the city on a pristine and very private lake. It was one of the only undeveloped lakes that close to Minneapolis–St. Paul, and as such was considered gold for any real estate developer.
The land had been held by the Pigglestone Family Trust since the late 1950s, and since then had been the site of an artists’ colony. But the latest generation wanted to sell the land, and in order to do that, they needed to evict their three elderly aunts, who had lived on the property from the beginning. Papers had been drawn up, notices sent, but the women had largely ignored the court orders.
Tristan didn’t relish evicting a trio of old ladies, but the partners had authorized him to offer an extraordinary financial settlement—one that would set the women up in relative luxury almost anywhere in the world. Though the job had proved impossible for others, Tristan was confident he’d be able to complete this task in a day or two and return to the firm a winner. After all, he’d been charming women for as long as he as he could remember.
“Turn right, two hundred yards.”
He glanced over at the navigation screen and frowned. He hadn’t seen any road signs for the past mile and assumed that he was off the grid. But a few moments later the voice warned him again. “Turn right, one hundred yards.”
He slowed the car and watched for a sign. But all that was visible was thick brush and tall trees. “Turn right, twenty yards.”
The narrow side road suddenly appeared and Tristan slammed on the brakes in order to make the turn. There was no sign or any indication of what lay ahead. But the coordinates had come directly from his boss so he knew he could trust them.
As he drove deeper into the woods, the road narrowed until it was only wide enough for one car to pass. Tristan slowly rounded a curve but skidded to a stop when he saw a figure standing in the middle of the road.
Her arms were stretched above her head, her fingers spread wide. She stood perfectly still, only the breeze moving her hair. She wore a loose cotton blouse that barely covered her backside—and nothing else. Tristan watched her for a long moment, his gaze drifting lower to take in the sweet curve of her naked backside. He couldn’t see her face, but somehow he sensed that she would be beautiful.
She continued to watch the trees above her head and then suddenly her hands drifted down to her sides. Tristan switched off the car and waited, remaining still and silent, afraid he might spook her. She tilted her head slightly as if she’d caught some sound deep in the woods. Finally, her shoulders dropped and she slowly shook her head.
When she turned to face him, his suspicions were proven true. She was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. Like some wild wood nymph, her dark tousled hair fell in curls around perfect features.
“This is private property,” she called, bracing her hands on her waist. The cotton shirt lifted again, revealing the tops of her shapely legs. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet, which were covered with mud.
Tristan got out of the car, closing the door behind him before he approached. “What were you looking for?”
“I wasn’t looking,” she said. “I was listening.”
“Then what were you listening for?”
“An owl. A great gray owl. Every now and then when I walk along this stretch of road, I hear him. I just can’t tell where the sound is coming from. Maybe it’s just the wind playing tricks on my ears. Or maybe it’s a ghost.”
“What does he sound like?” Tristan asked.
“I’m not very good at bird calls,” she said.
“Give it a try. I’m curious.”
“Actually, it sounds just like sex.”
“Sex?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a soft, grunting sound. Uh, uh, uh.”
“I thought owls said ‘who,’” Tristan joked.
“That’s only in cartoons,” she murmured. “I once saw a red-necked grebe. That’s very rare for this area. Indigo buntings are my favorite, but hard to spot. They’re the most beautiful shade of blue, but not really indigo at all.” She met his gaze. “Closer to lapis. Or azure. Are you lost?” she asked. “Can I help you?”
A little dazed by her quick change in subject matter, Tristan tried to refocus on the task at hand. “I’m looking for this old artists’ colony. I read about it and wanted to check it out.”
“An artists’ colony? I’ve never heard of anything like that,” she said. “Are you sure you’re in the right place? There’s nothing but cottages at the end of this road.”
“I’m certain,” he said. “Fence Lake Artists’ Colony. It was founded in the fifties. By three sisters?” He met her gaze. “None of this sounds familiar?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
Tristan knew she was lying. He’d never met a beautiful woman who was a decent liar. Hell, he could read any woman, gorgeous or Plain Jane, in half the time he could read a man. It was one of the talents that made him a great litigator.
Well, if she was going to lie, then he’d be forced to counter her deception with one of his own. “Hmm. That’s too bad. I was really hoping I could spend a week or so there.”
“You’re an artist?”
He nodded. “Writer. I’m not published, but I have a publisher interested in my book. I need to rewrite part of it and I’m blocked. I was hoping a new environment would help.” He glanced over his shoulder at his car. “I should probably get going. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Yes, she definitely knew much more than she was willing to reveal. But how much? “I suppose I could help you out,” she murmured.
“You have a map?”
“I can take you to the colony,” she said. “I’m staying there myself.”
“Are you a writer?”
“Artist,” she said. “Painter. Sculptor. Whatever medium and subject catches my attention. Lately, it’s been owls.”
“I don’t want to take you away from your bird-watching,” he said.
She shrugged. ‘“In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.”’ She smiled. “John Muir. Do you mind if I drive? The road is a bit tricky.”
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t even know your name. Why would I let you drive my car?”
“Because the road is very curvy and narrow. I wouldn’t want you to wreck your car.” She held out her hand. “Lily Harrison.”
Tristan held his breath as he tried to hide his surprise. He’d been warned about this woman. But he’d never expected her to be so young—or beautiful.
Lily Alicia Hopkins Harrison. Her mother was heir to the Pigglestone fortune and her father heir to the Harrison fortune. But instead of following in her parents’ footsteps, Lily had become an artist, activist and protector of the three
