So he’d ended it, just like he’d ended all his other relationships.

  Whatever. Girlfriends were too much trouble. And he needed to get to work.

  He grabbed his bag and the keys that the Realtor had overnighted to him and walked to the front door, then slipped the keys in the lock, noting the lockbox was still on the door. He made a mental note to contact the agent in the morning so it could be removed.

  As he opened the door, he yawned. The flight from San Francisco to Orlando had been long and exhausting, but such was the nature of his business. Not that he was complaining, since he loved the travel, and he was excited to start this new project. At least this would give him something to get jazzed about.

  He dropped his bag at the front door, then paused, certain he’d heard a noise. He waited a few beats, listening for anything else that didn’t seem right. When he didn’t hear another sound, he headed straight to the kitchen.

  From the photos he’d seen of the place, he knew that was where he’d need to do the most work, so he might as well take a look.

  He was about to hit the light switch when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Something was headed toward him, and he caught whatever it was in mid swing, his heart pumping triple time as he figured he was about to get blasted on the head by a tire iron or something equally skull smashing. In what felt like hours but in reality was probably only a few seconds, he had the offending weapon in one hand and the intruder wrapped around him in the other.

  “Hey, hold on there,” he said, realizing whoever was trying to kill him was a lot smaller than him. And lighter, since he’d grabbed their arm and their weapon, which was a…

  Cast-iron skillet?

  He held the squirming burglar against his chest and leaned back to fumble around the wall for the light switch. He hit the switch with his elbow, which bathed the kitchen with light.

  Okay, this was unexpected. He quickly let go of the intruder, and they made a hasty retreat to the other side of the room.

  Linc had figured maybe a teen, or a small man. But never in a million years did he figure he’d come face-to-face with a gorgeous woman dressed only in a T-shirt and underwear, along with several glaring sets of eyes directed at him. He quickly counted—

  Five dogs. And they hadn’t even barked.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” he asked. “What are you doing in here?”

  She tugged the T-shirt over her flowered cotton panties. “I think I should be the one asking the questions here, since you just broke in.”

  He shook his head. “No, I own this place.”

  “You do not. I’m friends with the owner.”

  “You mean the former owner. I closed on this house three days ago.”

  She frowned. “Prove it.”

  He frowned. “You prove it. Who’s the owner of this place?” He wasn’t about to give her a lead.

  “Ginger and Greg—”

  “Powell,” he finished for her.

  Her eyes widened. “They sold the house?”

  “Yeah.”

  She lifted her chin, a defiant look on her face. “I don’t believe you.”

  Now that his heart rate had come down to a more manageable level, he could think a little more clearly. And since whoever this woman was seemed to know the former owners, she was likely scared, too. Which was so not his problem, since she was the one squatting in his house. “You should call her. Now.”

  She grabbed her phone off the corner of the peninsula while she eyed him warily. She pressed a button and waited.

  “Ginger. It’s Hazel. I’m at your house and some guy just came in and said he bought the place.”

  She listened, still staring at him.

  “It’s okay. I just didn’t know. I would have left if I’d known.”

  She listened some more.

  “I’m fine, honestly. Nothing happened other than both of us scaring the hell out of each other.”

  Then she laughed, and it was such an amazing sound. Light and easy.

  He didn’t care how she sounded. Why would he care? His first objective needed to be getting her the hell out of there.

  “Yeah, I don’t think either of us would want to see pics of what just happened. But we’re both okay. No harm, no foul.”

  Linc motioned to her. “Mind if I have the phone for a second?”

  She hesitated. “Uh, Ginger? He wants to talk to you.”

  She listened, then gave him the phone. He put it on speaker and laid it on the counter. “Hey, Ginger, how’s it going?”

  “Linc. I am so embarrassed. For some reason I had it down that you weren’t coming in until next month. And then with our move and everything going on, I totally spaced and forgot to tell Hazel that the house had sold. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry to both of you for this.”

  Linc looked over at the woman, who still had her arms wrapped around herself but seemed a lot less terrified than she had a few minutes ago.

  “Hey, it’s okay. We both survived the scare. Is Greg there?”

  “Oh, he’s here, trying not to laugh.”

  “I wasn’t laughing,” Greg said. “Glad you didn’t get arrested, bud.”

  He saw Hazel cock her head to the side. “Greg and I know each other,” he told her.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I’m so sorry, Hazel,” Ginger said.

  “Me, too,” Greg said. “But it’s still Ginger’s fault.”

  “Hey, you could have called Hazel, too,” Ginger said.

  “I could have. My bad.”

  “It’s all good,” Hazel said. “Love you guys.”

  “I’ll call you after this project, Greg,” Linc said, “and we’ll get together for a round.”

  “You got it,” Greg said.

  Hazel clicked off. “Okay, apparently you’re legit. Ginger didn’t tell me. She told me she’d let me know when they accepted an offer so I could clear out before the new owner arrived. I guess that’s you.”

  “And I guess you’re not a burglar.”

  She slanted a look at him. “Do I look like a burglar?”

  He gave her the once-over, from her wildly tousled dark hair to her tanned bare legs. “Not any burglar I could ever imagine.”

  “Do you mind if I put some pants on before we continue this conversation?”

  Actually, he did mind. She had amazing legs. “Sure, go ahead. And while you’re at it, you can pack up whatever things you have so you can leave.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, right. Sure. I can do that. Sorry.”

  The look on her face was one of utter dejection. Linc would not feel sorry for her. She wasn’t his responsibility, and he had things to do to this house that did not include a woman and five dogs.

  “Come on, babies,” she said, and just like that, her dog entourage followed behind, but he could swear that little beige Chihuahua gave him a dirty look before leaving the room.

  Finally, Linc had a chance to exhale. And put the skillet on the stove.

  The woman—Hazel—was talking upstairs. He should follow and make sure she didn’t do any damage. And while she might be friends with Ginger and Greg, she wasn’t his friend. In fact, he didn’t know her at all. He’d known of squatters who kicked in drywall or did any number of things to screw up property before running off. He had his investment to protect, so he quietly made his way up the steps, stopping in the hallway when he heard the sound of her voice just inside the bedroom.

  “It’s okay, babies,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “We’ll figure something out. We always do, don’t we?”

  He peeked his head inside the door to see a blow-up mattress and an oversized backpack. Was that all she had? She’d put on a pair of shorts and wound her long, dark hair into a bun on top of her head.

  “I promise I’ll take care of you. You won’t be homeless. We won’t be homeless. I’ll make this work. Somehow.” The pit bull came over and laid his head on her thigh, and Hazel dropped her head to her chest and her body shook.

  Dammit. She was crying. Linc turned away and made his way back downstairs.

  This—she—was not his problem. He didn’t even know her.

  Hazel came downstairs a short time later, her eyes swollen and red rimmed, but she had a smile on her face. The dogs all followed her, then sat at her feet like little statues.

  Weird little fuckers.

  All she had were the remnants of that mattress and a couple of bags. Was that all she owned?

  “I’m really sorry about nearly crushing your skull with the skillet. We’ll get out of your way now. I have a chair outside—oh, and my skillet. I’ll just put these in the car and be on my way.”

  She headed toward the front door, the dogs following. It was the most pitiful entourage Linc had ever seen.

  Fuck.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She stopped and turned to look at him.

  “It’s late and you obviously don’t have anywhere to go. You can stay in the guesthouse for a day or two until you figure something out.”

  Her eyes lit up like bright round diamonds. “Really? Oh my God, thank you so much. I’m Hazel Bristow, by the way.” She held out her hand, so he did the same.

  “Lincoln Kennedy.”

  She gave him a look. “That’s very…historical.”

  “I go by Linc. And my mother’s a history teacher. She named all of us after historical figures.”

  “All of you. So you have siblings.”

  “Two brothers.”

  “I see. So you’re moving in?”

  “Sort of. I mean, not really. I’m renovating this place.”

  She frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with it? It’s a great house.”

  “It needs some updating before I sell it.”

  “Oh.” She chewed on her lower lip for a beat. “So you’re one of those people.”

  The way she said that told him she wasn’t a fan of his livelihood. “You mean people who invest in homes, fix them up and make them better, then sell them and improve the neighborhood?”

  He didn’t miss her derisive snort. “Yeah. House flippers. You come in, do some cheap modifications so you can make a quick profit, then turn around and sell and then you’re off to the next house.”

  “Well, when you say it like that it does sound bad. But that’s not what I do.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  “And what do you do, Hazel?”

  Her gaze shifted down to her dogs. “I foster dogs.”

  “Is that what those are?”

  “Yes. Sort of. Mostly.”

  That was vague. “And you’re staying in an empty house because…?”

  “It’s complicated. Say, are you hungry? I’m hungry. I was going to fix myself some dinner. Would you like something to eat?”

  She was avoiding the question, but he was hungry. “Sure.”

  “Awesome.”

  She seemed relieved not to answer the question about what she was doing staying at the house, but Linc supposed the answer to that question could wait.

  At least until after dinner.

  About the Author

  ••••••

  Jaci Burton is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Brotherhood by Fire series, the Hope series, and the Play-by-Play novels.

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