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“Donotdo that again.”
“Or what?”
I don’t have time for these games. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my house?” I finally ask. Though more specifically,my bed.
She narrows her beautiful green eyes at me as ifI’mthe intruder. Then stands a good five feet from me.
“I’m Fallon Joy, a journalist for a magazine based in Seattle. I’m writing a center page article about this town and rented this place for two weeks while I’m here.” She grabs her phone, then shows me the itinerary along with photos of the outside of my house. That smirk, paired with her confidence, tells me she believes she’s proved her point.
I meet her gaze. “Well,Fallon Joy…” I repeat her name and chuckle at the irony.
“What’s funny?”
“The fact that your last name isJoy, and you seem anything but joyful.”
Her lips purse into a line so tight, it looks painful.
“Anyway, I’m Levi White, and my family has owned this property well before either of us was alive. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but—”
“Why did you put this cabin on a vacation rental site if you weren’t going to vacate?”
“I didn’t. I’ve never rented it out.”
“So this listing isn’t your cabin?”
“It is, butIdidn’t list it.”
“Is this some kind of scam? You take all my money, then kick me out as soon as I get here?”
Her accusatory tone annoys me even more.
“Look upWhite’s Christmas Tree Farm,and you’ll see I’m not lying. Go ahead. I’ll wait,” I taunt, crossing my arms over my broad chest.
“Well,Levi,” she mimics my tone, spitting out my name like it’s poison. “My assistant booked this reservation, and I’ve already seen the charge on my card. There must’ve been some sort of miscommunication with the website,” she continues to run her mouth.
“Please tell me you’re not that naïve. You werescammed. Someone put my cabin up on that website, stole your money, and left us to figure it out.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Go to the listing now and see if it’s still there. A hundred bucks it’s gone now.”
She furiously types on her phone. When the color drains from her face and her nostrils flare, I’m convinced she might self-destruct. I’ve never seen someone get worked up so quickly. But I try to give her the benefit of the doubt because I’m sure this is stressful for her, too.
“Motherfucker,” she mutters, inhaling a deep breath as if she’s contemplating throwing her phone out the window.
“I’m sorry someone took advantage, but you can see I’m telling the truth. This happens in touristy towns sometimes.”
She gives me an unamused death glare. “Great. I’ll just grab my things and leave. I’m sure I can find another place.”
“Actually, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. It’s a full-on blizzard out there, and the road conditions are probably bad in this whiteout. You can sleep in my guest bedroom tonight. There’s a bathroom down the hall you can use, too. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”
“Fine.”
She slams her laptop shut, picks up her phone and weapons, and snatches the handle to her suitcase. Without saying another word, she storms off. Seconds later, a door slams shut, and I think she locks it.
Shaking my head, I call Dasher up to give him a quick bath. As I scrub soap over his back and belly, I think about the crazy events that just happened and wonder how the hell I’m going to navigate having a stranger in my house.
When I woke up this morning, the last thing I expected to find was a beautiful woman in my bed who thought I was there to kill her.
