daughters, who were walking toward them, couldn’t hear. “You can think whatever you want about me. But hear this. That house—” he jutted his thumb toward the cottage “—I own it. Ida left it to me. So you don’t get a say in its future. For once in my life, no one is going to tell me how I should act or do things. Especially not a woman who has been freeloading off my aunt for who knows how long.”
“Freeloading?” Maggie jerked her head back.
“I guess I forgot to tell you.” He smirked. “Ida left me the inn, too.”
Ice water filled her veins. She’d wondered...but hearing him say he owned her family home was much worse than she’d imagined.
When she didn’t speak, Kellen continued. “So I’d be careful if I were you, Maggie. Because I have the right to sell the mansion, too.”
Maggie spun back toward the inn and staggered through the yard. She fumbled with the latch on the gate that connected the two homes. At the moment she wished the three-foot-high picket fence was a ten-foot-tall cement wall so she couldn’t see Kellen or the cottage. So she could block them out and pretend he didn’t exist. But what did it matter?
He owned the West Oaks Inn.
Kellen Ashby could kick her out and tear down or sell the home she’d grown up in. The man who didn’t care about the past owned her only connection to hers.
The legacy she’d lost.
Numb, Maggie opened the back door and strode past the mess in the kitchen.
She’d better start packing her things, because with the way she’d just spoken to her new boss, she could guarantee she was very soon to be homeless and unemployed.
* * *
“If you want to take in the sights, I can watch the girls for you.” Mrs. Rowe—the lawyer’s wife—smoothed her hand over the French braid she’d finished on Skylar’s hair.
“Me next.” Ruthy handed the older woman a hair tie and plopped down in front of her.
Kellen smiled as the three females laughed together. While his daughters loved when he gave them attention, they seemed to practically glow under the care of a woman. For the hundredth time he wished he could have given them a better mother in life. One day when he had to explain to them that their own mother hadn’t wanted them, what would he say? That they meant so little to her that she’d signed away her rights the second Kellen offered to give up his claim to all the royalties he earned for writing the Snaggletooth Lions’ popular songs?
He’d never pictured cozying up with Ida’s lawyer and his wife, but he didn’t know many people in town yet. Besides, they were a kind old couple who seemed taken with his daughters.
“We don’t have any grandchildren of our own. Both of my sons decided to pursue careers instead of families. I’m afraid that’s a thing with this generation.” She tickled the back of Ruthy’s neck, causing her to erupt with squeals.
He couldn’t blame the Rowes’ sons. Kellen had taken off from home with only his passion for music lodged in his heart. Not a dream of family. His daughters hadn’t been planned. Family fell into his lap. But he’d choose them now. “Maybe your sons will change their minds.”
Mr. Rowe ducked through the cottage’s small doorway. “How’d the sale go today?”
“Not as well as I hoped, but then again, it’s a Friday and people are working. I’ll try again tomorrow. I really need to clear out the place before the truck with my stuff gets here.”
“I could set you up for an auction. You might do better that way.”
The lawyer was probably in his midfifties. Even though he wasn’t working today, Mr. Rowe wore dress slacks with a tucked-in polo and shined dress shoes. Kellen doubted the man owned a single pair of jeans.
“That’s a good idea.”
“It’ll take one call.”
“Go ahead and do it.” Kellen leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched his girls as they chatted with Mrs. Rowe. The woman pulled a baggie of cookies from her purse.
“Oh! Let’s have a tea party.” Skylar jumped up and down and then proceeded to show Ruthy how to nibble her cookie “just-so.” Because that was how ladies ate, apparently.
He’d have to dig back through the garage and save a few of Ida’s unsold teacups for them. Maybe Maggie was right about keeping a few special belongings. His girls would imagine themselves queens of far-off lands if they were allowed to use Ida’s china.
The lawyer pulled a smartphone from his back pocket. “You look stressed, son. Why don’t you take a walk? It would do you good to have a breath of fresh air. My wife and I will stay with the girls.”
Kellen really didn’t want to leave Skylar and Ruthy with people he hardly knew. Then again, there was something he needed to take care of. “If you could stay with them for a couple minutes, actually that would be great.”
He bowed out of the room and started toward the Victorian mansion next door. The sun had begun to set, making the sky purple, but even in the dim evening light the sage clapboard and pink-painted details on the home were easy to spot. The carved wood that trimmed every dormer and corner of the house spoke of a long-forgotten time period. Guests must bump down the driveway, gasping when they first saw the place, and look forward to the rest and relaxation they’d find inside.
The inn might belong to him, but the way he’d delivered the information to Maggie West had been nothing short of cruel. When she challenged him about redoing Ida’s home, he’d spat out the word freeloader without thinking. She deserved an apology.
Maggie might be too attached to earthly treasures, but that was her beef to worry about, not his. It was just...he’d thought he’d escaped materialistic people by moving his girls away from Los Angeles. So much for his ideal vision of Goose Harbor being a safe haven to raise his family away from the worldly influences of the country’s pop culture. He welcomed the realization, though—no place was perfect and he’d never be able to shelter his girls from everything. Not completely. At least people didn’t walk around Goose Harbor half-dressed, although that could have more to do with the climate than anything else. Either way, that was one small victory.
Kellen eased through the gate that connected the two yards. He spotted Maggie right away. Knees in the wet dirt around the flower beds, Maggie yanked out weeds while mumbling under her breath. She worked quickly and had a smear of mud across her forehead. Kellen bit back a smile. The woman moved like the cartoon Tasmanian Devil. All frenzied motion. All passion.
Maybe that was why, despite wanting to steer clear of women who cared more about possessions than people, he felt drawn to her. When they’d argued earlier, a fire flicked across her eyes. Maggie West didn’t do anything halfway. Even if something was going to be done wrong, it would be done with ten times more zeal than it required.
He stopped about a foot behind her. She yanked out a dandelion and tossed it over her shoulder.
The weed landed on his leather shoe. “Are you able to take a break?”
Hand to her heart, Maggie jumped. “I didn’t hear anyone sneak up behind me.” She stopped her laugh when
