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“This may take a while.”
Sighing, Dani gestured toward the living room. “Okay. Come in.”
Chase sauntered into the room, eyeing the contents of the cabin. Rustic pieces of furniture, well worn but comfortable, were placed between family antiques and heirlooms. A hand-knit afghan was draped over the back of the couch and pieces of embroidery and appliqué adorned the wooden walls. It was small, but homey and comfortable. The house fits her, Chase thought as he took a seat on the hearth of the stone fireplace and leaned forward, hands over his knees, just as Caleb’s meticulous but cold farmhouse fits him.
Deciding that beating around the bush wouldn’t accomplish anything, Dani walked into the living room, snapped off the TV, sat on the arm of the couch and faced him. “So, what do you want? Why are you here?”
Chase smiled. A brilliant, white-toothed grin slashed his tanned face and made his blue eyes sparkle. “You can drop the tough lady act with me.”
“It’s not an act.”
“That’s not what Caleb says.”
Dani’s lips tightened and a challenge flashed in her eyes. “Caleb doesn’t know me very well. Otherwise he wouldn’t keep trying to force me into selling my place to him.”
“By offering you a reasonable price for it?”
Dani wasn’t about to confide in one of Johnson’s men; whether he was interesting or not. “Reasonable?” she repeated, rolling her eyes. “Look, Mr. McEnroe, obviously you came here for a reason, so why don’t you get to the point and tell me what it is?”
“All business, right?”
“Right. Shoot,” she encouraged and Chase laughed out loud. It was a deep rumbling sound that bounced off the rafters and dared to touch a secret part of Dani’s heart.
“Bad choice of words,” he said.
“Okay.” She smiled in spite of herself. “So why are you here?”
“I want answers.”
“From me?”
“To start with.” He stood up and stretched before reaching upward to the rifle mounted over the mantel.
Dani bristled. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, leaping up and stepping forward.
He ignored her outcry and opened the chamber of the weapon. It was empty. “Just checking,” he said, almost to himself.
“On what?”
“To see which one of you is lying. You or Caleb Johnson.” He replaced the Winchester and looked over his shoulder at her. “So far the score is zero/zero for the truth.”
“I think you’d better leave,” she said, angry with herself for allowing him to enter her house in the first place.
“Not yet.”
“If you don’t—”
“Yeah. I know, I know.” He walked around the room, staring at the woven baskets, brass pots, worn furniture and scratched wooden floor. “If I don’t leave, you’ll call the sheriff or that fictitious attorney of yours.”
Shaking with anger, Dani stifled an urge to scream at him, and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “Just what is it you want, Mr. McEnroe?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Chase?”
“And how many times do I have to tell you to get off my property?”
“I’ll go, I’ll go,” he agreed amiably, though his jaw was hard. “I just want some answers.”
Her temper snapped. “Well, so do I! Just who are you and why are you here?”
