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I reach the kitchen island, grateful for something to stand behind in case my growing desire is becoming obvious. "No reason. I just think it’s funny that you think one little camera in the front and back is enough for you to be safe out here all alone."
Her stubborn chin raises, and she folds her arms over her chest. "My Aunt Trudy and her dog will also be here."
Pulling out a stool from under the kitchen island, I prop myself on it and lean my elbows on the white granite. "What kind of dog?"
Her lips wobble. "A vicious basset hound."
My brows raise, and she starts to laugh. "You mean the cute ones with the long ears?"
She nods, her ocean blue eyes fill with mirth. "You’ve never met Duncan. He’s fourteen and can lay waste to a full room of people with one bit of flatulence.”
I bark out a laugh. “As much as I can’t wait to meet Duncan, I think I’ll still advise Brocker to up his security system on the manager’s cottage.”
Brooke takes a step closer to me, and I catch the slight smell of her sweet perfume. Her eyes shine with mischief. “What if I don’t want cameras pointing at me from every angle?”
A chuckle rumbles through my chest. “It’ll be on the outside of your house. And if you’re worried about any private moments that you want to keep for your eyes only, then you can erase the footage.”
She reaches for my hand. “Come with me.”
“I’d love nothing more,” I mumble and follow her back toward her bedroom.
We step into the room closest to the edge of the forest. I’d wondered which of the two rooms she’d go for. “Where are you exactly going to suggest that Owen install more cameras? Because, I’ll be honest, I like the idea of tossing on my robe and having my morning coffee out here before I’m properly dressed. I don’t want some camera feed going God knows where for God knows who to watch.”
I slink down into a low-backed cushioned chair that spins and watch Brooke as she walks around her room talking away, motioning to various corners, but I can’t tell you what she’s saying. I’m still coming to grips with the fact that through a strange twist of fate we’ve been brought together once again. I still see the young college girl who I saw on campus when we first met, her walking to class and me digging out some gnarled bush in front of the library for my summer landscaping job. I’m mesmerized by her just as much now as I was then.
“Oh, don’t move! There’s a bug on your collar.”
“A bug?” I glance down, and she rushes over.
“I told you not to move! Here I got it.” She’s not watching where she’s going, and the point of her shoe slams into the side of my ankle.
Grunting, I pitch forward, catching Brooke off guard and causing her to topple. To her credit, she stays focused, grips my shoulder, and swats whatever bug was on my collar onto the floor. “Oh thank God,” she gasps, pressing her flattened palms against my chest and settling her rump in my lap.
“By the look of relief on your face, I don’t think I had a bug on my collar,” I growl.
She presses a hand to her mouth and tries to suppress her laughter. “Guilty. I don’t know if you still have such a phobia of spiders, but when I saw a little brown one crawling up your collar, I figured I’d step in and help.”
“I may walk with a slight limp tomorrow from you nearly taking out my ankle with your sandal. What the hell are those things made out of, steel?”
She giggles. “See? The worst thing I have to worry about out here is a little brown spider.”
The sound of shattering glass in the front of the house splits through air. We both lunge for the door, and I pull Brooke behind me as we both run for the foyer. Broken glass hunks lie scattered across the tile floor, where a football-sized rock painted blood red was hurtled through the front door’s stained glass window.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Brooke, get your cell and call the police and stay inside.”
Brooke, frantic and wild-eyed, grips my wrist. “Wait, where are you going?”
“Outside to catch the bastards who did this.”
Her grip tightens. “No, no, no. It’s too dangerous.”
“Brooke, we don’t have time for this. Call the police.” I break from her, yank open the broken front door, and freeze.
“Oh, God. What’s that smell?” cries Brooke, grappling with her cell phone.
I turn, teeth clenched. “My truck. They lit it on fire.”
BROOKE
