Page 18 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“Hugwash Holler definitely has character.”

“Hogwash,” she says.

“The sign says Hugwash.”

“It’s Hogwash and we’re Hoggers.”

“Huggers.” I veer left down Shady Lane, passing under the canopy of live oaks, dimming the interior of the truck. “I figured I’d get a hug while we’re exploring my new place.”

“Not on your life. Hoggers aren’t the cuddly type unless you want to cozy up with a gator.”

“Sounds like you’re saying,Huggers.”

“I have an accent, but?—”

Which is adorable when she’s not being so feisty, but it draws me like a flame. “I’ve noticed.”

She turns her head in my direction as if I’m teasing. “I’ve lived here for a long time It’s Hogwash.”

“I like Hugwash better. I’ll make a motion to officially change it.”

“You’re not actually the mayor.”

No, but I own this place. I wonder if there are any rules about changing the town’s name.

Honey crunches the remainder of the lollipop in her mouth. “This isn’t like the whole pancakes versus flapjacks thing.”

“We can agree to disagree. Or we could settle on Hotcakes.” I wink.

She snorts an exhale through her nose as if beyond frustrated with me trying to irritate her. But as I see it, we’re on equal footing. She has her feminine wiles and my only tool is to rile her up, making us even.

The tunnel of tree branches dripping with moss opens to a slight clearing, but the surrounding old live oaks climb toward the sky as if reaching through the canopy of branches and leaves for a skylight, leaving us in the gloom.

“Now where do I go?” I ask, wincing because she’ll probably tell me to go back the way I came. Meaning, leave Hogwash.

“There’s nothing out this way other than the Tickle Chateau, an old fort called the Metairie Stronghold, the graveyard, and the swamp.”

I’m starting to wonder if I got a bad deal in the divorce settlement. This was supposed to be payment for all the stolen money and damages, but by the looks of things, this place has seen more than a few storms and lost a battle with the bayou.

“So you’re a Tickle?” Honey asks with a combination of hesitancy and defiance in her voice.

“No. My last name is Witt.”

“But you’re the heir to the estate, so you must be related.”

“It’s a long story. But the one I want to hear is about this place.”

“You inherited it, surely you know the history and about the hunt.”

I don’t, but I’ll let her fill my silence how she wants.

“Thousands of people have visited Hogwash Holler, seeking fame and fortune. No one has found the treasure, no less the inheritance. But they all left town in worse shape than when they arrived. It’s broken families, caused rivalries, bitterness, and bankruptcy. That wasn’t Hogan Tickle’s intention.”

The truck’s tires crunch over fallen branches and dead leaves before a large structure with ivy creeping along its columns and a broad front entryway covered in moss comes into view. Broken windows, sooty mildew, and tarnished ironwork make me think the place is the set for a horror movie. If we’re the characters, the viewers are telling us to turn back.

“It’s kind of spooky,” I say.

Honey laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

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