she belonged. But someone would have called him with that news. At least one of his siblings would realize he’d want to know. He pulled out his cell and stared down at the standard screen saver.
He had missed no calls.
And they wouldn’t have driven out here. Nobody but Mac knew that he’d intended to come back to La Bonne Vie. And Mac thought he’d only been doing that to keep Edith safe. But if those were reporters pulling up outside the estate, who was going to keep him safe?
* * *
Edith hadn’t missed the dread on River’s face—the tension tightening his already clenched jaw. He didn’t want to see if those were reporters who had pulled up outside. And she didn’t blame him.
It wasn’t his responsibility. “You can stay in here,” she offered, as she walked down the hallway heading from the kitchen back to the foyer.
“You shouldn’t go out there alone,” he said as he followed her. It wasn’t like when he’d followed her down the basement hallway. Then she’d felt his gaze on her—on her body. And her skin had heated.
He wasn’t looking at her at all now. His neck was arched, as he tried to peer out the windows through all the ivy covering them.
She laughed off his concern. “I’m usually alone,” she told him, “in far more dangerous situations than this.”
He caught her arm and spun her back around in the foyer. “Why? Where?”
She laughed harder. “I grew up in New Orleans.” But she’d thickened her drawl and pronounced it the correct way. “I’ll be fine, cher.” She held up her hand with the canister of pepper spray in it. “I have this.”
He tilted his head and studied her face. “Have you ever used it?” he asked.
Her lips curved down, her smile slipping away, as she remembered and nodded. It hadn’t been pretty, but she had done what she’d had to do. She still felt bad about it, though.
“Good,” he said. “Don’t hesitate to use it again if you need to.”
With him and his ridiculously muscular body beside her, she doubted she would need to use it. He would scare anyone away. But he stepped back as she opened the door, so whoever was outside would see only her.
Lightbulbs flashed, blinding her, as questions bombarded her. “Are you the new owner of La Bonne Vie?”
“What is your name?”
“What are your plans for the place?”
Squinting against the bursts of light and the sun shining overhead, she peered at a crowd of faces and microphones and cameras. And she understood why River had stepped away from the open door.
Growing up as one of the notorious Coltons, he’d been hounded by paparazzi probably almost his whole life. Except for when he’d been deployed.
Reporters had speculated where he was those ten years he’d been gone. But none had known. She wondered if even his family knew.
“Miss, what is your name?”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Aren’t you afraid of owning Livia Colton’s home?”
Her hand clenched on the pepper spray canister. She was tempted to use it. Maybe this was how River had wanted her to. But she resisted the urge.
Instead she raised her voice and said, “You are all trespassing! Leave the estate immediately or I will call the police and report you.”
“So you are the owner?” a male reporter persisted. But he sounded skeptical. “You have the authority to report trespassers?”
She groaned at the man’s arrogance and chauvinism. “I have a legal right to be here,” she said. “You do not.”
But her threat hadn’t compelled any of them to leave. They kept taking pictures and asking questions. And her head began to pound.
She’d worried about someone being inside the house earlier. But she’d had no idea how bad it was to have them outside. Yet that didn’t seem to be enough for them. They crept closer to her and lifted their cameras to snap pictures over her head—of the interior.
“What is the condition of the home?” one asked.
“Is there any evidence of Livia’s crime spree left inside?”
She pulled the door shut behind herself. “You need to leave. Now!” She reached for her purse, trying to fumble her cell phone from the inside of it. Her fingers skimmed across the bit of lace she’d picked up earlier. But she couldn’t find her phone.
Had she dropped it somewhere? Left it on the kitchen counter?
Nobody listened to her. They stepped closer, as if they were going to reach around her to open the door. Was River still inside? Would he help her stop them?
She heard another vehicle pull in. Or were more of them going to just keep coming?
A horn blared, drawing the reporters’ attention toward the big truck that had roared up the drive. “Get the hell out of here!” a deep voice boomed as Thorne Colton stepped out of the driver’s door.
Edith breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her cousin. He rushed up toward where she stood at the front door. As he moved through the crowd, they took his photo and bombarded him with questions.
“What are you doing here, Thorne? Do you have a relationship with the new owner?”
“Are you going to be living on the estate again?”
Thorne held up his big hands and waved the reporters off. “I’ve called the sheriff. He will be arriving soon to arrest anyone who is still trespassing on the property.”
While they hadn’t listened to Edith, they seemed to believe Thorne and started moving toward their vehicles. As they walked away, Thorne snapped a couple photos with his phone. “And if anyone comes back, these pictures will be turned over to the sheriff,” he said. “So you will be arrested for illegally accessing a private property.”
One bold reporter lingered and had the audacity to ask, “Aren’t you trespassing, too?”
“Then I guess the sheriff will arrest me when he gets here, and we’ll be going to jail together, Jake.” His bluff was enough to send the reporter scurrying toward his network van.
Edith didn’t relax or turn to her cousin until all the vehicles had driven off. Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you!” She pulled back slightly. “And thank you for calling the sheriff!”
“I didn’t,” he replied. “He’s worthless.”
“Good to know...” What if there really had been an intruder in the house? If she had called for help, apparently none would have come.
But she hadn’t had to call...because she had River.
She’d
