Claimed by a Cowboy. Tanya Michaels
solidify the loss and Lorelei wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep from detonating. The last thing she wanted was a witness.
Though she had to slow down temporarily for a stretch of road where signs warned Loose Livestock, she didn’t encounter traffic. Judging from the wry sign on a dilapidated diner—Over a Dozen Served!—she was officially on the road less traveled. All too soon, she was turning onto the street where the Haunted Hill Country Bed-and-Breakfast sat.
Lorelei parked the car in front of the stone-faced two-story building, bracing herself for not hearing her mother’s voice when she walked inside. Would she still smell the uniquely familiar blend of lemon, lavender and nutmeg from the incenses and oils Wanda had favored? Those aromatherapy scents had permeated the entire inn. Except during Christmas seasons when the bed-and-breakfast was filled with fresh pine and baking gingerbread.
“Get out of the car,” Lorelei muttered. If she sat in the driveway much longer, some kind passerby would stop to tell her that the B and B wasn’t currently open for business, that the owner had…
She wrenched open the door, then crossed the short sidewalk leading to the porch. The front steps creaked softly beneath her weight, and she was attempting to fish the key from her purse when the door swung open.
A tall man in a plaid button-down shirt and a cowboy hat greeted her. “Sorry, we’re not— Ah. It’s you.”
She drew herself up straighter, the involuntary reflex making her feel a touch juvenile. Even if she stood on tippy-toe, she wouldn’t be level with him. He was at least six feet. “I’m L—”
“Oh, I know who you are,” he interrupted in a lazy drawl. He rocked back on his heels, seemingly in no hurry to move the hell out of her way so she could lock herself in a bedroom and have a private breakdown. Not that indulging in an emotional fit would bring her mother back.
“You’re little Lori,” he continued, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. “Wanda’s girl, all grown up.”
She almost snapped that she wasn’t anyone’s “little” anything. She was five foot eight for crying out loud! And what was with the all-grown-up condescension? He looked three or four years older, tops. “I go by Lorelei. No one’s ever called me Lori, particularly not total strangers who block doorways.” She glared meaningfully.
He glared back.
“So who are you?” she demanded. “An employee?”
“Not exactly.” Hardly an informative answer, but at least he stepped to the side.
“Ava told me all the guests were relocated,” she said as she crossed the threshold into the foyer. A cursory glance at the adjacent dining room and den showed that everything was as she remembered—except for her mom’s absence and this annoying man’s presence. “I had expected to be alone.”
The man shrugged. “Someone had to take care of Oberon.”
How could she have forgotten the maniacal cat? As a scraggly kitten, Oberon had shown up on the front porch while Wanda and the real estate agent had been doing a walk-through of the inn.
“He was a sign,” Wanda had told her daughter over the phone. “I was meant to buy this place, and he was meant to keep me company. It’s been so lonely with your father gone and you at college.”
“Ow!” A sudden scratch to the ankle jolted Lorelei back to the present, and she bumped the willkommen table. Brochures detailing area activities sat alongside the guestbook and one pamphlet fell to the floor. A telltale white paw jutted out from beneath the tablecloth. Speak of the freaking devil.
Grimacing, she took a large step away from the table and, more importantly, the extended claws. “I see Oberon hasn’t mellowed with age.”
“Nope.”
She suppressed a sigh at the man’s flat tone. Good thing he was attractive; he’d be doomed if all he had going for him was personality. Attractive? That must be the sleep deprivation talking. While she couldn’t find fault with the cowboy’s well-muscled body—and his green eyes were admittedly arresting—he was a bit scruffy with his too-long dark golden hair and the stubble dotting his jawline. Not her type at all.
“I assume you have a name?” she prompted.
He flashed a mocking smile that lasted just long enough to reveal deep dimples. “Good assumption. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miz Keller, I was on my way out. Help yourself to any room except the Faust suite. That’s mine.”
As in, he would be sleeping there? She’d hoped he was only dropping by to feed the cat. “You’ll be back tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He must have caught the dismay in her expression because his eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, this place is plenty big enough for both of us.”
Despite the multiple bedrooms in the two-floor structure, she didn’t believe him. And she couldn’t help noticing he didn’t seem convinced, either.
THE DOOR BANGED SHUT in Sam’s wake as he strode toward the truck parked behind the inn. He wanted to leave quickly, before the B and B’s omnipresent reminders of Wanda nettled his conscience like the spines of a prickly pear cactus. She would have wanted him to be more welcoming to her daughter. Hard to believe they’re related.
He’d known from pictures that Lorelei was dark-haired and striking. He just hadn’t realized she was so tall; her mama had been a round little dumpling of a woman. Other than her height, though, Lorelei Keller had been pretty much what he’d expected. Purse-lipped and haughty, with no mention of her mother. Granted, Lorelei’s dark eyes had been puffy, but no more than most tourists’ in pollen season.
He could almost hear his former landlady’s chiding voice. Oh, and you were a real charmer during that encounter? You didn’t even give her a chance. With a sigh, he glanced back over his shoulder, then retraced his steps.
Through the window in the door, he could see the brunette slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, much the same way he’d been last night. As soon as he turned the knob, her backbone went ramrod straight. Her expensive-looking cinnamon-colored sweater dress was probably hot and itchy on a day like this. Over it, she wore some kind of full-body vest in an even darker brown. In contrast, he couldn’t help recalling the way Wanda had cheerfully embraced colors—the brighter, the better.
“Forget something?” Lorelei asked without turning to look at him.
“Just wanted to say, name’s Sam Travis. I was a good friend of your mother’s. Damn fine woman.” He paused a beat, to see if Lorelei recognized his name or had any comment. Did she know what Ava suspected, that Wanda had altered her will in the past year? “I’m the one who found her. Yesterday.”
Red-rimmed eyes met his, and Lorelei swallowed, struggling to speak. “Do you think she was in pain?”
“She complained of a headache when she went to bed the night before, but no, I don’t think she suffered. Doc Singer made it sound as if it was about as peaceful as passing can be.”
Lorelei drew in a shaky breath. “Thank you, Sam.”
He nodded uncomfortably. “I won’t be back for a couple of hours, but is there anything I can bring you from town? Anything you need?”
Her gaze clashed with his, naked and vulnerable. For a split second, all he saw was need. Then she blinked, eradicating the defenselessness so fast he could pretend he’d imagined it.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “But I appreciate the offer. By the way, I’ve decided to take the wolf suite.”
The one farthest in the house from his.
Good. Maybe they would only bump into each other a minimum of times before the memorial service on Saturday.
He knew from Wanda’s lawyer that the reading of the will would follow—Wanda’s way of making sure