Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(6)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

She pushed back and dragged the bucket out of the way, then replaced it with a fresh one. Her feet hooked under the bench as she leaned forward, serious now, the muscles of her legs visible through the thin skirt. With spare, confident movements, she stroked the goat’s…udders? Teats? He had no idea what a goat rack was called and wasn’t about to amuse her any further by asking.

“Nonno was a little confused before he died.”

The statement threw him, coming from nowhere and yanking him back to the real business at hand—who really owned the land he wanted.

“Your grandfather?” he guessed.

She nodded.

“Confused enough to sign a will you didn’t know about?”

She sighed, her fingers squeezing and moving like a well-practiced professional. He sat stone still and watched the choreography, mesmerized and suddenly, surprisingly uncomfortable. Damn, who would have thought a woman milking a goat would be sexy?

“Do you think the will might be legitimate?” he asked.

She didn’t answer for a long time, concentrating on her goat. “I guess anything is possible, but unlikely.” She looked up, a single strand of dark hair that had escaped her braid slipping over one eye. “For example, you showing up at exactly the same time as this lawyer with a fake will. Why did that happen in the same hour if you aren’t teaming up on me?”

“We’re not,” he said honestly.

“Then that’s one hell of a weird coincidence. Which, by the way, I don’t believe in.”

“I do.”

She snorted softly. “Well, I don’t.”

“Coincidence, karma, good fortune or lady luck, whatever you call it, I happen to be a living, breathing believer in it all,” he said, leaning back and crossing his legs. “And my guess is the universe is trying to tell you it’s time to sell this land. To me.”

The fire in her eyes damn near fried him. “The universe is not telling me a damn thing except to stay away from smarm-fests like that lawyer and…and…”

He grinned. “I can’t wait to hear how you describe me.”

A slow, deep blush gave away how right he was. “How do you know what I’m going to say?”

“Your eyes. They’re eating me up trying to come up with something insulting, which, of course, you can’t.”

She choked a hearty laugh. “And egotistical, arrogant, entitled billionaires. How’s that?”

He answered with a shrug. “I’ve heard worse. On the beach an hour ago, as a matter of fact. From you.”

“What you didn’t hear, obviously, is this: My property isn’t for sale.”

“It might not even be yours.”

Her hands froze, and tension tightened her shoulders. “It’s mine.”

But was it? “Are you sure your grandfather didn’t make some kind of backdoor deal you didn’t know about? I have to admit, it wasn’t easy to find any record of him alive or dead when we were tracking this property.”

She made a face but didn’t reply, her hands moving a little faster to wring milk out of poor Ruffles. After a few minutes, she backed off, and he could have sworn the goat sighed with relief.

“All done, Ruff.” She swatted the goat’s backside and scooted her off the platform, twisting to pick up the bucket and carry it to another tray. “Clem, you’re up!” she called, and another one, a little smaller and almost all brown but for a spot on her forehead, ambled over for her turn at the station.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked.

“Eighty-one days.”

Eighty-one days, twice a day, with half a dozen goats? “No wonder you’re such a natural.”

She worked on the next goat in line, repeating the same series of actions she had with the first animal.

“It’s not that difficult.” She swiped that stray hair with the back of her gloved hand and then blew out a long, slow breath. “And as far as my grandfather, he was never big on paperwork. He used to say he was born without formalities and he’d die without them, too.”

“No one is born without some sort of paperwork,” he said.

“Nonno was. He was born in a farmhouse in Italy, and they didn’t bother with a birth certificate.”

“Not a town record?”

“He did have a baptism, and that was logged in a local church, but they weren’t sure how old he was then. Best we can tell, he was eighty-eight, maybe eighty-nine when he died.”

“How long ago did he die?” he asked.

She stopped milking for a moment, closing her eyes. “Eighty-one days.” The pain in her voice was undeniable.

“Oh, wow. Really sorry.” And this time, he meant it. But he couldn’t help assessing the situation with this new information. She’d been here only since he’d died, which could mean she had no idea if that will was real or not. “Were you close to him?”

“Not close enough,” she murmured, inching closer to her goat.

“But you are his next of kin? Or would that be one of your parents?”

“My parents are both dead,” she said quietly. “And I was Nonno’s only relative, so the land belongs to me.” She finished this goat and turned to Elliott. “It’s a very clear-cut law in Florida when a person doesn’t leave a will. I’ve already looked into it and talked to the County Clerk when I moved back here. That guy, that lawyer? He’s a fraud.”

But if Island Management really did own this piece of property, that’s who Elliott needed to be doing business with, not the gorgeous goat girl. Sad, but true.

“You know,” he said softly, trying to lessen the blow of the truth. “Your, uh, Nonno wouldn’t be the first elderly citizen to get scammed when they were sick, dying, and had no will.”

She closed her eyes with just enough misery for him to know he’d hit the mark. “That lawyer’s just more imaginative than the other people who want this land. My property is desirable, as you obviously know.” She stripped the gloves off slowly. “What are your plans for it? Hotel? Condos? Planned retirement community?”

Worse. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she’d hate what he and his partners were planning. A minor-league baseball complex? No, that would never fly. And if the lawyer was a fraud, Elliott would still have to buy the property from this lady who would no doubt recoil when she found out her little goat farm would be turned into an access road and parking lot.