tasted it. If her breakfasts were bad, her coffee was downright shitty.
How could he have been so blind?
He cursed himself a thousand types of fool for not seeing it sooner. Jenny wasn’t just trying to make his life miserable while she got his money—she was just trying to make his life miserable. Period. Money had nothing to do with it. Well, if she thought he was just going to disappear over a few bad meals, she was dead wrong. Cotton Tail had pissed off the wrong person.
He blamed himself. He’d been taken in by a set of kiss-me lips, sky blue eyes, and a body that made a man think about only one thing.
“Damn it,” he cursed and itched his leg.
He woke up this morning, ready to try talking to her once more, when he noticed his arms and legs covered in small bumps. Small, itchy bumps. And the more he scratched, the more they itched. During breakfast, Jenny kept glancing his way which, in and of itself, was odd, since she’d done everything she could to avoid him this past week. But this morning, she’d hung around. He knew she was there for the charter, to assist the passengers and help Zeke with any last-minute preparations. But for a short while he’d also been lulled into the false euphoria that she was about to hand over his money.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
All during breakfast, he’d been scratching his arms and legs, wondering what the hell he’d gotten into.
Twice she asked him if he was all right. Twice he’d told her he was fine. By the third time, he wised up.
“I saw you out pulling underbrush yesterday,” she’d said after he’d gone after a particular nasty bump, her voice full of earnest concern, her eyes wide with innocent distress. “I hope you didn’t get into any stinging nettles. They can be miserable.”
Earnest and innocent his ass. Behind those baby blues lurked all the compassion of MiG on his tail. It was right then he realized he’d seriously underestimated his adversary. A fact that didn’t sit well with him.
The lousy food. The crappy coffee. The silent treatment. And now—hives.
This time, he hadn’t given her the satisfaction of an answer. He went outside and looked through the weeds he’d cleared. Halfway through the pile, he saw them: stinging nettles. And she’d known just what he’d been getting into and hadn’t said a word.
So she wanted to play dirty. Nothing could have pleased him more.
As if on cue, a black SUV turned into the driveway. As it neared, the sign on the driver’s side door came into view: Hidden Lake Properties.
Jared scratched at his leg and smiled. While he’d been working on the property, it dawned on him they were sitting on a gold mine. Literally. This piece of waterfront had to be worth a fortune. Jenny might have an aversion to selling, but Jared sure as hell didn’t.
As a short, balding man with a slight paunch got out of the SUV, Jared made his way across the beach. Reaching the SUV, he extended his hand. “Mr. Owen?”
“Brad, please,” the man said, shaking Jared’s hand. “And you must be Jared Worth.”
“Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Happy to do it.” Brad gave a short laugh. “I have to admit, even if my schedule hadn’t been open, I would have rearranged it.”
“Oh?”
“Never thought I’d see this particular piece of property go up for sale.”
Jared was sure the realtor wasn’t the only one. He glanced to the house.
“Times change.”
“That they do. That they do,” the realtor said with a brief air of sadness. “Now,” he said, grabbing a briefcase from his SUV, “I’ve brought along some paperwork I thought would help us determine a fair market value.” He paused, looked around. “I assume Jennifer will want to be present for this discussion?”
You bet your sweet ass. “She’s inside.”
“Great.”
As they neared the house, Jared saw the telltale movement of the curtains. This time, he didn’t bother hiding his smile. You can run, Cotton Tail, but you can’t hide.
“Mr. Owen.” Jenny was on the porch waiting for them.
“Jennifer.” The realtor greeted her with a warmth and familiarity that momentarily threw Jared. Then again, this town was the size of a walnut; of course they’d know each other.
Jenny shot Jared a hard, questioning look, then turned back to Brad, her mood doing a one eighty. “How’s Linda?”
“Still volunteering at the school, even though the twins graduated ten years ago.”