“You and the girl can stay rent-free,” Liza J decided.
My mouth opened wider than the fish mounted on the wall above us.
“You’ll pay the utilities on the cottage,” she continued. “The rest you can trade by helping around this place. I’m not the neatest housekeeper and I need some help getting things cleaned up.”
My squeals were internal. Liza was my fairy godmother in gardening clogs.
“That’s very generous of you,” I began, attempting to process what was happening. But after the past twenty-four hours, my brain was on hiatus.
“You’ll still need a paycheck,” she continued, unaware of my mental predicament.
I still needed a lot of things. Bike helmets. A car. Some therapy appointments… “Oh, I had a job offer today. Someone named Sherry Fiasco said I could take a shift at a place called the Honky Tonk tomorrow night. But I need to find someone to watch Waylay.”
We heard the scrabble of paws, and in seconds, Waylon trotted into the room and looked at us expectantly.
“Waylay, not Waylon,” Liza said to the dog.
He sniffed around, making sure we weren’t dropping food on the floor, and then headed back into the kitchen.
“You didn’t by chance mention to Knox about that job offer, did you?” Liza asked.
“We don’t have that kind of relationship. We just met,” I said diplomatically. I didn’t want to come out and tell my new landlord that I thought her grandson was a brutish oaf with the manners of a pillaging Norseman.
She studied me through her glasses, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Oh, I can tell. Word of advice, maybe don’t tell him about the new job. He might have opinions and if he does, he’d definitely share them.”
If Knox Morgan thought I was interested in his opinions on my life, I could add narcissistic tendencies to his long list of flaws.
“My business is my business,” I said primly. “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be able to find someone I’m comfortable leaving Waylay with in such a short time.”
“Already did. Though the girl probably don’t need it. Probably been making her own dinners since she was six. She can stay with me. Hell, maybe she can make me dinner. Bring her by on your way to work tomorrow.”
Keep an entire human being alive and safe went into the Major Imposition column on my internal spreadsheet of Things to Avoid at All Costs. Asking my fairy godmother landlord to please babysit my niece until who knew when while I worked a late shift in a bar rose to the top of that list, edging out helping me move and chauffeuring me to or from surgery.
Major Impositions were only put upon responsible family members and close friends. Liza was neither of those.
“Oh, but I don’t know what time I’ll get off,” I hedged. “It could be very late.”
She shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I’ll keep her here with me and the dogs, then bring her back to the cottage after dinner. Don’t mind waiting around there. Always liked that place.”
She headed toward the doorway, leaving me with my feet glued to the rug and my mouth still gaping. “I’ll pay you,” I called after her, finally rediscovering the ability to move and speak.
“We’ll discuss it,” Liza said over her shoulder. “I know you think you’re getting the good end of the deal, but you got no idea what a mess you’re getting involved in.”
We found everyone, including the dogs, alive and unharmed in the kitchen in an oddly homey scene. Waylay was perched at the island, judging every ingredient Nash added to the salad as she added mixed seasoning and condiments in a bowl. Knox was drinking a beer and stabbing at the meat in the pan while reading out ingredients to Waylay.
There appeared to be no new bloodshed. Both men had cleaned up their wounds, leaving behind only bloodstains and bruises. Nash looked like a hero who had taken a few hits for a damsel in distress. Knox, on the other hand, looked like a villain who’d gone a few rounds with the good guy and come out victorious.
It was definitely my recent mistake with the good guy—on paper at least—that had me overcorrecting and finding Knox and his villainous attitude attractive. At least, that’s what I told myself when Knox’s gaze landed on me and I felt like hot bacon grease had just been poured directly into my spinal column.
I ignored him and his sexy standing-at-the-stove-ness, choosing to focus on the rest of the room instead.
Liza’s kitchen had an astronomical amount of counter space that had my fantasies shifting gears and thinking about the Christmas cookie baking potential. The refrigerator was ancient. The stove practically an antique. The countertops were battered butcher block. The cupboards were painted a lovely loden green. And, judging from the contents visible inside the glass-fronted ones, they were all close to overflowing.