Page 7 of Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

“My ex is a cheating asshole,” she said at last, as I brushed ash from my pants. “I know a lot of people have awful exes, but mine is ranked way up there.” I didn’t reply, not trusting myself not to reveal what I’d already learned by reading her file. “We got divorced, which was long overdue, and I made him move out of the house. But then his lawyer called mine, saying he was asking for alimony. Why?” She flung her arms wildly as if the very thought was bananas. Personally, I agreed. It was a singularly asshole thing to do. “He never made any of the money while we were together. I graduated college because I worked two jobs and still had a three-point-seven GPA. The only thing he contributed was a permanent pot stank to our living room couch.” She flung her winter coat over a dust cloth-covered kitchen chair. “Trust me, that was the second thing I put on the curb after the divorce was finalized, right after our bed, followed by all the shit he hadn’t bothered to pick up.”

This was yet another problem. Not because I was getting a fuller picture of the story, but because I liked Katrina’s tenacity. She was still pissed at her ex-husband’s behavior, and she well should be. She was smart, too. And talented.

I didn’t think I had ever been so attracted to someone before. I was so fucked.

“Anyway.” Katrina bent over to open the cabinet under the kitchen sink, and I deserved an award for how quickly I looked away from that perfect heart-shaped ass in the air. “My attorney filed all these forms, saying how he never contributed, etc etc. Then he starts showing up at my home at all hours of the day. He said he was worried about me, that I might have a stalker. He installed cameras all around my house. It creeped me out.” She shuddered and pulled out a very old handful of what was either cleaning rags or…something that might require a rabies shot later. “I thought I had rerouted all the feeds from his phone to mine, but he must have still had access somehow. I wasn’t even home at the time,” she said softly. “I looked at the footage later, but he’d deleted the time frame when the accident happened. I didn’t even know about it until the police showed up at my art studio.”

My nerve endings tingled. Pete Dobbs set up the hit and run?

If I opened my mouth, I was definitely going to say the wrong thing. So I crossed my arms over my chest instead, which was also probably a bad move since it sent the wrong body language signals.

But Katrina wasn’t looking at me. She pulled at the handful of dust towels—definitely old microfiber and not clumps of hair, thank fuck—separating them into curls of fabric. “He staged the whole thing.” Her voice was soft. “I think he had a friend, who he got to drive the car into him. What was I supposed to do?” Now she spoke barely above a whisper, and there was such pain in her voice, it drew me toward her. I knew it was wrong, but she needed comfort, and I was the only one there. “I’d spent most of my money on the divorce lawyer, so there wasn’t anyone but a newbie public defender. My parents offered to pay for one, but they need their money for retirement. I couldn’t do that to them. ” Tears brimmed in her eyes. She put her hands into the towels and swirled them around, making a design like a mandala or labyrinth. “It’s not fair. I didn’t do anything. I was at my studio, alone, and there aren’t any cameras there because I didn’t think I needed them.” She glanced up at me, and it seemed like something broke inside of her, something she had been clinging to, because she lurched forward, clutching my shirt in her fists, and leaned her forehead onto my shoulder. “Please. I’m not a bad person.”

She smelled like pine and summer rain. I placed a hand on the middle of her back, nowhere near anywhere I wanted to touch, but I was trying to be a gentleman.

“You’re not a bad person,” I said, and she squeezed me harder. It was okay. I was built like a tank, I could take it. Besides, nothing pissed me off more than an entitled douchebag taking it out on someone he perceived weaker than himself. “I can help you. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you can. Give me an hour. I’ll go get some food and supplies so you can stay here. We’ll figure all this out.”

“How?” It was as soft as a cat’s meow.

I shut my eyes and tentatively wrapped another arm around her. This was the type of hug I might have given my mom, except my feelings toward Katrina were anything but filial. One small white lie, but even my mom would have agreed it was necessary. “I help out a private investigator friend sometimes. I can help you, Katrina. If you’ll let me.”

She pulled me closer to her, like she needed me, and that was more than enough to send my heart into the deep end. No one needed me for comfort like this, and I craved it.

Except then she lifted herself up on her toes and kissed my cheek. Her soft lips burned like the shrapnel in my knee when it rained, but so much sweeter.

I was a very bad man, indeed, wanting what I knew wasn’t mine.

CHAPTER 6

Katrina

He left to get supplies.

I spent the hour and a half he was gone tidying up the cabin the best I could without heat or running water. I found a dented bucket under one of the cabinets, so I filled it with clean snow from outside and used that to wipe down the dusty counters and tabletops.

Who was I kidding? Even that small touch of my lips on his cheek still sent warmth gushing through me. I hadn’t been so turned on in ages. I didn’t think I could feel that way, not after all I’d gone through with Pete. Harbor was so different, though. Strong, kind. Maybe on the outside he was all muscle and grimace, but he had an inner softness that made all my senses go haywire.

So I channeled those mixed feelings into cleaning and airing out the Dryden cabin. Of all the places I imagined the richest family in town owning, this was not it. At the same time, I was relieved it was hidden and out of the way. No one would have thought to look for me here. I finally had space to figure out what to do next.

Someone knocked three times in three seconds, and my heart leapt a little. That was the signal Harbor had told me to expect. “Don’t open it for two or four. Promise,” he had said.

He was so cute when he was giving orders.

I tossed the dirty rag into the bucket of melted snow and glanced down at myself. There was no way I was seducing anyone looking the way I did right then. Dirt and grime were primordial condoms.

No. I was not going to think of condoms or any activities which may or may not require them.

I jogged over to the door and opened it. Harbor stood there, shopping bags in various colors dangling from his arms.

“Wow,” I said, taking two of the bags from his hands and ignoring the tingling graze of his warm skin against mine. “I didn’t realize St. Olaf had this many shops.”

“I didn’t think you had much, and it’s winter. You need to be prepared in case you’re snowed in, or something.” He set his pile of bags on the counter then pointed over his shoulder at the driveway. “One that note, it’s starting to snow. Should we be worried?”

“Hopefully not.” Like I knew. My pay-as-you-go cell phone plan didn’t include a weather app, and I wasn’t about to waste my valuable cash on checking it when I could look out the window and expect the worst. I focused instead on the contents of the shopping bags. “They plow really well here. Wow, you got everything.”

“Here.” He shoved a small white paper bag into my hands. I opened it to find toothpaste and a toothbrush, hair brush, some sort of moisturizer, and soap. “There’s spare clothes in that bag.” He pointed to a larger, plain brown bag.

“You did not just get the necessities,” I said, opening the clothes bag while he stowed a flat of water bottles in the refrigerator. He had bought me thick, warm flannel pajamas, three pairs of fluffy socks, an argyle-print sweater, and fleece-lined yoga pants that felt like sinking my fingers into a cloud of heaven. The last gift Pete had given me was signing the divorce papers, and—well, that had actually been the one thing I wanted. “This is amazing. Harbor, thank you. You really didn’t have to do this.”

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