Page 12 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

Trash was everywhere. I spotted more yellow cabinets and some scraps of lime-green wallpaper. Was that a teal refrigerator?

It was.

And it was on my property along with the rest, infecting my life with its hideousness.

I looked away from the mess and aimed my glare at the house just as the front door burst open. A stream of five workers barreled out, laughing and clapping one another on their backs. Now that they’d spread destruction all over my property, they were probably off early this Friday afternoon, ready for a beer at the Lark Cove Bar.

The workers piled into a line of trucks parked along the drive and, one by one, pulled away. Not a single one had noticed me. I stood, scowling at their taillights until all that was left was the distant rumble of engines.

With them gone, I went right to the Airstream and pounded on the silver door.

Piper’s clown car was parked behind the camper. The car was too damn cute, too trendy to belong up here. My eyes were narrowed at the car when the latch to the door clicked open.

“I thought you all just left for the day.” Piper was smiling as the door swung open. Her dimples were also too damn cute. They disappeared along with her smile when she saw it was me at her door, not a crew member.

My gaze roamed her face, picking it apart and searching for things I didn’t like. But I came up empty.

Son of a bitch. I liked it all, from her big eyes to her narrow nostrils to her flat chin. I even liked her teeth that were too white.

“Can I help you?” She held the door open but didn’t step down.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

She blinked, then her mouth turned down. “Excuse me?”

“What. The fuck. Is going on here?” I repeated, then pointed behind me to the pile of shit on my property. “What is all of that?”

She looked over my head to where I was still pointing. “That would be garbage. I’m renovating my house.”

“Why is it on my property?”

Her eyes narrowed, though they were still too fucking big. “It’s not on your property. It’s on mine.”

“No. It’s on mine,” I said through gritted teeth.

“You’re wrong.” She cocked a hip. “After I bought this place, I had the county come and stake out the property line. I was thinking of putting in a fence to keep the neighbors out.”

Neighbors? I was her only neighbor. But if she wanted a fence, I wouldn’t balk. Hell, at the moment, a fence sounded fantastic. Maybe it would block out some of the noise. Maybe it would be easier to pretend this beautiful, irritating woman wasn’t so close.

Piper crossed her arms and moved down the metal steps, forcing me backward. “See those stakes, right there and there? The ones with the neon-orange ribbons on them?” She pointed to a stake at the back corner of her house and then at another down the hill in the trees.

I grunted, wishing I’d noticed the stakes before trudging over here.

“That is my property line,” she declared. “And—now use your imagination here—if you pretend to draw a line between stake number one and stake number two, you’ll see the pile of trash is on my property. As is the neighbor I’d hoped to keep out with the fence.”

I grunted again.

It was a pitiful response given how badly I’d underestimated Piper.

She was standing close to me. Really close. Closer than I’d been to a woman in years. She was wearing a thin, white tank top. The neckline was cut low enough that the tops of her breasts showed. Two faint freckles dotted her creamy skin, just above her cleavage.

“Did you need something else, Kaine?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she drawled my name.

I forced my eyes away from her breasts. “Just . . . just keep your shit off my property.”

“Fine.”

“And keep the noise down. It’s bothering me.”