11
The next morning Heather woke early, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings of the guest room before remembering the events that had led her to stay at the main house.
She could hear movement downstairs, the clink of coffee cups, the low murmur of voices, and the occasional bark from one of the dogs. It felt surprisingly homey, as though she belonged here among the controlled chaos of the Watkins household.
After dressing quickly in the clothes she'd brought from her cabin, she made her way down to the kitchen. The scene that greeted her made her pause in the doorway, a smile tugging at her lips despite her lingering anxiety.
Lyle stood at the stove, flipping pancakes while Charlotte sat at the table, carefully measuring out dog food for the puppies. Joe was already settled in his usual spot, laptop open and coffee in hand, while Mike moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling ingredients from various cabinets.
"Morning, Firefly," Lyle said without turning around, somehow sensing her presence. "Coffee's fresh."
"Thanks."
She moved to pour herself a cup, trying not to feel self-conscious about essentially camping out in their home. "I should probably head back to my place. The dogs will need?—"
"Already taken care of," Joe interrupted, not looking up from his screen. "Kenny went over early this morning to feed and exercise them."
Heather blinked. “Didn’t he need a key?”
“We have a master to all the cabins,” Mike said.
"Oh. Well, he didn't have to."
"We take care of our own," Mike said simply, sliding a plate of bacon onto the table. "Besides, Kenny needed the distraction. He's been brooding more than usual lately."
"It's the anniversary," Lyle explained quietly, catching Heather's questioning look. "Of when his team was ambushed. It's a tough time of year for him."
Heather nodded, understanding dawning. She'd heard whispers about Kenny's military service, about the losses he'd endured. It seemed the Watkins family carried their share of battle scars, both visible and hidden.
"Miss Heather!" Charlotte exclaimed, finally noticing her presence. "Uncle Lyle's making chocolate chip pancakes! And Pepper didn't have any accidents last night!"
"That's wonderful," Heather said, grateful for the little girl's ability to brighten any moment. "You're doing such a good job with the training."
"Speaking of training," Joe said, finally looking up from his computer, "I've been doing some more digging into our friend Mr. Richards."
Lyle set a stack of pancakes on the table, grabbed a bottle of syrup and took a seat, his expression serious. "What did you find?"
"Well, it's definitely his company that put in the competing bid on the property. And get this. He's got a pattern of similar moves in other towns. Finds successful small businesses, particularly ones owned by women, and basically forces them into selling by creating impossible situations."
Heather's hands tightened around her coffee cup. "But why target my business? I'm not exactly a corporate giant."
"No, but you've got a solid reputation in the industry. Your training methods are becoming well-known, and your success rate with rescue dogs is impressive." Joe turned his laptop around so they could see the screen. "Look at this. Articles from three different trade magazines featuring your work and the work of the dogs you’ve trained. You're making headlines, whether you realize it or not."
"Miss Heather's famous?" Charlotte asked, her eyes wide with wonder.
"She sure is, squirt," Lyle said, ruffling Charlotte's hair. "And that's why some not-so-nice people might want to take advantage."
Heather felt warmth spread through her chest at the pride in Lyle's voice, even as worry gnawed at her stomach. Bret had never shown pride in her accomplishments. "But what about last night? That truck... you don't think Darren Richards would go so far as to try to intimidate me, do you?"
"It's possible," Lyle said carefully. "But given what you told me about your ex-husband, we need to consider both threats." His jaw tightened. "Either way, you're not staying alone at that cabin anymore."
"Lyle—"
"He's right," Mike chimed in, joining them at the table. "At least until we figure out what's going on. We've got plenty of room here."
Charlotte bounced in her seat. "You can stay in my room! We can have sleepovers with the puppies!"
Despite her instinct to protest, to maintain her independence, Heather felt herself warming to the idea. The thought of facing either Bret or Darren Richards alone made her stomach churn.
