Page 26 of Another Man’s Treasure

He nods. “When you do a job like that, that’s so physical, you know you won’t do it ‘til you’re old. It’s kinda like skyball pros—they’ll play until they’re hurt. Then they retire and coach. That’s what I’m doing.”

He falls silent as I consider that this is the most words he’s said to me the entire time I’ve known him. Not to mention I can add it to a list of Real Things I Know About Wilder Lane…

“I’m not even sure why I shared that,” he mutters, dropping one rein to run a hand through his hair. After a moment, he looks over. “I guess I thought it might be useful context for everything we’re doing.”

“It is,” I say with a soft smile. “But also, I love knowing more about you.” I shoot him a playful wink. “Thinking up more things to add to our vision board as we speak!”

He chuckles and I watch as that muscle in his jaw slowly relaxes.

Wilder

Six hours of trudging through snow is a happy place for me. I love the chill, and more than that, I love seeing my land, even covered in a blanket of white. The surveyor doesn’t talk much, absorbed in the work. Every now and again, he makes a little grunt and shakes his head. I hope that means the original data doesn’t match up with what he’s finding, and the new findings are in my favor. I know better than to bug him. It’s unconventional for us to follow a surveyor along; he was kind to even allow it.

Oz is quiet next to me, but he seems equally peaceful. He’s a natural horseman too, his hips swaying easily in the saddle. I’m impressed to see he’s actually wearing cowboy boots, and he’s got his heels down at all times, things riding newbies don’t typically do. He’s even wearing appropriate clothing for the weather, with a wool shirt, thick down coat, and a neckerchief to keep the snow out of his clothing.

Saint, on the other hand, is wearing Converse sneakers with tight slacks and way too few layers.

He complained for the first hour but fell silent after that. My guess? He’s got frostbite, and he’s truly regretting coming with us. Suits me just fine. Maybe he’ll take off and head back to the wraith hotel. If he doesn’t, it might get awkward sharing a tent with Oz.

Well, maybe not any more awkward than our current living arrangements, come to think of it.

By the time we stop for dinner, Saint’s begun complaining again, loudly and every other minute, it seems.

Oz winks at me as we untack the horses and toss them hay inside a shed in one of the far north pastures. “Guess the city boy can’t keep up, hmm?”

“I heard that!” Saint shouts from outside the shed.

“Grab that corner of the tent, would ya, Ashbourne?” Erek mutters something about being better off alone.

Oz and I leave the relative warmth of the shed. Outside, Erek’s cleared a spot in the snow and laid down a tarp to prevent the wet from getting in. He’s got the frame of the tent up, but Saint is bitching and moaning about strapping it over the poles. I move to Saint’s side and grab the flapping tent, pulling it over the frame.

Oz grabs the other side and straps it down. He does it easily, like he’s done it a million times. Something about seeing him bent over the tent, pounding in the stakes, produces admiration for him. He rises and smiles at the surveyor. “Can I help with dinner, Erek? We both know you brought beef stew, although I maintain that Whiskey’s version is better than your mate’s.”

Erek smiles over at Oz and jerks his head to one of the mule packs. “Don’t you talk about my sweet Caroline like that, and most definitely don’t ever mention how I agree with you. Grab a fire starter log there, Oz. Stew’s frozen. We can get it warming.”

“Thanks for bringing food,” I say, pounding the final stake in. No sooner have I done that than Saint runs around the tent and dives in with a huge groan.

Erek sighs and looks at us. “That was my tent, but alright. You two wanna help me put up the others?”

It takes us twenty minutes to put up two more tents and get the stew defrosted. It bubbles happily in a cauldron over the small fire. Saint still hasn’t reappeared, although I can hear his teeth chattering even from out here.

Erek grabs three small metal bowls from the mule pack and then ladles soup into each. When he hands it to me, I remove my gloves to soak in the warmth from the hot metal. A happy groan leaves me at feeling heat for the first time all day.

Oz dips into his soup with a dainty little move that highlights how delicate but strong he is. He’s thinner than me, his musculature long and lean. He’s pretty in a masculine way, angular jawline and high cheekbones. The darkest of purple lashes flutter as he blows on the hot soup. When he purses those dusky lips together, my groin tightens.

His hair hangs long to his shoulders, the stray tips covered in ice from the day’s ride. When he swallows the bite, his throat bobs. Unbidden, a vision of him at my feet invades my mind. Knowing he’s not a mind reader like my sister, I allow the thought to stay there, insidious and delightful.

Erek slurps down the last of his soup then turns to us. “I ain’t much for talkin’ after dinner, so I’m gonna retire. Y’all wanna try to keep the fire goin’ in case he emerges for food?”

“I’ll take him a bowl,” Oz says neutrally. “We won’t forget to take care of the fire. Night, Erek.”

He waves at us then disappears to check on the horses and mules a final time. They get extra flakes of hay to munch on overnight. Once he retires into his tent, Oz smiles over at me.

“You ready for bed, honey bun?”

I smile. “Think I’m gonna need more soup, actually. Kinda nice being warmed from the inside out. Can I get you more?”

He hands his bowl to me, and I refill it, smiling when he takes it again. His cool fingers brush mine, and a dark purple blush travels up his cheeks.