to slow down and smell the flowers. For someone with her degree of energy, that meant buying a piece of land and creating a peony farm.
The name Petal to the Metal pretty much described her entire attitude toward life. It also paid tribute to her lifelong love of Harleys.
Emma knew that something bad had happened in LA, and she knew that it involved Kate’s dad, Frank Robinson. She even knew that Kate had come back to Lost Harbor because she was afraid. Kate had tried to spare her the details, but much of the story had slipped out.
The day after Kate had arrived, Emma had shown off her collection of firearms. “I won’t ask any questions, but just in case,” she’d said, hefting a hunting rifle in one hand. “I want you to know I’m ready.”