Jacob Scott raised a brow, then broke away from her hypnotic stare to glance
at the shotgun pellets embedded in his wall. “You could have killed me.”
“You broke into the house in the middle of the night.”
He reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out his keys. “I didn’t
break in. I have the damn key to my own front door.”
She put a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “And how was I to
know it was you making all that noise? You’re not supposed to be here.”
Irritation boiled inside his gut. She was treating him like a criminal for entering
his own home.
“Well, I am here and this is
my house. And just who are you?”
She drew in a breath and glanced to her left. “Tessa Jones,” she
The name rattled around in his brain. It was familiar. She was familiar, but
he didn't think he'd actually met her before. He sure would have remembered that thick auburn hair and lush body if they'd
been introduced. So, why did he know the name?
Not that Tessa Jones.
“Tessa Jones? The cook for Baxter’s Diner who burned down half of
Spencerville after she started a kitchen fire last month?” Thrusting a hand through his hair, he shifted his weight
“What are you doing in my house?”
Her face reddened as she glared at him. “I’m the cook for the cowboys
here on the Triple H.”
What was Christina thinking? Hiring an arsonist as a cook?
What he thought must have shown on his face, because the hand on her hip fisted,
bunching the flannel and inching it up to reveal more of her lovely thighs. Fire blazed in her eyes. “You know, things
aren’t always what they appear to be.”
With that, she strode down the hallway to a bedroom and slammed the door behind