Buck moved ahead of her like nothing could touch him, like the weight of their stares meant nothing. He owned the space the way the cold owned the north, a man carved out of leadership and habit.
“Back to business,” he said, his voice deep enough to roll through the room. “She’s with me.”
That single sentence worked better than a gunshot. The men looked away, muttered to themselves, and went back totheir games. Wren wasn’t naïve enough to believe it meant acceptance. It just meant she was an unwanted guest. In some undefined and possibly very temporary way, she belonged to Buck.
Ghost fell into step behind her as they crossed the floor—the tall, lean man from outside whose grin was all blade and no warmth. He was the opposite of Buck’s silent gravity. Where Buck carried control, Ghost wore trouble like a second skin.
She heard him chuckle under his breath, soft and amused. “Bringing strays indoors now, Buck?” he teased. Buck didn’t answer. His hand brushed her back, guiding her toward a door at the end of the hall. His touch was brief, almost impersonal, and yet Wren felt it spark under her skin.
The office he led her into was smaller, quieter. There was a wood stove in the corner, maps pinned to the walls, and the faint tick of thawing ice dripping from his gloves onto the floorboards. He tossed them onto the desk and rolled his shoulders like he’d been living under the same weight for years.
“Sit,” he ordered. It wasn’t a suggestion, but Wren stayed standing anyway, clutching her satchel strap tight across her chest. “I told you—I’m with Wildlife Services. I’m not?—”
“Fed, yeah, you said that.” Buck’s voice was rough, drawing gravel out of each word. “Still doesn’t explain what the hell you’re doing out here alone.”
Her chin lifted. “My job. There’ve been reports of traps, primed bait sites, and several endangered carcasses near the reserve line. We’ve lost three collars in the last two months—wolves, tagged and tracked from Thompson to here. My department sent me to find out why.”
He leaned a hip against the desk. “And you figured you’d just wander onto MC territory without a clue whose ground you were standin’ on?”
“I didn’t realize anyone owned Manitoba,” she said tightly.
His gaze cut sharper. “Everything belongs to someone, sweetheart. Up here, mistakes get people buried.”
She held his stare, refusing to flinch even though her heart was hammering in her chest. “Then I guess I’ll tread lightly.”
Buck’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite—it was more like someone remembering what smiling used to feel like. “You’re either brave or stupid.”
“Probably a bit of both,” she teased.
Ghost’s voice came from the door before she could respond further. “Definitely both.” He strolled in, easy and unrushed, cigarette smoke trailing behind him. “She’s got city written all over her. Bet she’s never spent a night past the grid.”
Wren turned her head sharply. “I can handle more than you think.”
Ghost grinned, slow and taunting. “That right? Can you handle him?” He nodded toward Buck, lazy amusement gleaming in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hide under the big desk that sat in the corner of the room or if she wanted to admit that she could probably handle both of them. Images of what the two of them might do to her flashed through her brain, causing her to overheat.
She felt heat flood her cheeks before she could stop it. “You don’t know me.”
“I plan to change that,” Ghost said, smirking as he flicked ash near the doorframe.
“Enough,” Buck said quietly. It wasn’t loud, but it shut Ghost up. Authority lived in his tone. “Storm’s coming in heavier than expected, so she’s not going anywhere tonight.”
Ghost shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“No, you’re trying to make trouble,” Buck countered. “Same as always.” Their exchange had the easy rhythm of old loyalty—and maybe even old rivalry, if she wasn’t mistaken. Wren saw iteven in the silence, the way neither man needed to raise his voice to challenge the other.
When Buck looked at her again, the decision was already made. “There are some rooms upstairs. You can take the first one on the right. You’ll be safe here tonight.” There it was again—safe. It didn’t sound like comfort when he said it; it sounded more like an order.
“I don’t want special treatment,” Wren said. “I’ll leave at first light. Just tell me which way’s south.”
“That’s not happening.” Buck pushed off the desk, taking a slow step closer. “The roads will be glass in an hour. You drive on them, and I’ll be digging your car out of a ravine by morning.”
Her shoulders tightened, but she nodded. She knew he was right. The way the storm had looked on her climb up the hill—it wasn’t letting anyone out of Manitoba tonight. Still, the thought of sleeping above men whose eyes had followed her like she was their prey was far from comforting.
Buck must’ve read the hesitation on her face because his next words softened just a fraction. “No one will touch you. They might look, they might talk about you, but they know better. You’ve got my word.” Somehow, she didn’t doubt he could enforce it.
He reached past her to grab a key from a hook on the wall. His arm brushed her shoulder, his heat bleeding through her jacket, grounding her in a way she didn’t want to admit. The sight of his hand—broad, scarred, steady—made something tight settle in her chest she couldn’t quite name.
“Here.” He pressed the key into her palm. “Rooms are on the second floor. Go right at the top of the stairs.”
