Lilith House. Or . . . Sunnyside Manor. Only, it was as though the house had silently declared its original name to her, planting it in her brain, because she couldn’t stop thinking of it as such.
So, fine. “Lilith House it is,” she told the walls of the estate. Haddie had been right. You couldn’t just change a thing’s name.
She turned, heading out of the kitchen toward the stairs when she caught sight of a man, standing stock-still in the foyer, his gaze fixed on her, expression filled with what could only be described as hostility. She let out a startled breath, bringing her hand to her chest. “My goodness, you scared me.” She released a nervous laugh as she shook her head, attempting to shrug off the fear that had spiraled through her veins. “You must be Louis. Thanks for coming.” No thanks for not knocking and scaring me half to death. And mean mugging me before we’ve even met.
The man narrowed his eyes even further. “I’m not Louis. Who are you?” he demanded.
Scarlett frowned, unease lifting inside her. She eyed this stranger. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Handsome in a rough sort of way, though maybe the roughness could mostly be attributed to his expression and surly attitude. “Excuse me? This is my home. Who are you and why are you here?”
“Your home?” He glanced around as though he might be checking whether or not he’d stepped inside the wrong dwelling.
Perhaps he’d mistakenly ended up at this abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere when he’d meant to end up at another.
Scarlett cleared her throat. “Yes, my home. I bought Lilith House and moved in yesterday. Now I think you better tell me who you are and why you’re in my house, or I’m going to have to call the police.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and held it up, her thumb poised to dial 9-1-1. She glanced at it, suddenly noticing she had absolutely no service.
“There are no cell towers in Farrow,” the man said. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“Uh, no,” she said, looking stupidly at her phone again as if he might be lying and those three bars would suddenly appear.
He stared at her for several beats before a muscle in his cheek ticked. “In any case, I am the police.” He let out a long breath, running a hand through his short dark hair. “Deputy West.”
“I see.” She lowered her eyes to his T-shirt and downward to his jeans, landing on his boot-clad feet and then raising to his eyes once again. Green. While Haddie’s eyes were a pale sea-glass green, this man’s eyes were the green of pine trees in a sunlit forest. Beautiful. His lashes were thick and curled upward. Too pretty for a boy. Too soft for such a hard-looking man. Yeah, he was handsome, she’d give him that. But she didn’t trust handsome men—in her experience, it was too easy for them to lie.
Or maybe she was just gullible.
Anyway.
“Off duty,” he explained, and it took her a moment to re-follow the trail of the conversation. He’d obviously read her unspoken question as to his lack of a uniform.
“Is it typical that members of the police department around here walk into private residences without knocking?”
“Sheriff’s department. And I hadn’t heard that anyone bought this place.”
Scarlett returned her useless phone to her pocket. “Was I supposed to make an official announcement to the authorities?”
That muscle tic again and a slow release of breath. “We got off on the wrong foot. I apologize for entering without knocking. I saw your car and, well . . .” His words dwindled. Thought someone was breaking in? she surmised would have been the end of that sentence if he’d finished. He walked toward her and though she was tempted to step back, she held her ground. Deputy West extended his hand. “Welcome to town.” His tone conveyed anything but congeniality.
“Gee, thanks,” she muttered. She eyed his hand warily and then reached out her own. His hand enfolded hers easily, his skin browned and slightly calloused, fingers masculine and sturdy. An unwanted shiver moved through her blood. “Scarlett Lattimore.”
He nodded once, dropping her hand. “Just you?”
“What?”
“Just you living here?”
“Oh, um, no. I have a daughter, Haddie. She’s seven.”
He kept watching her as if waiting for her to continue, noting, she was sure, that there was no Mr. Lattimore. Much to her dismay, heat rose in her cheeks, and she hated herself for it.
Being a single mother