Authors: Christine Bell
The last part gave him pause and made him slightly uncomfortable. Ms. Knight was making rock-solid sense. By moving forward, he’d hoped to make his sister’s conman ex-boyfriend Nico pay, but wasn’t he, in effect robbing Cara of the chance to face him down herself, if and when she was ready?
The thought faded as quickly as it had come. At the rate she was going, his sister was never going to confront the bastard. Owen had counseled her to get a civil attorney and at least get Nico’s face splashed all over the news, win or lose, but she didn’t have the heart.
So someone had to make him pay.
Lindy seemed to be of the same mind as he was. If a person did wrong, they should have to own up to it. She’d said it with such conviction, he wondered if maybe she could work out after all.
“So what ever happened to old Melba?”
Lindy gave him a sheepish look. “She should be home in a couple of hours.”
That stopped him cold. “Wait, she still lives with you?”
“Uh huh. It’s only been a few months.” She released the death grip on her purse to run a hand through her short, dark hair. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go right now. Once the divorce is finalized, and the house is sold, she can get a place on her own.”
Owen pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that had been skulking around his cranium all morning.
So far, he was batting a thousand. After two weeks of interviewing, he’d met nothing but nutters, sleazeballs, and people who were in the country illegally. It was like some twisted version of The Twelve Days of Christmas, except his rendition would be more like “Six hookers hooking, fiiiive homeless drunks! Four illegal immigrants, three ex-cons, two exotic dancers, and a bleeding-heart flake with seven puppies.”
“I do have some acting experience, though. Right now, I’m between businesses, so I got a job waitressing at Medieval Days. I spend my shift acting like the mutton’s delicious.”
He must be getting used to her quirks because this time her unconventional response didn’t even faze him. He felt a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Glancing at her neat little figure in jeans and a wooly cardigan, he tried to picture her at Medieval Days serving food in trenchers, wearing long skirts with a corset. The image sent a surge of blood pumping south, and he bit back a curse. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. There was too much at stake to allow biology to sway him from making the right choice, but she also had a guilelessness about her that might turn out to be a great asset.
Could Lindy Knight possibly be the right choice for the job?
He did a mental rundown of the other applicants and grimaced. Who was he kidding? With ten days left, she was his only choice.
“Miss Knight, I’d like to hire you. How would you like to be my wife for three weeks?”