Betty wandered back into Caroline’s office, armed with a cup of tea and a mince pie.
“What are you doing back here?”
Betty pointed at Caroline. “Body.” She pointed at herself. “Guard.”
Caroline ground her teeth. Hard. Trying to ignore her eighty-six-year-old bodyguard, she reached for the phone and called the local paper. The wedding might be taking over her life, but she still had to find a replacement for Beth.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After a long day dodging her geriatric bodyguard, Caroline was sitting down to a late dinner when the doorbell rang. With a heavy sigh, she opened the door and instantly regretted it. Josh was standing on her doorstep. His arms were folded over his Hong Kong Phooey T-shirt, and he was amused. Determined but amused.
“I’m not talking to you.” Caroline started to close the door.
“Good.” Josh smacked a hand on the door, stopping it mid-swing. “In that case, you can listen.”
Caroline pushed the door. Josh raised an eyebrow at her that said, Really, you think you’re stronger? She put her weight behind the door. With a shake of his head, he bent over, picked up a gym bag at his feet and walked past her into the house. Caroline slammed the door and followed him into the kitchen.
“What are you doing? I don’t want you here. I’m not talking to you.”
“I told you, that’s fine. I’ll talk.” He leaned against the counter at the sink—as usual, taking up too much room in her house. “I’m moving in.”
Time stopped. There was a rushing noise in her ears—she was pretty sure it was the sound of steam trying to get out of her head. “You’re what?”
“Moving in. Here. With you.”
“No you are not.”
He smiled at her, reached over and picked a piece of garlic bread from her plate. He ate it slowly.
“Yes,” he said. “I am. The castle is a bombsite. My parents are waging World War III in what’s left of it. The noise is driving me demented. So I’m moving in here. Where it will be quiet, because you’re not talking.”
Caroline folded her arms and tapped her toe on the linoleum. “Get a room at the pub.”
“No.”
“You’re not staying here.”
“Yes. I am. What are you going to do about it? Throw me out?”
A frustrated growl started in the pit of Caroline’s stomach and worked its way up through her clenched teeth. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
He grinned widely. “Neither do you, baby.”
Frustrating. Annoying. Infuriating. Pig-headed man. She clenched her fists then reached for the phone on the wall beside the door. She dialled the police station. Josh casually pulled out a chair at her kitchen table and proceeded to eat his way through her vegetable lasagne. Caroline fought the urge to kick him. Hard.
“Invertary police station,” the woman said.
“Agnes, it’s Caroline Patterson. I need to speak to Officer Donaldson.”
Josh quirked an eyebrow at her. She smiled thinly.
“Is this about that crazy singer the other night?” Agnes said.
“No, it’s about a different one. Can you put Officer Donaldson on the line, please?”
“No problem, honey.”
There was silence while Josh watched her as he casually ate her meal. He thought he was untouchable. She’d see about that.