LITMIR.BIZ

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daughter didn’t kowtow to bullies. She’d honor her word and give Kyle Anderson thirty minutes to speak his piece; then she’d send him and his sleazy client packing.

      Chapter Two

      Shayna snapped her eyes open and stared at the cabin’s vaulted ceiling, trying to figure out what had disturbed her nap. Snuffly snores drew her attention to the floor next to the couch, where her hundred-pound German shepherd snoozed. She rolled over and smiled at the sleeping giant—not much of a guard dog, but for her, Brinks was the perfect companion.

      She registered the muffled crunch of tires on gravel half a second before the sound of a car door slamming finally roused the dog—and answered the what-woke-me-up question. Brinks jumped to his feet and ran to the front window.

      She sat up just in time to see a masculine silhouette move across the curtain. Dread set her teeth on edge. She wasn’t surprised that Kyle Anderson had tried to follow her home, but she was flabbergasted that the stubborn fool had succeeded. There were no street signs on the mountain. Here, directions were given in terms of burned barns and tree stumps.

      She was still several steps from the door when he knocked. Brinks rushed forward, a low growl sneaking past his bared teeth. Shayna laid a reassuring hand on his head. “Sorry, pup, but his spoiled city hide is probably too tough to chew.”

      Secretly wishing she were ornery enough to ignore him, Shayna pushed back the curtain. Other than his flapping coattails and wind-tossed hair, it was like someone had superglued an immovable statue to her front porch. A two-hundred-year-old oak should be so sturdy.

      Over his shoulder, the sky sagged low and gray. While she’d napped, this morning’s bad weather had turned downright nasty. If the temperature kept falling, there’d be sleet before nightfall. Which made getting rid of her uninvited guest even more critical.

      Mentally gearing up for battle, she shooed Brinks out of the way and opened the door. A blast of frigid air whipped across the front porch, spilling a hunk of thick blond hair across Kyle’s forehead before racing through the narrow wedge of the open door.

      His gaze flicked over her, head to toe. She knew she looked sleep-rumpled and sloppy but darned if she’d fidget and primp for him. “Yes?” She didn’t hold the door open or invite him in out of the cold. Rudeness went against her grain, but sometimes a girl had to break the rules.

      His nose glowed Rudolph-red, yet he somehow managed to appear patiently inquisitive, as though he could wait all afternoon if need be. “You don’t look too busy at the moment. Perhaps now’s a better time for our discussion?”

      Shayna bit her cheek to keep her lips from curving. Despite her pique over this man’s nerve, she couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. He’d have made one heck of a defensive tackle. Eye on the quarterback and don’t stop running till you’ve mowed him down.

      Only problem was, that made her the quarterback—but she planned to stay on her toes till the end of this game. Which meant she had to maintain control.

      “Fine. But let’s make it quick. The storm’s moving in.” She stepped back and reluctantly invited him in.

      Kyle shuffled forward a step, and stopped immediately when Brinks issued a growled warning, his bared-tooth snout level with Kyle’s most vulnerable parts.

      She grabbed the dog’s leather collar and attempted to pull him back, but the mutt refused to budge. “As you see, he’s a mite overprotective, so you’d best mind your manners.”

      “Hey, boy.” Kyle spoke softly, holding his palm near Brinks’s snout. The dog took his time before accepting the offered sniff, and rather than his customary lick of approval, Brinks backed off just enough for Kyle to enter, then sat, keeping their visitor well within his sights.

      Bolstered by the rare glimpse of Brinks’s underused guard dog skills, Shayna pushed the door closed against the wind’s pressure. She had promised to hear Kyle out. She hadn’t said a thing about being pleasant.

      “You’ve got fifteen minutes, Mr. Anderson. One cup of coffee and then you’re gone.”

      Kyle’s jaw ached with the effort of keeping his teeth from chattering. His custom-tailored suit and silk-lined Armani wool coat were no match for the frigid temperature and howling wind. He’d held on to his stern posture by willpower alone, but Christ, he’d been seconds from folding when she’d finally opened the door.

      Of course, he’d prefer death by icing to having that behemoth dog pin him to the wall by his balls. He wanted that partnership, but he didn’t want it that badly.

      Keeping one eye on Cujo, he assessed Shayna’s personal space, looking for insight into her character, the kind of impressions and vibes you couldn’t access through paper trails.

      The cabin’s spacious main room had the wide-open feel of a converted warehouse loft. In L.A., this space would rent for a small fortune. Wide-planked pine floors bore the scars and marks of old age beneath a sheen of polish. The furniture was an eclectic mix of new and old, littered with an abundance of odd-shaped pillows in every color imaginable. The overall effect was vivid and energetic, yet still homey and comfortable.

      “Great space.” He followed her to the kitchen, trying not to notice the sway of her full hips or the way her black leggings hugged her short but shapely legs.

      “Thanks.” She gestured toward a sturdy oak chair. “Sit.”

      The pony she called a dog was sprawled out in front of the fridge, his jet eyes sparkling, as if the mutt found humor in her ordering Kyle around. Refusing to be intimidated by a house pet—or his fierce-looking owner—Kyle removed his damp coat and threw it over the vacant chair she’d indicated.

      “I’d prefer to stand.” He leaned against the counter.

      “Suit yourself.” Neither of them spoke while she got the coffee going. When she turned, the glint in her sleepy amber eyes warned him she intended to fire the first shot.

      “So, tell me, Mr. Anderson—” she folded her arms and glared at him “—what kind of proposal does Dr. Walker have for his bastard daughter?”

      Her bluntness surprised him. He’d expected her to dodge the point as long as possible. “You’re aware of Ms. Hoyt’s plan to blackmail my client?”

      “Yes, but I made it clear to her that I don’t want any part of it.”

      “Unfortunately, she’s decided to proceed anyway.”

      “I figured as much, but regardless, Patty’s actions have nothing to do with me.”

      “That’s a very naive statement, considering your mother’s blackmail threats center around your birth.”

      She shrugged. “Perhaps, but without my help, her claims are just hearsay, right?”

      “Hearsay?”

      She spun and started rummaging in the cabinets but not before he saw the tinge of pink staining her cheeks. When she blushed, she reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. All that naturally unadulterated beauty in a sea of silicone implants and hair extensions.

      “I’m a big Law & Order fan,” she mumbled, pulling down a couple of coffee cups and filling them.

      “Me, too.” He accepted the cup she handed him, handle out, to avoid the possibility of brushing fingers. “Without your corroboration, her claims would indeed be hearsay, if the matter went to trial, but Patty isn’t threatening to sue Dr. Walker in a court of law. She intends to drag him through the court of public opinion.”

      “Ah.” She smirked, intelligence sparkling in her eyes. “A much more dangerous venue for your client, to be sure.”

      Kyle hid an unexpected grin behind his cup. He’d always admired women with quick wits. “In light of recent career developments, my client is justifiably interested in maintaining his good public reputation.”

      She

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