Page 15 of My Three Rivals

He shot us both a covert glance, indicating that we should follow, and I swallowed my sympathy for Tegan, remembering our game plan. The more uncomfortable we made her, the sooner she’d leave.

But I still couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

“There’s not enough room for you!” she lied.

I’d seen the blueprints of the house. As modest as it looked from the outside, I knew that it had five bedrooms and two full bathrooms. The Picketts had renovated the original property. Not that it much mattered. We would have slept in the living room or kitchen if need be. We had all endured much worse.

Atticus didn’t respond to her protest, and after I pulled my duffel bag from the trunk, I strode up to join them.

“There’s no way you’re staying here. Maybe you have part shares, but that doesn’t entitle you to live here!”

“You have exactly the same amount of ownership in this property as we do, Ms. Pickett. We have just as much right to be here as you. The sooner you accept that, the better,” Atticus informed her.

I stood in the small entranceway, taking in the worn wall, desperately in need of plastering and paint. The staircase was splintered, and even without stepping on it, I could tell it was vaguely unstable. The house needed work.

What was she thinking, taking this project on by herself? Did she have a boyfriend helping her out? If she did, he was doing a terrible job.

“Why are you doing this?” Tegan demanded, her voice cracking slightly. “This is my family home. Don’t you have any shame at all?”

I swallowed a groan. It was the wrong thing to ask Atticus.

His hazel eyes glittered angrily. “It’s business. I bought this property with the expectation of growing on it. Now you’re screwing all that up. For what? Because you’re clinging to the tatters of what this place used to be? Grow up, little girl. Welcome to the real world.”

The hint of frustration dissipated from Tegan’s eyes, and the familiar fire returned. She sashayed up to Atticus, her neck craning back to meet his eyes evenly, despite the fact that he had at least eight inches on her. “I’m not rolling over,” she spat. “You can try to take over my house, but I’ll have you all removed by force if necessary.”

Atticus and Wyatt began to laugh, fueling Tegan’s clear ire.

“You’regoing to take me out, are you?” Atticus asked conversationally, not moving his own face.

A mirthless smirk took over Tegan’s face, but instead of answering, she spun on her heel, finally shooting me a look of contempt as she did before disappearing into the back of the house.

“Well, that went well,” I offered dryly.

“It went exactly how I expected it to go,” Atticus replied, adjusting his bag in his hand. “Now she’s going to run off and cry to her lawyer and realize that there’s not a damn thing she can do about this.”

He moved toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

Atticus glanced over his shoulder, his foot on the first step, which groaned under his weight. “I’m going to find my bedroom. Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m coming,” Wyatt agreed, following him up toward the second floor, but I hesitated.

A part of me wanted to go after Tegan and explain that it didn’t need to be so hard. All she had to do was let go of the property and start new somewhere else with the generous amount of money we offered her.

But it would have been a wasted effort. It obviously wasn’t about the money to her; the sentiment behind the vineyard was more important.

Imagine being that attached to land for sentimental reasons,I thought with annoyance, the bit of compassion I had for the sexy firework diminishing some.Atticus was right. This shouldn’t take long. Eventually, all that gusto is going to burn out.

* * *

All the bedrooms were basically the same upstairs, except for their vantage points of the vineyard beyond. I didn’t get a chance to see the main bedroom where Tegan likely slept; the door locked when I tried the handle.

She must have already come up to secure it. She was quick.

Tegan’s room faced north, so Wyatt and I took the bedrooms on the east and west side of the one at the end of the hall. There was an ancient, chipping bathroom next to Wyatt’s bedroom that looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since the sixties, and Atticus claimed the next bedroom over.

Once we’d put our bags away in our newly claimed spaces, we regrouped in the hallway, eying one another uncertainly.

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