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Three games apiece.

One game left to decide who went to the Western Conference Final.

For the moment, though, hockey could wait.

Ash stared through the windshield for so long that I started to wonder whether I'd made a mistake.

Not about bringing him. I was surprisingly certain about that, considering how many other things involving Ash had terrified me over the past few weeks. Bringing him here felt right in a way I didn't entirely know how to explain, but that didn't stop me from seeing the farm through his eyes as the SUV followed the long drive toward the house.

September would have been prettier. In summer, the fields rolled green toward the distant tree line, while autumn turned the woods behind the house into a ridiculous explosion of red and gold that I privately loved and publicly pretended not to notice. At the moment, everything was still waking up properly after winter, although there was enough green across the lower fields to soften the landscape and the maples beyond the barns were beginning to fill out.

The house sat exactly where it had for more than a century, pale stone and dark timber beneath a roof I'd spent an obscene amount of money replacing after discovering the previous owner had apparently considered buckets an acceptable response to rain. Beyond it were the barns, equipment sheds, and collection of outbuildings that had grown considerably since I'd bought the property.

Eventually, Ash turned away from the window and looked at me. “You said you had a farm.”

“I do.”

“You neglected to mention you owned Quebec.”

I laughed as his attention returned to the view. He knew we'd been driving along my private road for at least three minutes, and when I pointed out it was technically a driveway, he waved toward the fields as though their existence proved his case.

The driver glanced at me in the mirror, clearly enjoying himself.

Ignatius had disappeared almost immediately after we'd landed, claiming he had business elsewhere and promising transportation would be arranged for Friday. Before leaving, he'd given me a look that made it very clear he knew exactly why I'd brought Ash here.

I hadn't appreciated it, although I appreciated even less that he was right.

I'd promised Ash everything.

Sometime before we left this place, I had to keep that promise.

The SUV rounded the last curve, bringing the main barn fully into view, and Ash leaned forward as though another ten inches would somehow improve the view.

“Holy shit. You have a fucking ranch.”

I informed him it wasn't a ranch, which naturally resulted in Ash pointing out the horses, barns, and what he described as approximately half of Canada. I was still explaining that owning fields didn't automatically turn a Quebec farm into a ranch when the SUV stopped beside the house and a familiar bellow carried across the yard.

I closed my eyes.

Ash paused with one hand on the door. “What the fuck was that?”

“Nothing.”

“That was absolutely not nothing.”

Another bray shattered the quiet, considerably louder and more indignant than the first.

Ash slowly turned his head toward me. “Do you have a donkey?”

“No.”

The donkey brayed again before I'd even finished the word.

By the time I got out of the SUV, Ash was laughing.

Maurice was leaning over the top rail of the nearest paddock with his ears pointed forward and an expression of desperate longing on his face. I refused to feel guilty, mostly because this was an animal that had eaten part of my truck's side mirror last summer.

Ash, unfortunately, had been laughing for almost five minutes.