It was Christi, no question about it, but she looked different. More polished and put-together. She’d restyled her hair and enhanced her features with makeup. Her black slacks and soft blue sweater were a major step up from the worn jeans and T-shirt she’d been wearing during each of their previous encounters. And the shadows beneath her lower lashes had either diminished or been camouflaged.

She gripped the side of the door as he completed his once-over. “Good morning.”

Her greeting refocused him—but he didn’t return it. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

He waved a hand over the cottage. “Why are you back?”

“I live here.” A glint of amusement sparked in her irises.

A muscle in his cheek ticced. As far as he was concerned, there was no humor in this situation. “Explain that.”

“The owner wanted a pseudo caretaker and offered me the job.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“The owner invited me to live here. Do you want to see the paperwork I signed Saturday?”

“Yes.” At the very least.

“Come in while I get it.” She left the door open and retreated into the house.

He crossed the threshold into the small foyer and gave the interior a sweep. Empty, as on his last visit—though a savory aroma filled the air, suggesting someone had cooked breakfast.

And that someone had to be Christi. A woman who hadn’t known how to boil an egg eleven years ago, when her father’s household staff took care of such mundane chores.

One more disconnect between the Christi in Hope Harbor and the one he’d known in St. Louis.

She reappeared and handed him several sheets of paper clipped together.

Legalese wasn’t his forte, but as he sped through the document, two things jumped out.

Not only was the owner giving Christi the place rent-free, they were covering all expenses. And she was staying six months—at least.

He tried to sort through the avalanche of thoughts that was muddling his brain.

Why was she extending her stay? Last he’d heard, she was heading back to Texas ASAP.

How was he going to deal with having her underfoot? In a town the size of Hope Harbor, they were bound to see each other on a regular basis.

Why would the owner ask a stranger to live here and watch over the place but refuse an offer by a police officer to not only fill the same function but pay his own rent and expenses? He was a far more qualified candidate for the caretaker role.

An alert began clanging in his mind, and he flipped to the last page. Skimmed the signature line. The document had been signed by a representative from the management company, not the owner.

He scrutinized Christi. “Doesn’t this arrangement strike you as odd?”