5. Laurie
Chapter five
Laurie
Ihaul the heavy quilts over the porch railing, shaking dust into the cold mountain air.
Bethany's inside scrubbing baseboards and muttering about whoever invented "elbow grease."
The view almost makes the work worth it.
Mountains frame the horizon, snow gleaming white against blue sky. The air tastes clean. Nothing like the cramped apartment we left behind, where the neighbor's cooking seeped through the walls and the parking lot smelled of exhaust.
I grab another quilt and freeze.
A woman stands across the property line, arms folded, watching me.
She's younger than me. Early thirties, maybe. Dark hair pulled back tight. Her expression sits somewhere between curiosity and accusation.
"Can I help you?" I call out.
She doesn't answer immediately. Just studies me.
Then she walks closer, stopping at the property marker—a row of stones half-buried in the earth.
"You're the cleaning lady."
I drape the quilt over the railing and wipe my hands on my jeans. "I'm Laurie Bennett."
"Jessie Lestor." She tilts her head. "This property belonged to my family."
Oh.
"I'm just here temporarily," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "Helping get the place ready for inspection."
"Convenient."
"Excuse me?"
Jessie steps closer. "The lodge sat empty for years. Suddenly there's a court hearing, and now it's in use. Bedding on the porch to prove it."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I'm cleaning. That's what I was hired to do."
"And staying here? You and your daughter?"
My stomach twists. "They offered space as part of the work arrangement."
Jessie's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "How generous. Rich men swooping in to rescue a widow in distress. You provide the optics they need, and they provide shelter. Very tidy."
"That's not—" I stop myself, fingers curling into fists at my sides. "This is a fair contract. I'm being paid for work."
"Of course you are." Jessie's tone drips sympathy. "I'm sure Mr. Thorne explained everything very carefully. Made you feel grateful. Made you feel like this was the best option available."
"Nobody made me feel anything. I chose to take this job."
"Did you?" Jessie adjusts her jacket. "Or did a controlling man take advantage?"
My throat tightens. Because she's hitting a sore spot I've been ignoring since I signed the contract. The fear that accepting help means admitting I couldn't manage alone. That needing this job makes me someone's charity case.
"I'm not being exploited."
"Then why are you here?" Jessie gestures toward the lodge. "A place that's been empty for years? You don't find that suspicious?"
"I find it practical. The team owns property. They're maintaining it."
"By installing a convenient widow and her daughter as proof of occupancy." Jessie's voice hardens. "This lodge is part of my family's history. And now strangers are living here, playing house, so a billionaire can keep what was never really his."
Footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me.
"Ms. Lestor." Grant's voice cuts through the cold air.
I turn. He's walking toward us from the driveway, wearing dark jeans and a jacket that probably costs more than my car. Major trots beside him, tongue lolling.
Grant stops beside me. Not between us. Beside. Close enough that his presence shifts the dynamic without crowding me out.
"Mr. Thorne." Jessie's tone cools further. "I was just introducing myself to your housekeeper."
"Mrs. Bennett is a contractor."
"Living on-site."
"Temporarily. As part of a documented work arrangement." Grant's expression doesn't shift. "If you have concerns about property use, direct them to our legal team."
"I'm directing them to you." Jessie meets his gaze without flinching. "This lodge sat empty for years. Now suddenly it's occupied, cleaned, and full of purpose right when the court needs proof of active use. You're manufacturing legitimacy."
"We're maintaining team-owned property."
"By exploiting women in vulnerable positions."
My breath catches.
Grant's jaw tightens, but his voice stays level. "If you're implying impropriety, you'll need evidence beyond speculation."
Jessie's smile returns. "I'm implying that rich men often confuse convenience with fairness."
"And bitter people often confuse entitlement with justice."
The words hang in the cold air.
Jessie's expression hardens. "My family owns this place."
"Your family gave it to the team. Legally. Decades ago." Grant's tone doesn't rise, but the steel underneath becomes unmistakable. "If you want to contest ownership, follow proper channels. But do not harass contractors working on team property."
"I'm not standing on your land."
"Then enjoy the view from there."
Jessie looks at me again. Her gaze carries something that might be pity or might be warning. "Be careful, Mrs. Bennett. Men like Grant Thorne don't rescue people."
She turns and walks back across the property line, disappearing into the trees.
Silence settles.
Grant watches until she's gone, then he turns to me. "Are you all right?"
"Fine."
"Laurie."
I wrap my arms around myself. "I said I'm fine."
Major nudges my leg with his nose. I scratch behind his ears because it's easier than looking at Grant.
"She's wrong," Grant says quietly.
"About which part?"
"All of it." He steps closer. "You're not an asset. You're not being exploited. And you're not here because I manipulated circumstances."
I look up.
Grant's expression hasn't softened, but something shifts in his eyes. Something that looks almost like anger, except it's not aimed at me.
"You signed a contract for work you're qualified to do.
You accepted temporary housing as a perk of the job.
It solved a problem for you, and for the team.
With no one living here, we didn't know what needed to be done.
There is nothing exploitative about mutual benefit.
" He pauses. "And if anyone implies otherwise, they can answer to me. "
The protectiveness in his voice catches me off guard.
Major barks once, breaking the moment.
I step back, smoothing my hands over my jeans. "I should get back to work."
"Laurie—"
"Really. I'm fine." I force a smile. "Bethany's probably conquered the baseboards by now and moved on to reorganizing the pantry."
Grant watches me for another beat, then nods.
I head back toward the lodge, heart hammering against my ribs.
Grant Thorne is trouble.
But as I glance back and see him still standing there, watching the property line like he's daring Jessie to return.
Maybe trouble isn't always bad.