Tempted By The Single Dad - Cara Colter

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bludgeoning device bears a name supposed to make it more or less threatening?” he asked.

      There was something about the faint smile that tickled the edges of that extraordinary mouth that made her feel just a little more off-kilter.

      “As you said, there have been break-ins. I saw it on the news, too. Defense by Harold seemed like a good idea at the time.”

      “Look, you are about the size of a garden gnome…”

      A garden gnome?

      “…I don’t think tackling an intruder head-on is the best idea. Harold or no Harold. The fake pistol in your pocket was really dumb.”

      Ouch. Not just a garden gnome, but a dumb garden gnome.

      Allie had to get rid of him. She made her tone deliberately unfriendly. “I hardly need lectures from strangers.”

      “Not even a stranger you tried to bean with a sculpture?”

      “Unsuccessfully,” she muttered.

      “I make my case.” More softly, he said, “I don’t feel as if we are exactly strangers.”

      The fact that he had seen her artwork did not make them friends.

      “I liked your grandmother a great deal,” he said softly. “I think she would have wanted me to warn you against tackling intruders.”

      Allie did not like how his expression had softened with concern, as if she was a silly child who was in need of his supervision. Still, no point being churlish about it, especially since he was right: her grandmother would have approved of his well-meaning words.

      “Well,” Allie said, “thanks for your sage advice.” Maybe the tiniest hint of sarcasm had gotten into her tone, because he was looking at her with his brows lowered in a most formidable way.

      She would not be intimidated. “So, our mutual caring for my grandmother notwithstanding, I think our business here is concluded. Let me show you the door, Mr….er…”

      “Walker. Sam Walker.”

      “Mr. Walker, then. My apologies for the mix-up. It will have left you in a bit of a pickle, but—”

      “The pickle may be yours, I’m afraid. I have a contract.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      ALLIE STARED AT Sam Walker, entirely flabbergasted by his arrogance.

      The concern, along with his sympathy, had evaporated. His tone suggested he felt that the existence of a contract resolved everything. He did, unfortunately, radiate a certain power, a man very accustomed to obstacles melting before his considerable presence.

      “I’m not sure what you think that means,” Allie said, “that you have a contract. Or that the pickle may be mine.”

      “It means, legally, I have possession of these premises for the next two weeks.”

      “Are you a lawyer, then?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

      “No. But I have access to some pretty good ones.”

      “Are you threatening me?”

      “Not really.”

      But he was threatening her. Somehow this threat felt more like a clear and present danger than him barging into her house.

      “And what am I supposed to do?”

      He lifted a shoulder, but seemed preoccupied with something he was looking at outside. “Vacate, I guess.”

      She didn’t like this one bit: that in the blink of an eye she had gone from the one throwing him out, to the one being thrown! He was the kind of man who was like that: life-altering storms practically brewed in the air around him.

      Vacate? Her own home? “You expect me to leave to accommodate you?” Her tone was properly indignant. And she hoped imperious.

      He turned back to her. She got the impression that her indignation barely registered with him and that her leaving was exactly his expectation.

      “I don’t have anywhere to go,” she sputtered. She sounded defensive. And faintly pathetic. Who didn’t have anywhere to go? Plus, worst of all, she sounded as if she had already given up, as if she would defer to him and his stupid contract.

      She had been so right not to trust that perfect moment of just minutes ago. Why did calamity lay in wait for her?

      He lifted a shoulder and glanced back at her. “I don’t, either. It’s been a long day, and I’m not about to start searching for alternate accommodations now.”

      She could see, suddenly, that all that handsomeness had hidden a truth from her. His face was lined with weariness. And something else was in those devil-dark suede eyes…hurt? Loneliness?

      Allie, she scolded herself, you are in the middle of a crisis here. She did not need to be exploring the damage to the dark stranger who had appeared on her doorstep.

      And he did not want her to know, either, what painful secrets he held, because the window that weariness had opened briefly in his eyes slammed shut.

      His voice had an edge of hardness to it when he spoke. “I couldn’t find anything on such short notice, regardless.”

      That was true. It was the beginning of July. Sugar Cone Beach was one of the most sought-after holiday locations in California. People booked, particularly the July the Fourth holiday, well in advance. Sometimes, years in advance. People who had yearly arrangements—like him apparently—clung to them. She had heard of rental agreements being passed down, generation to generation, and that might be the case with him. He’d said his parents had it before him.

      Still, it was even more reason she was not abandoning her house to him. She would not be able to find anything else, either. Though the contract thing was a little worrisome. The last thing she needed was a legal battle. The truth was, after the shock of the tax bill, she was barely squeaking by.

      Allie cast Sam a glance. He looked like he had a lot more money than her if it came to that.

      Still, she couldn’t act intimidated, and she couldn’t take it on. It was his problem, not her problem.

      “Who doesn’t at least make a phone call before heading out on their holiday?” she asked, her tone querulous. “It’s not as if my grandmother was young. Did it not occur to you things can change?”

      He looked her over with narrowed eyes. His voice was cold when he spoke. “I happen to be one of the people most aware of how things can change, without warning, how an entire life can be thrown off course in a single second.”

      She was suddenly dangerously aware they were not talking about a rental agreement gone wrong. He looked stunned that he had revealed that much of himself, and covered his tracks quickly.

      “We’re going to have to reach an agreement,” he said.

      His tone was reasonable, but Allie could feel herself bristling. Despite that lapse where he said a life could be thrown off course without warning—his life presumably—he was the kind of man who wouldn’t like that. Who wouldn’t like that one little bit. Who would move heaven and earth to make sure it didn’t happen to him again. He practically oozed the kind of irritating confidence bordering on arrogance of a man who expected everything to go his way. Who would make everything go his way.

      He was in for a surprise this time. He was going to have to go, and that was that. She was in creative mode—or trying desperately to be in creative mode—and she knew how easily the muse could be derailed. She had a deadline to meet. She had to stand as strong as him. This cottage was hers, and she was not leaving it!

      “I doubt an agreement that is satisfactory to

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