Jolene had taken stock of what was left in the pantry, and there was plenty to last a couple of weeks. By then she’d have money from the bar to pay the utility bills. She paced the floor, wondering if the guy who’d offered would really buy Reuben’s half of the inn. She went from the foyer, up the wide staircase, checked each bedroom and finally sat down on the top step.

The person who was interested in the place might not finalize a deal on only half. If he backed out, she decided that she was going to open for business, no matter what. She’d take a month to get the place in shape, do the spring cleaning like Aunt Sugar did every year, and take reservations starting the first of February. If she lived on a shoe string, maybe she could save enough to could hire someone to remodel one room at a time that way.

Now that she had a plan, even if it wasn’t a good one, she was eager to get started, but seven o’clock at night wasn’t the time to start washing woodwork. She grabbed a quilt from the back of the sofa and carried it outside. Wrapping it around her body like a long shawl, she sat down on the porch swing and set it to moving with her foot. Within seconds she was second guessing herself about selling her half, and then a picture of Aunt Sugar’s smile flashed through her mind.

Even if she could have more money than she’d ever had at one time and could be on her way to a new life, maybe down near Lafayette where she still had a beaucoup of cousins—it wasn’t going to happen. She’d made up her mind and she was going to stay focused on moving forward with the plan.

A big, white fluffy cat hopped up on the swing with her and laid a paw on her leg. It was friendly enough that Jolene wondered if it belonged there, and Aunt Sugar had just forgotten to mention it in her excitement to leave the day before.

“Well, what’s your name, pretty thing?” Jolene asked.

“Sassy is her name,” a deep voice said right behind her.

Startled, Jolene whipped around so fast that she almost fell off the swing. “Who are you, and what are you doin’ here?”

Now is that any way to act toward a potential customer? Aunt Sugar’s voice popped into her head. He might stay a week, and you’d make enough money to pay the electric bill.

“Right friendly, ain’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from the man’s tone.

“I’m sorry. You scared me. Is this your cat? How did you get here?”

“Drove my truck right up the lane and parked my trailer out in that little clearing by the bayou.” His deep drawl left no doubt that he was definitely from Texas. He easily topped six feet in his well-worn cowboy boots. His hair was dark, and the porch light lit up his piercing blue eyes.

“We don’t have a trailer park.” How had he gotten past the house without her hearing the truck? “Nope, don’t reckon you do.” He sat down on the porch step, and the cat hopped off the swing and went to curl up in his lap.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked again. “Would you like to rent a room?”

“Nope, don’t reckon I do, but I wouldn’t mind a tour of the house,” he said.

“Why would I do that?” Her fear radar shot up several notches.

“Because, honey, I’m Tucker Malone, and I own half of this place now.”