Page 4 of Housebroke

“It’s all good,” Hazel said. “Love you guys.”

“I’ll call you after this project, Greg,” Linc said, “and we’ll get together for a round.”

“You got it,” Greg said.

Hazel clicked off. “Okay, apparently you’re legit. Ginger didn’t tell me. She told me she’d let me know when they accepted an offer so I could clear out before the new owner arrived. I guess that’s you.”

“And I guess you’re not a burglar.”

She slanted a look at him. “Do I look like a burglar?”

He gave her the once-over, from her wildly tousled dark hair to her tanned bare legs. “Not any burglar I could ever imagine.”

“Do you mind if I put some pants on before we continue this conversation?”

Actually, he did mind. She had amazing legs. “Sure, go ahead. And while you’re at it, you can pack up whatever things you have so you can leave.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, right. Sure. I can do that. Sorry.”

The look on her face was one of utter dejection. Linc would not feel sorry for her. She wasn’t his responsibility, and he had things to do to this house that did not include a woman and five dogs.

“Come on, babies,” she said, and just like that, her dog entourage followed behind, but he could swear that little beige Chihuahua gave him a dirty look before leaving the room.

Finally, Linc had a chance to exhale. And put the skillet on the stove.

The woman—Hazel—was talking upstairs. He should follow and make sure she didn’t do any damage. And while she might be friends of Ginger and Greg, she wasn’t his friend. In fact, he didn’t know her at all. He’d known of squatters who kicked in drywall or did any number of things to screw up property before running off. He had his investment to protect, so he quietly made his way up the steps, stopping in the hallway when he heard the sound of her voice just inside the bedroom.

“It’s okay, babies,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “We’ll figure something out. We always do, don’t we?”

He peeked his head inside the door to see a blow-up mattress and an oversize backpack. Was that all she had? She’d put on a pair of shorts and wound her long, dark hair into a bun on top of her head.

“I promise I’ll take care of you. You won’t be homeless. We won’t be homeless. I’ll make this work. Somehow.” The pit bull came over and laid his head on her thigh, and Hazel dropped her head to her chest and her body shook.

Dammit. She was crying. Linc turned away and made his way back downstairs.

This—she—was not his problem. He didn’t even know her.

Hazel came downstairs a short time later, her eyes swollen and red rimmed, but she had a smile on her face. The dogs all followed her, then sat at her feet like little statues.

Weird little fuckers.

All she had was the remnants of that mattress and a couple of bags. Was that all she owned?

“I’m really sorry about nearly crushing your skull with the skillet. We’ll get out of your way now. I have a chair outside—oh, and my skillet. I’ll just put these in the car and be on my way.”

She headed toward the front door, the dogs following. It was the most pitiful entourage Linc had ever seen.

Fuck.

“Wait,” he said.

She stopped and turned to look at him.

“It’s late and you obviously don’t have anywhere to go. You can stay in the guesthouse for a day or two until you figure something out.”

Her eyes lit up like bright round diamonds. “Really? Oh my God, thank you so much. I’m Hazel Bristow, by the way.” She held out her hand, so he did the same.

“Lincoln Kennedy.”

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