Chapter One

      Paige Harper punched the heel of her hand into the bread dough she was working as the doorbell rang for the third time.

      “Still ignoring it,” she muttered under her breath.

      She turned the dough, stretched it against the counter then reached out and hit the volume button on the portable speaker at the edge of her work space. Barry Manilow’s rich voice filled the space, drowning out all other noise. Even the chatter in Paige’s head.

      She continued the rhythmic kneading, flouring her hands when they began to feel tacky. Bread was new for her, and she loved the intensity of working the dough, the strength it took to mold it into a smooth ball.

      Closing her eyes, she hummed along with the music as Barry sang about long, rocky beaches.

      Just as the song came to its crescendo, Paige felt a tap on her shoulder. In the space of a few minutes, she’d become so wrapped up in the motions and the music, she’d forgotten about the world outside her kitchen.

      Which was why the man standing behind her scared the living daylights out of her. She screamed and hurled the hunk of bread dough at him. Unprepared for the assault, he let out an oof as it hit his stomach then dropped and landed with a thunk on the wide-plank floor.

      Paige grabbed her phone, turning off the music and plunging the kitchen into a sharp silence.

      She and Shep Bennett stared at each other for several seconds then simultaneously glanced down at the sad lump of dough on the floor.

      “What are you doing in my house?” she demanded. “You’re lucky I was making bread and not polishing the barrel of my Glock.”

      “You own a Glock?” Shep asked, his full lips struggling not to pull into a smile. “I find that hard to believe.”

      Okay, the truth was she’d never held any kind of gun, Glock or otherwise. She’d heard the term used on the Law & Order spin-offs she’d binge-watched this week. She’d made it to season six out of approximately three hundred and fifty and knew way more about police procedures than any civilian had a right to. Not that she was going to admit that to Shep.

      “You’re still trespassing,” she said through clenched teeth, ignoring the spark of heat that raced along her skin as Shep gave her an appraising once-over.

      The perusal didn’t take long as there wasn’t much of her to see. Five feet two inches tall with slim hips and very little in the way of curves anywhere else. Paige wasn’t a woman who’d normally attract the attention of a drop-dead gorgeous man like Shep, with his lean, muscled build and tousled dark hair. Not to mention those whiskey-colored eyes. She wasn’t looking to attract his attention anyway. Shep Bennett would clearly be a handful, and she had too much on her plate already.

      “He’s here with me,” a voice said from the back door and Paige dragged her gaze away from Shep.

      Lorena Jones, the thirtysomething real estate agent Paige’s mother had hired without bothering to mention it to Paige, walked into the kitchen, frowning as she took in the state of the room. “I left you three messages about a final walk-through today,” she said, her glossy mouth pulling down at the corners.

      “I didn’t get them,” Paige mumbled.

      “Liar,” Shep whispered under his breath then winked, like this was some kind of game.

      It wasn’t a game for Paige. This was her life, and Shep was well on his way to ruining it.

      “Have you scheduled movers?” Lorena continued as if Paige hadn’t spoken. “Your mother told me—”

      “She’s not going to sell the house,” Paige blurted. “She changed her mind.”

      Lorena crossed her arms over her chest. Her ample chest, Paige couldn’t help but notice. It was difficult to ignore those assets, encased in a dark gray bandage dress more appropriate for a big-city nightclub than a Tuesday morning in Crimson, Colorado. “I spoke with her on the way here,” Lorena countered. “She didn’t mention that to me.”

      Paige glanced at Shep, expecting to see him ogling Lorena. Most men would, but his gaze was still trained on Paige, his head inclined like he was trying to riddle out some sort of puzzle. Not having anything to do with her, she guessed. She had no secrets.

      “She probably doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Paige lied. Her mother would cut someone off at the knees if it served her purpose. “She appreciates the work you’ve done so far.”

      Lorena sniffed, fluffing her wavy blond hair. “I’ve barely done a thing since you wouldn’t give us access to the house.”

      “Because I’m not leaving.” Paige congratulated herself that her voice didn’t waver. She said the words strong and sure, the way she’d been practicing in the bathroom mirror every night this week.

      “The closing is set for this week,” Lorena reported tartly. “All that’s left is to complete the terms of the financing. Shepherd is going to take possession, so you’ll need to have your personal belongings out of here. You’re under a time crunch, but you have to manage it, Paige. Obviously, the furniture stays since your mother made the sale of it part of the contract.”

      “She did what?” Now Paige couldn’t keep the emotion from her voice.

      “Take anything that has special meaning to you,” Shep said gently—far too gently—like she was a fragile piece of china. That wasn’t his personality. Although Paige didn’t really know the man, she’d bet her life that gentle didn’t come naturally to him. The fact that he could manage it for her made her feel more pathetic.

      “This house has meaning to me.” She jabbed a finger against the counter. “It’s my home. My business.”

      “You haven’t even officially opened,” Lorena pointed out, none too helpfully.

      “I’m aware of that.” Paige turned toward the counter, gripped the edge and looked down at her flour-coated hands, swallowing back the tears that rose up hot in her throat. The plan had been for The Bumblebee Bed-and-Breakfast to be operational by now. If the plans for renovations and her budget had stayed on track, the inn would be filled with guests for the busy Rocky Mountain summer tourist season.

      But nothing had gone quite according to plan for Paige, not for years. She wasn’t supposed to be pushing thirty alone, with only a ramshackle house to her name. No, not even that. Her grandmother had left the beloved Victorian to her only daughter when she’d died a year ago.

      It still hurt that Nana had left the inn to Paige’s mother when Paige had always loved the property, but that emotional slight didn’t stop her from wanting to continue