“The cottage has been vacant for a while, and in light of what you found, the owner believes it would be prudent to have someone on-site who could watch over the property. I was instructed to ask if you’d like to live in the cottage and fill that role. There would be no duties other than your presence. While there’s no financial compensation involved, no rent would be charged and all utilities and other expenses would be covered. The offer is for six months, with the possibility of renewal.”

Christi focused on a box of Lucky Charms cereal that was front and center in her field of vision as she tried to digest the proposal.

Instead of prosecuting her for trespassing, the owner wanted her to occupy the cottage and protect it from other trespassers—all expenses paid?

“Ms. Reece?”

“Yes. I’m here. I’m just . . . flummoxed, I guess.”

“I agree it’s a most unusual proposition.”

No kidding.

“But why would the owner ask me to do this? I mean, he or she doesn’t know me, and I don’t know them.”

“I can’t answer that. I don’t know them either. All of our communication goes through their attorney—who is a partner in a prestigious Portland law firm, by the way. So this offer is on the up-and-up, in case you’re concerned.”

Christi stared at the stack of cereal boxes.

Maybe the offer was legit, but what kind of person—or persons—gave a stranger a free place to live? And not some falling-down dump, but a charming cottage with a touching history and a world-class view.

Compared to her tiny studio apartment in Dallas, it was a palace.

Intriguing as the prospect was, however, she couldn’t just up and leave Texas. Relocate to a place she’d never set foot in until yesterday.

Could she?

“I was told to give you twenty-four hours to think about the proposal.” The sound of shuffling papers came over the line, as if the man had grown impatient with the long stretches of silence from her end. “Do you want to consider it, or would you like to give me an answer now?”

Tell him no, Christi. Reputable law firm or not, this whole setup is bizarre. Why would the owner go to such extremes to protect their anonymity? Why would they trust a stranger with their property? Go back to Dallas.

Sensible advice.

Yet Texas held nothing but bad memories—Tasha being the one exception.

“Ms. Reece?” A definite nip of impatience had crept into the man’s tone.

“I’ll take the twenty-four hours.” The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“I’ll let the owner know. You can reach me at this number anytime tomorrow morning. If you decide to stay, there will be a small amount of paperwork to complete. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

The line went dead.