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undecided as to whether he’d just received a compliment or been insulted. “That article on Tidewater’s personal little war with Starrtech was written over two years ago. Where in hell did you even find it?”
    â€œWe get the Internet in Whistler’s Landing. I also read several
three
-year-old articles. Did your grandfather really leave his big fancy estate, his even bigger bankbook, and all his shares of Tidewater to a young woman he’d known less than two months?” Both eyebrows disappeared into her curls. “The same woman your older brother married six weeks after the funeral in order to save her from being forced to sell those shares to your archenemy for ten cents on the dollar?”
    â€œNo,” Jesse said, standing up. “Sam married Willa to save her from herself.” He walked to the kitchen and bent to pick up the purse, only to have it jerked out of his hand by the strings trapped in the door.
    He heard a snicker behind him. “Those ribbons are stronger than steel. I know because I tugged on them until one of my purse handles broke.”
    Jesse crouched down and opened the purse, remembering Willamina Kent’s disastrous entrance to a Tidewater board meeting three years ago, when Sam had found her in the lobby holding a pair of handles as the elevator had ascended with her overnight bag still inside.
    â€œHey, you can’t just go through people’s belongings without their permission.”
    Jesse pulled out a small brick of modeling clay and set it on the floor. “It’s standard procedure with stowaways.” He glanced over to see her glaring at him from her hands and knees again—apparently still waiting for the floor to stop moving so she could stand up—and arched a brow. “But I try to refrain from adding items to their grocery lists.” Seeing those creamy white cheeks turn a lovely pink again, he went back to feeling his way through the cluttered, seemingly bottomless purse and pulled out a rolled-up pink canvas hat—not the one she’d thrown in the woods, as he remembered that one being blue. He set it on the floor beside the clay and dove in again. “Oh good,” he drawled, pulling out a large, rabbit-ear corkscrew. He set it on the floor beside the clay and hat, then resumed hunting until his fingers closed around his target. “I apologize for assuming you’d snooped through my kitchen looking for a cork—”
    Jesse stopped in mid-sentence when he pulled out a second,
empty
wine bottle, holding it up as he silently arched a brow at her again.
    â€œIt was a long ride,” she muttered, somehow managing to look both guilty and indignant as she flopped back against the couch. “Were you in a contest to see how many potholes you could hit, or did the dealership just hand you a driver’s license with that fancy truck?”
    For some unfathomable reason, Jesse found Miss Glace in a drunken snit to be the most appealing of all, which sent his mind wandering in a totally inappropriate direction—the fact he couldn’t get Wagner’s
Tannhäuser
out of his head probably not helping. But hell, it wasn’t like he’d kidnapped the woman; she was the one who’d chosen to stow away in the camper of a man she’d spent the last three months getting to know
intimately
.
    â€œSo, about your plan for after you reached Castle Cove,” he said, standing up and walking back to the living area, his hope of a drink thwarted. He started to sit in the recliner in the opposite slide-out, but changed his mind and sat on the floor to lean against it facing her. “Are you intending to hide out here in town for a few days?”
    â€œI can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Wiggles falls into a deep depression if she’s left alone for more than twenty-four hours.”
    â€œWiggles?”
    â€œMy cat.”
    â€œSurely Stanley will go home