My surprise meter must be malfunctioning today. It keeps dinging. “I didn’t come here to make friends,” I say without thinking.

That gives him pause. I can see him battling the urge to explore that statement, but like me, he decides against expressing even the barest form of interest. “Just the same, she’s relentless. Do your best to let her down gently. Although, I reckon tact isn’t something that comes easily to you.”

I laugh a little hysterically. “You’re calling me out on tact?”

Shane acknowledges my words with a sigh. “Look, Faith gets attached.” Another glance at the trophy box. “I won’t be here much longer. When I leave, it’ll be hard enough. I don’t need you making it worse.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest. “I realize you’ve only arrived, but I thought it best to get this conversation out of the way early.”

“Wow. Thanks for letting me unpack before unloading your family’s baggage onto me.”

“Excuse me?”

See, now he’s got me good and pissed. This is exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid. In the last month, I’ve experienced enough teen vampire-style angst to last a lifetime, and I’ve somehow already been dragged into this family’s drama. If there was a red reject button sitting on the desk, I’d slam my fist down on top of it. I have more than one reason to be annoyed and it all goes back to my stupid need to know more. “Where are you going anyway?”

He looks to be debating whether or not to confide in me, but in the end he shrugs. “Back to racing. As soon as I can get this place sold, I’m getting back on the circuit. Shouldn’t be long until I unload this place. There are several interested parties.”

I’ve only been here a couple of hours, and I’m already appalled at the idea of selling the inn. It screams family institution. When you’ve never felt comfortable or welcome in a single place in your life, and you find out someone is taking that very feeling for granted, it’s impossible to understand. “Why did you come back in the first place?”

“My father died.” He says it quickly, snapping the revelation like a whip, as if he’d anticipated the question. Had been asked it countless times. “So you see, this year alone Faith has suffered enough loss. Then you walk in here with your Clash T-shirt, dripping with sarcasm, and she sees an escape. Don’t be that for her, or she’ll wither when you leave.”

“For someone who clearly dislikes me, you seem to have a high opinion of my ability to sweep your sister off her feet.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. You’ve already got enough confidence to fill the Atlantic.”

“What’s the Irish word for hypocrite?” He doesn’t answer, obviously. I want that to be my parting shot—I adore a good parting shot—but there’s still another piece of the puzzle I need to slide into place. “Won’t she still have your mother when you leave?”

Shane laughs under his breath. “You’ll meet Kitty soon enough.”

That answer is far from satisfying, but if I pry any more, it’ll look like I care. And I don’t. “Well. If she’s half as charming as you, I’m in for a treat.”

He rounds the desk and comes toward me. I want to back away, but manage to stand my ground. Something about him puts me on the defensive. He keeps invading my personal space, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Anxious…aware. Before he can take another step, I close the distance for him, bringing us toe to toe. I’m trying to send a message, although I have no idea what it is. Stay away, maybe. So why am I moving closer?

His eyebrows dip a little, as if he’s trying to read me, frustrated that he can’t. “Do I have your agreement, Willa?”

I reach behind me and yank the door open with an impatient noise. “Relax, frosty. I told you I wasn’t here to make friends and I meant it.”

“What are you here for?”

I leave without answering. The only person I owe answers to now is myself.

Chapter Three

A few days passed and by slipping out of the inn early each morning, I’ve thankfully managed to avoid Shane and Faith. Kitty, not so much. Bright and early the morning after mine and Shane’s laugh-a-minute chat, she knocked on my door while I was still wrapped in a towel, hair dripping wet. Briefly, I’d pictured Shane coming to kick me out, but a tinkling voice had called cheerfully through the wood. Definitely not Shane.

“Tea? Anyone in there for tea?”

I’d cracked the door open just enough to peek out. My first thought upon meeting Kitty Claymore was, holy fuck-balls, she’s bat-shit crazy. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, but her smile reminded me of her daughter. Kitty was a walking, talking, age-progression drawing of Faith in forty years. Except eternal youth didn’t sit so well on Kitty. Time appeared to have taken its toll in other ways. As in, mentally. In her carefully arranged graying hair, she’d clipped some elaborate hairpiece that involved peacock feathers and blue robin eggs. Her dress hung off her, much too large for her thin frame, yet perfectly clean and ironed. Over it, she wore an apron with Claymore Inn embroidered over the breast.

She looked right through me and held up a silver teapot. “Piping hot, it is. You’ll want to blow on it a while.” She breezed into the room as if floating on air and flipped over the teacup sitting on my dresser. “There’s toast.”

I looked around confused. “W-where?”

She pulled a burned piece out of her apron pocket and laid it down with the utmost care beside the steaming cup of tea. Then she pointed at it, as if it had been there all along. “There.”

“Looks…great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, love. How long have you been here? Have you met my husband yet? Don’t let him put you off the place.”

Kitty’s question sent a tingle up my neck. Apparently my initial judgment of her wasn’t far off, but I felt guilty for having such harsh thoughts when her condition appeared serious. I didn’t known how to respond. “N-not yet,” I mumbled.

“You will shortly, I’d say.” She patted her hair. “And my Shane? You’ve run into him, have you?”

“Oh yes.”

“Right.” Suddenly, she looked lucid. Not to mention, highly amused at my abrupt answer. “Well, don’t go planning the wedding just yet.”