H-h-hello,” she stuttered. “It’s Rory Douglas, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is, ma’am,” he answered, taking off his hat and tipping his head.

Natalie glanced from Rory to Sadie and back again. “What can we do for you, Mr. Douglas?”

Sadie took pity on her employer. “Rory Douglas is also Ron Douglas, who rented the little stable house on Farrell. He said he talked to you earlier about extending the dates of his stay?”

“Yes, he did.” Natalie’s forehead furrowed. “But if you’re Rory, not Ron, then that’s your own house. And in that case, there’s no need for any additional charges.”

“I don’t want you to lose the income from not being able to rent it over the holidays.”

“It’s a slow period for us. Summer is the peak season. And I’m not going to charge you our management fee. That’s ridiculous. It’s your property. I’ll just invoice you the cleaning fee when you leave.”

“You do a great job managing my properties,” he answered. “Thank you.”

“I’m just delighted to hear you’ll be in Marietta for the holidays,” Natalie answered. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

His head tipped. “Too long.” Rory glanced at Sadie. “Did you say where you wanted to go for lunch?”

Sadie gave him a death glare. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have too much to do. Natalie needs the packets for the Stroll.”

“You’ve done plenty already,” Natalie said. “Go. Besides you’re almost off anyway. Don’t you leave on Saturdays at two? It’s nearing two now. Go! Enjoy! It’s not every day we have Rory Douglas home for the holidays.”

“Good thing, because all of Marietta would have to shut down and celebrate,” Sadie muttered.

Rory just smiled at her, a slow, hot, smile that made her pulse thud. “Maybe I need to return more often,” he said.

“We can only hope,” Natalie said before shooing Sadie toward the door. “Go. Get. Have fun.”

Sadie rose from behind the desk. “Let me get my coat.”

Rory gave her another one of his excruciatingly sexy smiles. “I’ll be outside waiting, babe.”

Babe.

Darlin’.

Sweetheart.

The man was full of sugar sweet endearments, but she didn’t trust him a bit, she thought, watching him leave the office to wait on the sidewalk out front.

He might walk with a cane and a limp, but his tight Wrangler jeans hugged his lean hips and butt, wrapping dense, hard muscle in dark denim.

With the clear blue sky and temperature hovering in the low thirties, he ought to be freezing with his big sheepskin jacket open, but he acted as if the weather was balmy and he was immune to the cold.