Page 16 of My Three Rivals

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now we get the Wi-Fi password,” Wyatt replied.

I snorted loudly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

He grinned, and Atticus waved for us to follow him toward the far end of the hall, in the opposite direction in which we’d come.

“Stairs are that way,” I informed him.

“This way, too,” he reminded me. “Butler stairs.”

I had forgotten about those in the house blueprints, but I hadn’t spent all that much time perusing them. The house was of little consequence to us. It wasn’t staying, and it had no bearing on our plans. But if we were hanging out there for a little while, it might be interesting to explore what else this hundred-year-old property had hidden in its walls.

The secondary staircase led us to the kitchen, where I half expected to find Tegan still fuming, but she was nowhere in sight as we continued our exploration.

“Maybe we could keep the house standing,” I mused, more to myself than to my partners. The charm of the structure was growing on me as we padded through the split levels. It needed a lot of cosmetic work and likely beneath the surface, too, but there was something about it.

“What the hell for?” Wyatt demanded. “It’s falling apart.”

“It can probably be saved,” I insisted, the idea forming in my mind.

“It probably has termites,” Wyatt grumbled. “It looks like the walls are all going to fall down any second.”

I didn’t push it, my gaze taking in the details of the handmade railings on each staggered level.

The furniture had obviously all belonged to Adelaide Pickett, the hideous floral designs reeking of mothballs. I didn’t see a hint of Emerson anywhere, and I wondered what had become of all the previous owner’s things.

A small shudder tingled through me. It was probably better that I didn’t know.

“The place is huge,” Atticus commented once we finished our tour, landing on the back veranda.

This was the only part of the house that seemed relatively in good shape, a fresh coat of white paint gleaming against the verdant background of the plush vineyards. I flopped onto one of the wicker lawn chairs, dropping my feet on the footstool in front of me. The furniture rocked unsteadily under my hold, and I immediately sat up, realizing that it was rotting away under me.

Jumping up from my chair, I scowled. “Everything is falling apart,” I muttered.

“And you want to save it?” Wyatt countered.

“I just think it has some kind of appeal. We could make it into a bar or inn or something,” I insisted, waving my hands around.

“A bar? Are you out of your mind?” Wyatt scoffed. “Who the hell is going to come all the way out here to drink?”

“We could make it into a vacation rental—”

“We’re not doing any of that,” Atticus interjected, giving me a stern but skeptical look. “What’s gotten into you?”

I realized how childlike and ridiculous I sounded, clamping my lips together. The remote, country location was a dream to me, and if I’d had any idea how to manage a property like that, I would have bought one for myself with my first millions. There was just something so appealing about living out there, unbothered by anyone.

“You’d miss the city too much,” Wyatt quipped, like he was reading my mind, and I grinned wryly.

“You’re probably right. I’m already missing the city.”

I fixed my eyes on Atticus and lowered my voice. “How long do you think we’re going to be here?”

He frowned. “As long as it takes. But no one’s going anywhere until she’s gone. Got it?”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do around here until then?” Wyatt grumbled. “At least let me find the Wi-Fi password, so I can get online.”

Atticus shrugged. “I don’t care what you do. Just get in the girl’s way as much as possible. A few days of this, and she’ll be begging us to buy her out for pennies on the dollar—although the longer we stay here, the less this property will be worth. It’s literally falling apart beneath our feet.”

---