Page 3 of The Grump I Got Stuck With

“Um, a healthy and productive conversation?”

“Healthy and productive? You have the communication skills of a stubborn Highland ram, thinking you can just bulldoze your way in here.”

“I’m just trying not to die!” The Yorkie pranced between us, leaving wet pawprints all over the floor. The woman took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like she was trying to calm herself down. I opened my mouth to stop whatever she would say next, but she got there first.

“Look,” she said, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry for breaking in, honestly. I was desperate. My van’s out of commission, and there’s literally nowhere else for me to take shelter. I swear, I don’t make a habit of crawling through doggy doors. I haven’t done it since I was twelve, and the only reason I did it that time was because a friend’s little brother had gone in first, and I was trying to stop him from—You know what? That’s totally not relevant, so let’s just strike that from the record and start over.” She flashed me a big smile that only looked a little tight around the edges and said, “My name is Madison. I don’t work for a newspaper or online anything. I’m very normal and not dangerous, and I just need a place to stay until the weather clears, so that’s cool with you, right?”

She looked at me as if she couldn’t imagine me giving any answer but “yes.” That made it more than a little satisfying when I flatly stated, “No.”

She blinked. “Wait, what?”

“No,” I repeated. When she just stood there, jaw slack, I added, “I know you Americans struggle with the accent, it can’t be that hard to understand. I said no. Do I need to spell it?”

She huffed. “You’re seriously telling me no?”

“I’m absolutely serious, and I’m absolutely telling you no. You’re not welcome in my home. Do you think I chose to live all the way out here because I wanted random people stopping by?”

She huffed. “Trust me, I’d love to leave your creepy murder castle behind. If you can give me a lift back to civilization, I will gladly get out of your hair.”

I grimaced at her.

She cupped her ear. “Was that an offer to drive me? I couldn’t hear you over all that grumbling.”

Frustration coiled inside me, but finally, I admitted the truth. “My car won’t handle the roads in these conditions.”

She sighed. “Can you at least call me a tow truck or something? My phone doesn’t have signal right now.”

I pulled out my phone. “Keep that thing quiet,” I said through my teeth, glaring at the dog—that had yet to stop barking—as I pressed the phone to my ear.

Madison scooped the Yorkie into her arms, her lips pursed. The dog got slightly quieter.

A quick call to Weston scored me the number for the local mechanic, Lyle McGregor. I called, wondering if he’d even pick up tonight. Thank Christ, I thought when the call connected.

“Lyle, this is Alistair Shaw, in Dunhope Castle. I’ve got a woman here that ended up in a ditch and needs a tow into town. Any chance of making that happen tonight?”

What I really wanted to say was Any chance of getting this nightmare out of my hair?

He barked a sharp laugh. “Not bloody likely. No one with any sense is going to be driving out to Dunhope until the storm stops. And maybe not even then, depending on how much snow piles up on the road. If you’ve got a visitor, you’ll just have to put up with her for the night.”

That was the worst thing he could have said.

Madison’s gaze held mine. My hand tightened around the phone, my teeth clenched so hard my molars ached. “Right, thanks anyway.”

I hung up. Madison’s eyebrow arched up her forehead. “Guess we’re staying?”

Bloody hell! I pinched the bridge of my nose. After hearing it from Lyle, my brain was catching up to how bad it was out there. In good conscience, I knew I couldn’t send the woman back outside—but I still didn’t fully believe she wasn’t after a story. I’d learned the hard way not to let my guard down. “Don’t think this means you’re going to get an interview,” I warned. If her bosses thought they could just send some gorgeous woman playing up the “damsel in distress” angle to get me to spill my guts⁠—

“Why on earth would I want an interview?” she cried. “Do you think the world is really clamoring to know what some random Scottish shut-in has to say? All I want is to not die outside in the freezing cold. And not die inside a creepy house either, for that matter!”

I scoffed. “So I’m a murderer now? That’s a new one.” I’d been accused of plenty of outlandish things, but not outright homicide.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “How should I know? I’m putting my life in your hands!”

“Excuse me, you broke into my house. Through the dog door. If anyone is the threat here, it’s you.” I shook my head. “Who even does that?”

“Um, people who can’t get you to answer the freaking door?” Madison tucked the dog under one arm and gestured aggressively. “I spent a full ten minutes banging on the door and ringing the bell until my fingers were ready to snap off.” She shoved them in my face. “Do you see that? They’re practically icicles. So thanks for ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” I said. I just wasn’t anywhere near the front of the house. Not to mention, I’d had the bell disabled when I’d moved in. “I genuinely didn’t hear you.”