Heiress Recon. Carla Cassidy
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sure what she’d been expecting when he’d told her they were going to a friend’s place, but this definitely wasn’t it.
As lights suddenly appeared, she stared with dismay at the little cabin tucked into the woods. Okay, maybe he was right. Maybe she was just a little bit spoiled because she found the idea of spending four days in this boarded-up, dilapidated place appalling.
Troy returned to the car and motioned her out as he opened the trunk. “Is there running water?” she asked, unable to keep her repugnance from her voice.
“Sure,” he replied cheerfully. “Although the water pressure leaves something to be desired.” He pulled her suitcase from the trunk and placed his smaller black duffle beside it. “I unlocked the front door.” He picked up his duffle and headed toward the porch, a jaunty energy in his step. He paused at the doorway and turned back to her. “Are you coming?”
She looked from him to the heavy suitcase she’d brought. “I’m coming,” she muttered and grabbed the suitcase handle.
He was enjoying himself, she thought as she dragged the case across the ground toward the porch. He’d judged and condemned her as a carefree, spoiled party girl who lived a life of luxury, and he liked the idea of bringing her to this place where she’d have to carry her own suitcase through the front door.
Buck up, she told herself. If this put her father’s mind at ease, then she could deal with anything for four days, even this crappy cabin and Troy Sinclair.
She huffed with the effort to pull the suitcase up the porch and inside the front door. He could have at least helped her through the door, she thought irritably.
The cabin wasn’t quite as bad on the inside as she’d expected. She entered a room that served as both kitchen and living room. The furniture was mismatched, as if it had been collected at a thrift store, and the kitchen appliances looked older than her. There were two other doors, one she presumed led to the bedroom and the other to the bathroom.
She dragged her suitcase toward the door she guessed was the bedroom. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. “Oh, and by the way, I like my breakfast around tenish.”
It was a great exit line meant to get under his skin. Unfortunately, she had pulled her suitcase into the bathroom. With as much dignity as she could muster, she left the bathroom and yanked the suitcase into the bedroom. She ignored his grin of amusement.
Although she expected sleep to be a long time coming in an unfamiliar bed and with the events of the day to mull over, sleep came as soon as she laid her head on the pillow.
SHE AWAKENED SLOWLY, first recognizing someplace in the back of her sleep-addled mind that the bed beneath her wasn’t her own. The second thing that came to her attention was the sound of melodic birdsong.
She cracked open an eyelid and stared at the rough-hewn wooden wall in front of her. There was a window directly ahead, but only slender slivers of sunshine danced around the boards that covered almost all of the glass.
The cabin. That’s right. She was in the middle of the woods in a cabin that belonged to Troy Sinclair’s friend. She was stuck here for the next four days with a man who apparently believed she was nothing more than what the tabloid headlines claimed her to be.
Slinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabbed her robe and pulled it around her. Coffee. She could smell the fragrant scent in the air.
Quickly combing her hair with her fingers, she pronounced herself ready to tackle a big cup of java. She opened the bedroom door and instantly spied Troy sitting with his back to her at a small wooden table. At some point while she’d slept he’d removed the boards on the windows, and morning sunshine poured through the streaked glass.
“Ah, the heiress awakens. Coffee is on the counter. Unfortunately, the maid has the day off so you’ll have to help yourself.” These last words were said with a touch of mocking sarcasm.
“I suppose I can manage to make myself a cup of coffee, but anything more complicated than that is way beyond my capacity,” she replied as she walked across the room to the coffeemaker on the countertop.
She poured herself a cup of the brew, then sat at the table across from Troy. He looked as good this morning in a short-sleeved white shirt and jeans as he had the night before in his expensive suit.
“You brought me here on purpose, didn’t you? We could have gone to any resort in the country, hidden away in an expensive hotel, but you chose this place just to be difficult.”
For the first time, he smiled and the gesture warmed those gorgeous eyes of his. “I thought roughing it would be good for you, build your character. You know, no masseuse, no maid service, no cook.”
She took a sip of the coffee. “Ah, we’re back to the same thing. You don’t know anything about me, and you certainly don’t know anything about my character. I’m beginning to find you a bore, repo man.”
“I know everything I need to know about you, Bree.” He emphasized the name the press had given her.
She took another sip of coffee and eyed him over the rim of her cup. She found his instantaneous, obvious dislike of who he thought she was to be both intriguing and irritating.
She drained her coffee mug and stood, deciding that a shower and getting dressed for the day might make her feel better prepared to take on the next four days.
“I’m going to shower.” She walked halfway across the room, then turned back and smiled at him. “I like my eggs scrambled,” she said, then disappeared into the bathroom.
If he expected her to be a spoiled brat, then she could act like one. Minutes later she stood beneath a tepid spray of water, her mind flying over the events of the last couple of days.
She knew why it was so easy to exchange verbal insults with Troy; it kept her mind off the fact that her life had become horribly surreal since Curt had been stabbed. There was no question that the knife had been meant for her, that if Curt hadn’t acted quickly and taken the knife himself, she would have been wounded or worse.
She’d spent the night of the attack in the hospital with Curt, waiting while he had surgery to stitch up arm muscles that had been damaged by the cut.
It had almost been a relief for her father to tell her that she’d been threatened because of a business deal he was working on. Before he’d told her his suspicion, she’d been unable to imagine why anyone would want to harm her.
Hopefully, the meeting her father mentioned he had on Wednesday night would resolve this issue and she could get back to her life, a life that would no longer involve L.A. or the paparazzi.
Her life in California was always meant to be temporary. Her one true love was the Precious Pets Animal Haven she owned in Kansas City. She’d hoped to have a chance to tell her dad that she was moving back and taking over the day-to-day running of the business she loved.
She’d already told Mike Kidwell, her manager at the Haven, that she hoped to be working side by side with him in the next couple of weeks.
She shut off the shower and grabbed one of the thin towels to dry off. Hopefully, she’d be able to tell her dad the good news on Thursday. She knew he’d be thrilled with her decision.
In fact, she’d sold her dad part of the land where Precious Pets was located for his new mall. She hadn’t considered that her farmer neighbors would be up in arms over the plan for a retail area.
She dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that read BREE across the breasts, then brushed out her wet hair and left the bathroom.
Troy stood at the stove taking up crispy bacon. “If you do breakfast really well, I’ll see about letting you make me lunch and dinner, as well,” she said as she returned to her seat at the table.
He turned to look at her with narrowed eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Bree. I’ll do breakfast duty and you can do lunch. We can share dinner.”
She