Page 2 of A Baby to Make Her His Bride

Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would be divested of the worst mistake of her life. She would be free to do whatshewanted.

With a sigh of relief, she stepped from the SUV. After the long drive across the island, her body thanked her for the stretch. Her nostrils drank in the cool fragrance of cedar and pine and fir. The chatter of squirrels hidden in their boughs was cheerfully deafening, drowning out the rush of the ocean against a shoreline she couldn’t see.

She left everything in the vehicle, wanting to see inside first. It was supposed to have solar power and a well so she assumed she would have functioning electricity and plumbing, but she had a propane camp stove and a large jerry can of water just in case.

The tall, skinny house had probably been avant-garde in its time, built over the edge of an embankment like this. A narrow wooden walkway, reminiscent of a drawbridge, took her from the graveled driveway to a pair of entry doors flanked by stained glass windows.

She would bet anything that sunshine had not broken through these panels in at least a decade. Nature had closed in around the structure, giving it a distinct “forgotten castle swallowed by brambles” vibe, complete with a moat of empty air between the wraparound veranda and the tree trunks that stood sentry a few feet away.

Maybe a tree house was a better comparison. Either way, she was in love. The siding might be weathered gray, and she imagined the roof was more moss than shingles, but she understood what it was like to be neglected for years, yet still hold potential. This was the perfect place for a dejected princess to shake off the spell she’d been under and awaken into her new life.

The paperwork promised that the keypad on the door had been returned to its factory setting, which was four zeroes, but when she punched that in, it didn’t work.

Annoyed, she walked around to where another small bridge connected a side door to the garage. Both of those doors were locked, so she continued to the back.

Here the deck opened into a massive outdoor lounge and dining area with a barbecue built for crowds. The expansive view of the ocean over the treetops stopped her in her tracks.

Wow. Thank you, Hunter.

She took a few deep breaths, grounding herself in the moment so she would remember it, then turned to the two sets of sliding doors interspersed with three wide picture windows.

Cleanwindows, she noted with a shiver of premonition. It struck her that the deck was swept clean of needles, the furniture was all right side up with the blue-and-yellow-striped cushions in place. The barbecue was uncovered.

Wait a minute. Was that dooropen? The screen was closed, but the glass behind it was wide open.

Her heart tripped as she scraped the screen out of her way and saw that yes, she was able to walk right in.

She expected—hoped?—to see water damage on the floor. That would mean that the previous owners or a property agent had irresponsibly forgotten to lock up properly, but no, it was clean as a whistle in here. Everything was in good order.

With her heart battering her rib cage, she took in that there had been updates carried out over the years. The floors were not the dreaded shag carpet or yellowed linoleum. There was a bright blue-and-black mat that she stepped on as she called out, “Hello?”

She was every idiotic woman who had gone down to the basement in a horror movie, but a more rational side of her mind was telling her some vacation renters had been given faulty information.

Was she even in the right house?

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

The floor plan was an open concept arranged around a massive river stone chimney. On her right, the kitchen had been given a complete makeover with Shaker-style white cupboards and granite countertops. The oval dining table was antique oak, the sitting room furnishings out of fashion but in good repair.

Her gaze lurched back to the wooden bowl on the table. That fruit was real! Two green bananas, an orange and a bright red apple with a sticker on it.

Through the open tread stairs that rose from the back of the sitting room, she could see a desk in the window near the front door. There was a laptop on it, closed, but plugged in with a coffee mug beside it.

Someone was definitely here!

In fact, steps inside the pantry began to creak under the weight of someone climbing them.

Snakes began to writhe in her middle as her morbid gaze stared into the open door of the pantry. This washerhouse, but she wasn’t an idiot. She turned to leave the way she’d come in.

“Who are you?” The rumble of a deep, unfriendly voice behind her lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.

She turned back and found not a scruffy squatter, but a fit, well-kept thirtysomething in a gray T-shirt and gym shorts, one who radiated the dangerous energy of a gathering storm.

Her senses wereaccostedby lake-blue eyes that pierced so far into her soul she shivered. His jaw was clean-shaven and looked hard as iron. The glower he wore was even harder. His legs were planted like hundred-year-old oak trees.

He looked her up and down as though she were a squirrel he’d have to shoo out with a broom. His thick brows went up, demanding she answer.

Habits of a lifetime had her wanting to make an apology and slink away.I’m nobody. Confrontation had never worked out for her, but she had to start standing up for herself. She wasn’t actually in the wrong here, even though he was making her feel that way.

---