Page 78 of Seale the Deal

I chuckle because it’s so Brandt to say something like that. I know he’s downplaying the truth that his family holds high expectations for him, which is why he escapes every summer and fall up here.

Scared they’ll find out you’re the spare heir of a giant cattle ranch and only want you for your money? I joke.

Brandt frames his chin with his empty hand. With these dark, beautiful eyes? The ranch is meaningless.

I shake my head. You’re an idiot.

A handsome idiot.

Debatable.

And I’m not the spare, he says. I’m supposed to work alongside my brother.

His grin slips a little. Brandt jokes about Montana the same way I joke about feelings. It’s armour against the things neither of us wants to talk about.

I’ll think about Anchorage, I say.

Brandt settles back in his chair. Good.

The conversation drifts after that to hunting season, the outfitter, and everything I’m missing at camp. It’s all normal conversation, things I can talk about without much thought. Which is probably why my mind slips to the idea of Anchorage. We’d talked briefly about it weeks ago, with the idea of getting stuff for the wedding. I suppose we still could, but leaving Alpine Harbor with Wrenley, just the two of us, settles deep and unshakable. It could be a real chance to get to know her. To see if whatever is going on in my head is truly about Wrenley or just the product of getting used to having her in my house.

As I half listen to a story about a tourist getting stuck in the outhouse, I realize my mind feels a little quieter because I’m no longer fighting thinking about Wrenley.

Chapter 14

Ruger

DAYS LEFT ON VISA: 62

I park my truck like an absolute asshole outside Remi’s house—half on the sidewalk, half off. There’s maybe enough room for one person to squeeze between my passenger door and her bright white picket fence. Good enough in my books.

I’d dropped Brandt off before coming here. I know I don’t need Remi’s blessing; Wrenley is an adult who can decide if she wants to go or not, but I also feel like the three of us are in this together, so she should at least know that I plan on going up there. At the very least, I can grab anything she needs.

I don’t bother knocking. Around here, knocking is more of a suggestion than a requirement.

Remi? I call into the house.

A shriek erupts from down the hall. A second later, Remi bursts out of her office, clutching a letter opener.

When she sees me, she presses a hand to her chest. Jesus Christ, Ruger.

Good morning to you too? I say as I look between her and the sharp object in her hand.

I was working.

On what?

I wanted to try my hand at dark romance for fun, she says with a shrug.

The hell is a dark romance? I ask.

Women falling in love with 130urder men, she says casually, like this is a normal, everyday thing to happen. At least mine is, with a little bit of stalking.

I glance at the letter opener. Are you method writing or something?

I just wrote a pretty grim passage where the FMC’s stalker breaks into her house, she says. I was worried life was imitating art.

Remi, if somebody was stalking you, Bonnie would’ve already told the whole town, I say.