“I don’t get why your father would just send you off to a stranger,” I say. “It doesn’t sound like something a father would do.”
She scoffs. “I agree with you there. Dad doesn’t care about me. He probably never did. I don’t think he really has the capacity to care about anything other than money and power.”
“Just let me get this straight for a second, okay? Because this happened so fast.” I take in a breath, blow it out, and Hattie eyes me carefully. “I saved your father’s life out on the trail, and in return he sent me his daughter. Is that it so far?”
“I don’t know,” she shoots back. “Is it?” Then her shoulders droop and she looks around. Probably at my modest cabin. At my flannel shirt. At my absolutely bemused face. “It is, isn’t it?”
“What a guy,” I say sarcastically. Despite herself, she laughs.
“He’s a user. He uses people. I guess he’s been trying to think of a use for me for a while, and now he finally has it.” She raises her arms, then lets them fall and slap her sides. For a moment, I can’t tear my eyes away from her perfect, petite figure. “I’m a thank you gift.”
“Hattie, obviously this isn’t what I wanted. You can take off whenever you’re ready.” I lick my lips, secretly hoping she might want to stay and have a drink, or some dinner, but this situation is so crazy I wouldn’t blame her if she ran for the hills.
She looks me up and down — and am I imagining it, or is there something there in her eyes too? I can’t stop staring at her, wishing she could stick around for a while. Nobody so fascinating, so fiery, so goddamn sexy has ever pounded on my door before. I want to know everything about her, from where she grew up all the way to how her lips taste.
Jimbo has finally come over to inspect her, having forgiven her and the group of strange men for making him bark so much. Hattie cracks a big smile and scratches his face, and finally my old lab’s tail starts to beat on the wood wall.
“What’s his name?” she asks.
“That’s Jimbo,” I say. “He’s seen better days, but you couldn’t ask for a better dog.”
She squats, and throws her arms around his neck, letting out a sigh. “I love dogs,” she mumbles, and then gets up again, looking a little embarrassed. It makes me warm to her all the more. “Was never allowed a pet, growing up.”
I stare at her for a while, wondering what the hell had to happen to ensure this woman walked into my life like this. A lot had to happen exactly right. And that sounds like fate to me.
“You’ve had a pretty weird day, huh?” I ask. She laughs. “You want a drink?”
A pause. It’s warmer than the silences before. I can sense that, naturally, she’s a very warm person. I’m seeing her on her worst day, and I’m still drawn to her like crazy. That’s got to mean something. Her lips twitch.
“Yes, Holt. I want a damn drink.”
Four
Hattie
Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse — my father shipping me off to a stranger without so much as a warning, or the fact that I find said stranger achingly attractive.
Holt is the kind of man you forget actually exists when you live in a penthouse in LA. He’s the salt of the earth. Calm, strong, at ease in himself. He isn’t pacing around yelling into a Bluetooth headset like the men I’ve grown used to being around. He’s either actually a pretty good guy, or he’s one of the best liars I’ve ever met.
I can’t just dismiss the fact that he might be seriously dangerous. But… first, I’ll let this play out. I’m exhausted, it’s been an awful day, and maybe it’d be nice for a guy to wait on me a little.
Then I’ll see if he’s telling the truth about whether or not I can up and leave.
“You hungry?”
I look around at the kitchen, decorated with rustic wood and polished granite countertops. There are actual wood beams. Rafters. Whatever.
This is such a far cry from anything I’m used to, I’m already feeling like a fish out of water. My eyes are welling up, and I sit on one of his bar stools in the cute little breakfast nook and bury my face in my hands.
If I had seen this house under different circumstances, I’m sure I’d kind of love the aesthetic. But now, it’s just the place I’ve been sent away to. It might be the place I’m trapped. Sure, there’s a different view from these windows, and a different color scheme, but I might be in exactly the same situation I’ve always been in.
I feel, to my surprise, the gentle weight of a hand on my shoulder. When I look up, Holt looks down at me with a sad, almost guilty expression on his face. “Sorry,” I sniffle.