Page 69 of Another Man’s Treasure

Oz and I talked it all over again this morning. Withholding this new information feels like a dick move, even if it hampers the deal. It’s possible the Sandovals know and didn’t tell us. It’s equally possible it changes the landscape of our deal or that we open an entire can of worms.

But in the end, Oz felt the haven herself wouldn’t have tossed that picture down on the table in front of us if she didn’t feel it was time. She could presumably have done that any time since Sipan was alive and hasn’t.

When I pull up in front of the luxurious Sandoval ranch house, I smile. If everything goes according to plan, this will be our house soon, if Oz will agree to come here with me. It’s too soon for me to ask him to, but I’m going to anyway the moment I sign the paperwork. And then I’ll convince my mother to come out for a month to introduce her to him. She’s gonna love Oz; I just know it.

I don’t realize I’m smiling until I get out of the truck and Saint Ashbourne drops out of the sky on giant black shadow wings. My smile falls and becomes a deep scowl as I cross my arms and look at him. He’s handsome; I’ll give him that. I can see what attracted Oz to him. But past that, all I see is a dickhead who’s willing to take advantage of anyone to get what he wants.

Not on my watch.

Not with my…Oz.

Saint tucks a manila folder beneath one arm and smirks at me. “Didn’t bring him? Let me guess, he’s too busy working?” He does air quotes around the word “working” like there’s something wrong with being a bartender.

“Let’s get this over with,” I manage. “I’ve got shit to do this afternoon.”

He smirks again but grabs the folder and waves it toward the house. “Let’s start with the home, shall we? Quick tour to ensure you’re still good with it, and then the foreman is meeting us down at the barn to talk about the bulls.”

Gods, this is gonna take a while.

Saint trails me up onto the roughhewn wood porch. Just like before, I’m struck by the masterful way this home was put together—a troll builder had their hand in it for sure. While I wasn’t blessed with that magic, I can recognize it in the neat-as-a-pin seams between the chunky wood support beams.

Running my hands over the rounded logs that make up the home’s exterior walls, I admire her anew. The beams vibrate beneath my touch, a friendly little hello just like the first time I toured.

I turn to Saint when he joins me with a fake-ass smile. “I can do the walkthrough without you. Why don’t you just wait here?”

He shakes his head, flashing a grin that shows the length of his fangs. “It’s the Sandovals’ wish that no potential buyer be left alone in their home, even though it’s currently empty.”

The way he says “no potential buyer” makes it sound like there might be others, and I’m pretty sure there aren’t, so he’s likely fucking with me. And I’ve met Emmer Sandoval enough times to know he don’t give a shit if I walk through the empty house.

But I’m not fighting Saint Ashbourne today, despite his desire to poke and poke at me every time we get together. What did my mother used to say when the other troll kids at school made fun of my lack of tusks?

Walk away, Wild. Be the better monster.

He examines his dark nails. “You know, I’m really coming to love Pine Gulch, having a great time going through the welcome book. It’s helped me meet a lot of interesting characters.” He grins at me. “Have you met the pixie twins yet? Merit and Bryony? Great bakers,” he says with an even bigger shit-eating grin. “They do the gossip column.”

I snort. “Gossip ain’t my concern, Ashbourne.”

He goes back to staring at his nails. “Well, sometimes gossip can be interesting, you know?”

“Knock yourself out,” I say with a growl, spinning from him before I get myself in hot water by doing something like chuckin’ him off the back porch.

I tour slowly through the house, taking in details and ensuring nothing's changed, because once I sign on that dotted line, this place is mine. A black witch the Sandovals recommended did a property tour before I came to PG, so the structure of the home should be in good shape. I don’t see anything that gives me pause.

In the kitchen, Saint drops the manila folder on the countertop. “So, you and Oz…tell me about how you met.”

A snarl rips from me before I can stop it, and I ball both fists. “How dare you bring him up to me twice now after the shit you pulled. You don’t deserve to know a fucking thing about us.”

He shrugs, pursing his lips with a sultry smirk. “I am curious, though. He and I were together not that long ago…”

Oh no, I’m not going down this line of questioning.

“You lost out,” is all I say as I turn from him and exit the back door, heading for a giant A-frame barn that lies across a cut wheat field.

Saint trails in silence, and I’m thankful when a big minotaur male stands in front of the barn. Thick hands are slung through his beltloops, and he thwaps his long tail from side to side, a smile on his angular, fuzzy face.

I like him right away, from the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes to the dust covering his forearms. He’s a male who gets down and dirty. I know those types of men. I’m one of them.

“Dart Longhorn,” he says, offering me a hand once I’m close enough. “I’m the foreman here, as he mighta told ya.” His smile falls as he glances over my shoulder at Saint.