it from him.”
That surprised her. “He didn’t tell me anything about renting the house. When did that happen?”
“Ben rented me a room when I first moved to town and I continued to rent the place when he moved in with his lady friend almost a year ago.”
“Dad had a girlfriend?” She’d been dreaming of princesses and white knights, but clearly she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. As far as she knew, Dad had never had a lady friend.
“I remember you now, from my father’s funeral.” Usually great with names, she reached for his and came up short. The funeral had been hard for her. She took a stab. “Gabe?”
“Nate.” He corrected. “Nate Connor.”
“Well, Nate, it seems you took over Dad’s job, and you took over his house.”
His expression frosted over. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing nefarious.” She waved off his paranoia. “I’m just saying this is my house.”
She’d only come back to River Run to sell the house so she could move to Los Angeles and pursue her songwriting career.
She’d escaped this town when she graduated from high school—couldn’t leave the little burg fast enough—and nothing had changed since. With her dad’s passing the small town had even less going for it now than it had when she was a kid.
So no, she hadn’t crept through Dead Man’s Pass praying to a deity she hadn’t spoken to in way too long to be kicked out of her own home.
“It’s your house, but it’s rented to me. I have a contract if you’d like to see it.” Nate crossed his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to pop. “You didn’t talk to your dad much, did you?”
The truth she’d come to acknowledge since her dad’s passing hit her hard. Hearing the censure from the current sheriff didn’t help.
“You don’t know anything about my relationship with my father.” Anger had her pushing to her feet. The ankle she’d injured walking up the snow-covered path from the car to the front door protested at the sudden motion, at the sudden weight, and gave out on her.
He caught her before she could fall, putting those impressive biceps to work, his grip under her elbows easily holding her weight off the sore foot.
“Are you okay?” Exasperation sat alongside concern in the question.
“Fine.” She attempted to shrug off his touch, but he held firm until she was seated once again. “I tripped on something on the way up the walk.”
He frowned. “I’ll check it out tomorrow. Do you need ice for your ankle?”
It irked to hear him playing host in her house. She shook her head. “I’m fine. How long did you know my dad?”
“Three years,” he said as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the newel post.
She waited, hearing the cry of a kitten in the lull, but that was all he shared. Great. Her father had been the same all her life, bound by duty, determined to steal all the joy from her life. Now it seemed there’d been more to him than she remembered, but the bearer of the news was no more talkative than her father had been.
“Not very long,” she challenged.
“Not compared to twenty-five years, no. But I talked to him, worked with him, spent time with him. You let a complete stranger make funeral arrangements.”
Shame burned in her. That had been the lowest time in her life. A bad week capped off by the loss of her father. Yeah, she should have come home and taken care of the details of Dad’s funeral, but she’d been trying to save her job, trying to hold together the fraying edges of her life.
In the end she’d only been delaying the inevitable.
“I thanked you for your help.” She tried to find a smile and a little of her patented charm to ease the way with him. She’d learned early in life that a pretty girl had power, and she wielded the tool of her looks like any other talent.
But she was too weary, too annoyed with him and the crying of his cat, to bother. Or maybe she was too unsettled by the taste of him still in her mouth to summon a smile.
And what had that been about anyway? She was supposed to have kissed him in her sleep? Right.
So okay, she’d been kissing the knight in her dream. Coincidence. By no means did that translate into smooching a stranger in her sleep.
“Huh.” He dismissed her claim of gratitude. “Where are you staying?”
She frowned. “What do you mean? This is my home, I’m staying here.”
“I have a contract that says you’re not.”
“You can’t throw me out of my own house.” Dread tightened like a fist in her gut. She couldn’t afford to pay for alternative accommodations.
“This badge says I can.”
“Please.” She gestured to her swollen foot. “I couldn’t leave if I wanted. I can’t drive.”
He drew a set of keys from his pants pocket. “I can take you wherever you need to go.”
Sleet blew against the window as the wind roared, a timely reminder of the harsh weather.
“I’m not leaving.” Defiant, she crossed her arms over her chest and made a show of settling back into the couch. The tension from the long trip was back as she faced being expelled from her own home, the stress aggravated by the cries of distress from the kitten deep in the house.
“Oh, you are.”
She shook her head, holding up a staying hand. “Before we continue this argument, can you go feed your cat? The distressful cries are driving me crazy.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have a cat.”
She blinked in surprise. “Well, then one is trying to get in. Don’t you hear that? It’s been crying for the last five minutes.”
This should be interesting. Would the big bad sheriff help the stray or leave it to fend for itself in the storm he was so ready to toss her out into?
He cocked his head as he listened. The roaring wind covered the sound for a moment and then the plaintive wail came again, weaker now. Poor kitty.
“That’s not a cat.” Suddenly his expression changed, became harder—something she couldn’t have imagined—and determined. Urgent now he moved to the front door, flung it open, and charged coatless into the blizzard. “It’s a—”
The wind grabbed his last word and garbled it, but it sounded like he’d said baby. Unbelieving, she hobbled over to the door, righted her suitcase, which had fallen, and set it and her guitar case against the wall.
Using the door for support, she peered into the darkness and screamed when Nate loomed up in
