Page 15 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

He nods equally slowly. “That’s right.”

“And that includes the chateau?” Molly asks.

He rubs the back of his neck. “It would seem so. The lawyer reviewed it all with me, but I haven’t quite taken everything into account.”

“If you’re Tickle’s heir, of course, it would include his former residence.”

No wonder he’s pompous. People in Hogwash loved Hogan, but it was in retrospect—according to accounts, the man was cantankerous, a sore loser, and prone to wandering around town at night, scaring the ghosts after imbibing enoughFifoletto drown a gator.

“Congratulations,” I say dryly because although the namechateauimplies a posh location, he’ll be mighty disappointed when he sees the state of the once grand property.

Lexi says, “Honey, why don’t you show our newcomer over there?”

I choke on ... nothing. Air goes down the wrong pipe. When I catch my breath, I ask, “Me? Is this revenge for insisting JQ show you around town?”

Her grin is impish. “How would that even work?”

I’d pledge to get her back for getting me back if she didn’t help look after Leonie.

If this is true, Maddock has the key to a door that ought to remain closed. There’s no treasure. But there are treasure hunters. And secrets, lies, loss. Tears even. But no treasure. At least not anymore. I would know.

People come and go, either dismissing us locals or using us with the hopes of getting treasure insight, but I’ve got nothing other than this secondhand life, so he won’t be getting anything from me.

Maddock tosses two twenties on the counter, which is more than double his tab. We all stare at it, more accustomed to smaller bills, coins, and pocket lint.

“Yeah. Let’s go check it out.” His gaze lands on me expectantly.

Maddock is annoyingly handsome and he knows it, which grinds my gears. I’m a warm cucumber. Nothing cool about me right now.

“Betsy, didn’t you need help with something?” I hedge.

She waves her hand dismissively. “That was just Hogwash. I wanted to see this hotcake that rolled into town.” She bats her eyelashes. “You have very thick hair. Come by the salon when you need a trim. Thelma would love to meet you.”

I highly doubt that. Thelma is about as friendly as the crocogator.

“Go on. I’ll mind the Grille if you make me another cream brool,” Molly says.

Why isn’t anyone helping me out here?

“Come on. Show me around,” he says with the smug kind of smile of a guy who’s used to a female feeding frenzy.

“You’re going to regret this,” I say, but the flutters inside make me wonder if I’m talking to myself or him.

“Y’all are like two cowpeas in a pod. Now off you go,” Betsy says.

For being such a small woman, she has a surprising amount of strength when she shoves us together.

I stumble in my wedge heels.

Maddock grips my arm to steady me, making the flapping inside extend to my fingers and toes. Not at all liking the way that feels or what it could mean, I yank my arm away.

Molly and Lexi all but thrust me out the door.

“No using the grill until I get back,” I holler.

But the three women already have their heads together, gossiping.

I can practically hear them now, speculating about which one of us will swing—or knowing their romantic notions of firefighter hotcakes—fall first. It won’t be me. I’ve dated a few guys, they come and then they always go. This one will be no different.

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