“I HAVE SKUNKS in my pantry,” Emma French said.
The man who opened his front door to her wore the green uniform of a Tennessee Wildlife officer. At least according to the emblem on his mailbox down by the road. Skunks were wildlife, so he should be able to deal with the three in her pantry. She had no intention of touching them. He, on the other hand, looked as though he wrestled moose on weekends—not that there were moose in Tennessee. Skunks should be only a small distraction.
She had obviously interrupted him in the middle of his dinner. He still held a napkin. But this was an emergency, drat it. She expected him to grab a cage or gloves or a net and follow her out into the downpour at once. Instead, he lifted one eyebrow and said, “Interesting. And you are?”
“I’m Emma French, the one who inherited Martha’s house across the street. I just moved in this afternoon and found them.”
He stuck out a hand. “I’m Seth Logan. Moved in here after Miss Martha had to go into assisted living, so I never knew her, but I’ve heard good things about her. Since the last renters left six months ago, everyone in the neighborhood figured the property was up for sale.”
“My rental agent hasn’t located any new renters for me way out here. Can you come get the skunks? Isn’t that your job?”
“Not precisely, no. How big are the skunks? How old?”
“I have no idea how old they are.” She held her thumb and middle fingers apart. “They’re about this size, I guess. Little bitty.”
“Excellent. At that age, they can’t ‘skunk’ you. Their scent glands don’t function.”
“Great. Then you’ll be safe when you pick them up.”
He didn’t move or even ask her in out of the rain. Good grief! The last thing she needed was a useless muscle-bound stud in a snappy uniform living across the road. Judging by that lifted eyebrow and the quirk at the corner of his mouth, she’d bet he had to beat women off with a stick. Assuming he wanted to.
The man was laughing at her! “Sir, I am formally requesting your assistance in getting the wildlife—” she pointed to the insignia on his khaki shirt “—out of my house and back into the wild. Thank you in advance for your assistance.”
Then he really did laugh. Well, more of a snort, but he obviously considered her amusing. She was not amusing. She was a serious executive—okay, a currently unemployed executive—moving into the shambles of a house she’d inherited in the middle of nowhere. She’d expected grime and peeling paint. She hadn’t expected live creatures inside. Definitely not skunks.
As long as they were in residence, she didn’t plan to be. Either they’d have to go or she would. But where? She couldn’t afford to live in a motel for very long, even the rent-by-the-hour place close to the interstate. She had to shepherd her savings and severance pay, in case she didn’t get a new job right away. She’d rather die than ask her father and stepmother for money to tide her over, although they’d gladly help her out if she was desperate. She didn’t plan to ask them unless or until she was desperate.
She’d expected that after three years of renters and six months standing empty, Aunt Martha’s house—her house now—would have problems, but skunks? Ridiculous.
It might take months to find another job as good as the one she’d just been fired from. Until then, she needed to live as frugally as possible. It made no sense to live in a motel while she owned a three-bedroom house on five acres; she’d inherited the place from her aunt Martha with taxes paid and no mortgage. It was empty and urgently needed renovation, but it had a roof and working plumbing. Good enough. She was a stranger here. She wouldn’t have to deal with personal questions.
Aunt Martha’s inheritance was the only thing that did belong to her free and clear