Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Then again, what do I know about parenting?
But didn’t he see the splintered wood?
The obvious fact that his daughter fell?
Nah.
Dadzilla just had to jump to conclusions, right off the cliff.
He had to assume the worst, thinking I was some wild-eyed gremlin coming to carry his little girl off to my gingerbread house in the woods.
Who even thinks like that?
Is there something about me that seems threatening?
Gawd.
Also, this whole situation sucks more because he’s hot.
And why not?
Normal, well-adjusted guys are often so mid. Probably because they’re confident enough to avoid becoming cyclones of testosterone who treat gym like church.
I stare into empty space, scowling at his hotness.
If he could just be the bastard offspring of a garden gnome and a gargoyle, I wouldn’t dislike him so much. You can understand why someone so ugly might have a chip on their shoulder.
But Kane has the looks that set your life to easy mode—and that makes his bristling rudeness far less acceptable.
There was something jarring about those jade-green eyes, too.
Almost like he could see right through me.
Obviously, he couldn’t if he thought I’d ever lay a hand on his sweet girl.
Stupid overgrown ego.
Still, those mile-wide shoulders stick in my mind. I hate how tall he is, how easily he can look down on—well, everyone.
The man is a freak of nature. He must’ve been a beast at some sport when he was young, back before his well-connected daddy handed him his quant finance job.
Just a wild guess.
And I know, I should talk.
Doesn’t change the fact that I’m dealing with a giant daddy’s boy who’s used to getting his way. All self-propelled, pure entitlement.
Although when he figured out he was the intruder in my home, he backed down, didn’t he?
Surprise.
That, plus the sad, worried look on the kids’ faces was what convinced me to let them stay. I’m not in the habit of crashing with strangers.
And I’m still not sure if I made the right call.
At least it saves me a potential legal flap, though. After I saw the rates Mrs. Griffith was charging, he had every right to be pissed.
Maybe I don’t like him, but the man has kids.
Why should a goofy mix-up ruin their family vacation?
I glance at the photo on the desk and sigh.
PopPop and his whole ‘summer crew’—Ethan, Cleo, Hattie, and yours truly. Probably about twelve years ago.
We spent the day hiking the woods, wandering overgrown trails just a few miles from the lake. Ethan tried to scare us with bigfoot stories until PopPop put an end to it.
I’ll never forget the way my grandfather snuck up on him and growled like a cave bear.
The shock knocked the cigarette Ethan shouldn’t have even had right out of his mouth.
I catch myself laughing and shake my head.
This house is a time capsule. Made for memories, not living in the present.
Besides, it’s not like having the Saints here will be a big problem.
It’s a massive place.
I have a feeling they’ll be out during the day plenty, leaving me lots of space and quiet to poke around.
Honestly, the fact that Dadzilla wasn’t livid over the safety tells me a lot.
If it was me, and I’d paid Mrs. Griffith’s princely sum, only to wind up with my daughter falling, I’d be furious.
I’m still embarrassed.
If I knew this place had deteriorated so much in the years since our family trips ended, I’d have had contractors lined up. And I would’ve politely told our kind local property manager to pull the place off the market.
It’s crazy the Saint-devil didn’t threaten to sue.
Huge relief, really.
And drumming aside, his kids don’t seem like they’ll be too awful.
I push back from the desk with a deflated sigh and find my phone, pulling up Jackie Wilkes’ contact. It’s pretty late for the lawyer to be at the office, but we pay her too much not to be available on short notice.
I can’t imagine her at home. She’s a legal killing machine who lives and breathes documents.
Exactly the kind of woman my grandfather would leave in charge of his estate.
“Miss Blackthorn,” she greets me. Her voice is brisk and efficient, no hint of any irritation at calling past eight o’clock. “What can I do you for?”
“I made it to the lake house,” I say, neglecting to mention my guests. “And I’ve read the letter.”
“Excellent. I was going to call you in a few days to make sure you had.”
Yep. Detailed to a fault.
“But I have a few questions… He said there’s something hidden here to find? I’m not sure how to take that, but I wondered if you know anything else about it?”
“Did he? Can you be more specific?”
I wince, remembering the letter was for my eyes only. That probably means Leonidas Blackthorn left no other hints with his lawyer.
“Wish I could. It didn’t really say. Not explicitly, anyway.” I roll my eyes, but a wave of fondness overwhelms me. PopPop had his flaws, but I still love him. “He talked a lot about regrets and he called it his ‘greatest truth.’”