“Your house is trying to kill me,” he muttered before taking a savage bite of buttermilk biscuit. “Nearly electrocuted myself in the loo.” He chewed the rest and she watched his throat work as he swallowed. “Then the damn lights went off just as I started down the stairs. Hit me head a half dozen times on God-knows-what.”

“You look fine,” she said. There wasn’t a hair out of place. He looked exactly like a male model. Dressed like it, too. The stark lines of his shirt emphasized the sculpted lean muscles underneath.

He gave her a sexy grin and winked, making her heart pound. “Glad you think so.”

She rolled her eyes. Good grief. Maybe he should’ve been the actor instead of his cousin. She said nothing and began to eat. Polite conversation was most likely expected, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Where’s Ivy?” he asked.

“Sleeping.” She stirred her grits around with her spoon. Normally, she loved eating them, but tonight they tasted like paste.

“And Skye?”

She looked across the table at him. “She went back to Greenville, remember?”

“How often does she help you?” He took a sip of water and set the glass down.

“Every Thursday.” She bent her head again, studying the cracked Formica top as she chewed on a piece of salty ham. Little gold stars winked back at her under the pendant light fixture. Never before had the condition of her home bothered her. But now, with this man, sitting in her kitchen, the old inadequacies of her childhood resurfaced at an alarming rate.

“I have a friend who’d love your house. Maybe I should invite him out here. He directs horror movies, and—”

She snapped her head up. He thought her home belonged in a horror movie?

“I’ve got it,” he said with a snap of his fingers, “a Halloween party. Fancy dress. No, no. A masquerade with costumes. Can you imagine how many people could fill up this place? And the dark corners are perfect for a little—”

“No,” she managed to say without choking. There was no way in hell he was turning her home into some kind of haunted house for his friends’ perverse pleasures. She grabbed her glass of water and washed down the bite of meat.

He looked at her quizzically and stroked his jaw. “I’m not allowed friends? Or parties? Don’t remember that bit in the rental contract. In fact, I reckon it’s not legal. You can’t keep a man away from his mates.”

“It’s not in the stupid contract. It’s-it’s the rules. My rules. Take it or leave it,” she said flatly, unable to take his teasing.

His mouth dropped open, reminding her of a catfish at the end of a fishing pole. “Pardon?”

“You heard me.” She stabbed a helpless piece of ham with her fork.

“I’m paying you six months in advance rent tomorrow. Surely, you could relax them a bit, eh?”

There was nothing she wanted to relax for him. She couldn’t even relax in her own house, and he’d only been there for two hours.

She jumped to her feet, bumping the table and overturning the salt shaker. Out of habit, she grabbed the shaker and shook some salt into her right hand, throwing it over her left shoulder when she was done. “Tomorrow, I’ll drive you back to town and you can find another place to stay.”

“Wait! Where do you think you’re going? ” Sasha reached for her as she rushed past, but Blackbeard growled at him.

“Sic, Blackbeard, sic,” she hissed, and the black cat pounced.

“Holy hell,” he shouted.

The tone of his voice made her stop mid-stride in the most glorious storm-off in history. Sliding over the left side of the hallway, she peeked around the corner, waiting to see what he would do next.

He knelt down, trying to unhook the cat’s claws from the hem of his pants. “Don’t you know this is Prada, you mangy cur?” he asked, clearly exasperated.

She gasped in outrage. Blackbeard was the cleanest cat in Holland Springs.

“Not the shirt, too. Get off,” he said, his voice rising again, “It’s a McQueen before Burton.”

“Oh, yes, the shirt, too,” Rose mocked softly. As if Blackbeard knew or cared about fashion designers.

Sasha looked up at the ceiling of the kitchen as though pleading for help. She took a step forward, almost giving away her hiding place. If Sasha so much as looked at her sweet kitty cock-eyed, she’d smother him in his sleep tonight. With a rock.

“Look here, Blackbeard, I’d invoke parley, but I seriously doubt your superior would give me any quarter,” he said with a smile, “She’d cut me into tiny pieces with a butter knife, I suspect.” Gently, he stroked the cat’s back. Blackbeard sheathed his claws and purred.

“That’s a good puss,” he said as the cat laid on its side.

“Traitor,” she muttered. Whirling away, she strode to the stairs and made her way to Ivy’s room. Sasha was good with animals. Even ones that stuck their claws into him and ruined his pricey clothes. So what? Blackbeard was notoriously fickle with his affections, she mentally argued. Besides, he probably knew she was watching him.

After checking on Ivy, she shuffled to her room. She changed clothes, trading her faded jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt for a cotton nightgown. A velvet robe that had belonged to the fifth Poppy Holland hung on the back of her door. She pulled it on and tied the sash into a loose knot.

The baby monitor’s lights flashed as Ivy snored in her sleep.

Rose glanced at the antique clock on her bedside table. Ten minutes had passed. Shouldn’t he have stolen her car to drive himself back to town? Gravel should be shooting into the air right about now, tires spinning and engine gunning. But the only sound that greeted her was the occasional call of wintering swans.

She walked to the French doors and opened them, letting in a crisp autumn breeze. It blew at her robe and lifted her hair. Stepping out onto the balcony, she shivered. Her toes curled, trying to get away from the cold wooden planks.

Out of habit, she searched for her star. The one she wished upon as a child. Every night, she would wish that she and her sisters would be good enough for their momma to stay home. But after Rose’s sixteenth birthday, Azalea Holland never came back. And Rose had sworn she’d never wish again.

The star twinkled, tempting her to take a chance. She wished…Rose shook her head. “I don’t believe in you,” she whispered, backing away.

Chapter Four

Last night had been the ultimate in dinner disasters. He’d insulted his hostess, cursed at her cat and gotten himself kicked out. To make matters worse, he was sure she’d left him here to walk back to town. When he had checked this morning, her Jeep hadn’t been in the drive.

Sasha jogged down the formerly grand staircase, dodged a lazy Blackbeard sunning in the foyer and headed into the kitchen.

Sure he hadn’t risen before eleven-thirty, but he’d stayed up until three am, assuming every position humanly possible to get the barest of signals for his cell phone to work. At one point he’d leaned so far over the balcony that he’d nearly fallen. The lure of one bar had been that tantalizing.

A note partly hidden by a crystal bowl full of strawberries greeted him on the badly cracked kitchen table.

Had to run some errands. Help yourself to breakfast or lunch. I’ll be back at 1.

P.S. Thank you for cleaning up supper.

Did this mean he could stay, or that she’d be driving him into Holland Springs proper when she got back? Taking a bite of a particularly juicy strawberry, he turned the note over, searching for what he wasn’t sure. A signature, perhaps. But he knew it was her stationery. The initials RPH were engraved at the top in an elegant script. Surprisingly, the paper was excellent quality. She did seem to like pretty things. Like crystal bowls and hand-painted patterns on heirloom china.

But she, most assuredly, did not like her home being made fun of. Almost as much as he didn’t like being told what to do. There were too many people treating him as a puppet on a string as it were. Two more years and he’d be free. In the meantime, he had to keep his mother in the best medical facilities possible. So…he played his uncle’s game. He did it well in any case. A natural born charmer, though liar would be more apt.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

There was a spring hidden on this property, and it was up to him to find it. To get a sample and send it off to his uncle’s lab in Helsinki. And not that ridiculous only-true-love-can-find-it spring either. Anyone with a maps app and a good signal could find that one.

Hell, Rose had taken him to that spring. Her hand in his, walking in the forest after midnight. The night sky had been saturated with stars, the breeze with her perfume.

Eating the last bite of strawberry, he threw the cap away and grimaced. There was no use thinking of that night. However, he had to find a way to get Rose to show him the real spring.

The front door opened and closed.

“Hullo?” he called out.

“It’s me and Ivy.” Rose trudged into the kitchen. Dark circles shadowed her eyes and his gut clenched.

“You’re back early.” He took the carrier from her and set it on top of the table. “Didn’t sleep well?”

She washed and dried her hands. “Not really.”

He managed to work the straps and locks. Ivy made gurgling noises and threw out her arms, starfish-shaped hands opening and closing as he lifted her out. “Happy to see me, sweetheart?” Ivy’s dark brown eyes were solemn. She turned her head and nuzzled his shirt. He looked up at Rose. “I think she’s hungry.”

Smiling, Rose took Ivy from him. “She’s always hungry,” she said with affection and the baby smiled up at her.

A tightness settled in his chest. “About last night—”

“Forget it. You can stay,” Rose said, pre-empting his apology. “We need the money and for once I won’t let my…pride get in the way.” Her ocean-blue eyes met his and he swallowed.

“Care to show me around your house? We were slightly distracted last night.”

She wrinkled her nose, her brows drawing together. “You corner me in the hallway and call it a slight distraction?”

He grinned. “No, I call that fun.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You better call it not happening again.”

“Damn, I thought it was one of the perks of living here.” It really was fun to tease her. To try to make her react to him. He’d bet she was one hell of a poker player. She rubbed the gold cross at the hollow of her neck. Now that would be a dead giveaway of a bad hand. But he’d probably be the only one to know that.

“Could you hold Ivy while I fix her bottle?”

“Sure.” He held out his arms, once again settling the baby in his arms. “Where’s her father?”

Rose rummaged through the cabinets, finding the parts of the bottle she needed and putting it together. “Who knows?”

Okay, so he wasn’t expecting that answer. Something wasn’t right. “I expect you would, as Ivy’s mother and sole supporter. Shouldn’t you take him to court for child support?”

Shaking the bottle of powdered formula and water, she turned and leaned on the counter. “It’s not really any of your business, Alexander.”

No, it wasn’t, but men should take care of their responsibilities. And Ivy was a responsibility that Rose was shouldering alone. “Sasha,” he corrected, adjusting his hold on Ivy. “Hand me the bottle and I’ll feed her.” When she hesitated, he said, “You look dead on your feet, love. Let me help you.”

Thankfully, she was a woman who didn’t want to cut off her nose to spite her face and handed him the plastic bottle and a cloth. “Feed her half and then burp her. Then feed her the rest and burp her again.” She showed him how to hold the bottle so Ivy didn’t suck in air and have a tummy ache. Wanting her to stay close, he began to make up ridiculous questions.

“What if she wants something stronger like bourbon? Or what if she demands I take her shopping? I can’t stand Baby Gap. The clothes are juvenile.”

“They’re supposed to be,” Rose laughed as she straightened. She walked to the living room and sat down on a sofa that had seen better days. “Just do what I showed you and you’ll be fine. I’m going to be right here if you need me.”

The next thing he knew, Ivy had sucked down half of the formula and soft snores were coming from the direction of the couch. “Looks like mummy needed to sleep.”

Ivy burped her agreement.

***

The sound of shouting woke him up from a dead sleep. Blackbeard dug his claws into his chest and hissed.

“Off, damn cat,” he growled. Blackbeard jumped off the bed, using his pectorals as a spring board. That would leave some marks. He rubbed his chest before sitting up and rolling his shoulders.

Rose shrieked his name.

He jumped up and ran out of his room, nearly colliding with her.

“What did you do with my baby?” she sobbed.

“Jesus, Rose, calm down.” He gently grabbed her shoulders.

“Calm down?” She jerked out of his grasp. “I wake up to find Ivy missing, and—”

“She’s in her crib.”

Rose brushed past him and he followed.

“She was here the whole time?” she asked as he entered the room. Rose stood at the side of Ivy’s crib, her hand at her throat and rubbing her cross pendant.

He nodded. “You fell asleep, she fell asleep and then I fell asleep with that damned cat of yours. It all seemed appropriate at the time. However, I refuse to do it again. Blackbeard’s an unaccountable and unrepentant bed-hog.”