Page 21 of Melt the Ice

His head shakes, groaning as he looks down at his desk. “She’s more like Anna than I’d care to admit. The only difference is that Scarlett’s seems to be out of pride. It’s as if she feels like she has something to prove. Anna just wanted to keep you out of whatever mess she found herself in.”

He drums his fingers against the desk, the long-forgotten coffee cup sitting in the corner ripples with each tap. “Do you know much about her dad?” he asks as he looks back up at me.

I sit in the big armchair in front of his desk, crossing my ankle over my knee. “No, but apparently she thinks I’m working with him to take the ranch from her.” I despised the notion that she’d ever think I’d take anything from her.

Leaning back in his chair, it gives a soft creak. “He’s what kept her from coming back, you know.” A wave of protectiveness rolls through me like it does on the ice. Scarlett loved this place. She always has. How could he keep it from her?

My jaw clenches. “What do you mean?”

“He told her it was sold after Anna died. She found out the truth by accident.”

My fingers flex against the smooth leather chair. I might need someone to confiscate my sticks before I bust one over his head. “Why?” I say through gritted teeth.

“Who knows, son,” he scoffs. “He can’t control his daughter, so he tries to narrate her story.”

The cows mooing in the pasture draw his eyes to the window over my shoulder. “Trying to earn approval from people like him first takes your voice, then your life.”

Before I can ask what he means by that, he hops up. “I’ll check the cameras. But in the meantime, let's go fix a fence, yeah? You’ll feel better if you’re moving.”

I slap the arms of the chair and stand. “Yeah.”

He claps me on the shoulder in a quick, familiar gesture as we walk toward the door. Pausing, he grabs a toolbox, lifting it from the floor with a grunt. We walk the fenceline, boots crunching over the gravel, the sharp tang of dust tickling the inside of my nose.

We find not one, not two, but three different holes in the fence, and we just checked it two days ago. I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm. Miller was right, I do feel better, always do after I fix something with my own hands.

I don’t know what her father’s reasoning was for keeping the ranch from her, but I can’t imagine it's a coincidence that the fence has been cut more in the past week than it has in all the years I’ve been here. How am I going to keep her safe if I’m traveling? How am I going to get her to let me keep her safe? If he wants her to stay away from this place so bad, there’s no telling what he’ll do to get her to leave. And that’s a thought that terrifies me to my core.

9

scarlett

The ranch is yours, but I don’t have to come with it. It’s been playing over and over since he said it, souring my gut with every repeat. So I do what I always do on October third, turn on Mean Girls, and ignore every one of my feelings. “As if!” I say in time with the TV, a small smile tugging at my lips, this movie brings a familiarity that feels like two lifetimes ago.

It’s also one of the only things keeping me from storming Lucas’s house and making him talk to me. He's kept his distance since our chat, and I’m not a fan of it. I don’t do well with being ignored, and I know full well that’s not what he’s doing. He’s trying to respect my space, but still...

“Stop trying to make fetch happen,” I say in time with the TV. The words barely make it past my lips when a deep laugh cuts through the air from the kitchen. Panic flares in my chest, my head whipping in his direction. The hope that it’s Lucas dies when I see a black haired, unknown man in my kitchen.

My body reacts, feet hitting the floor before I even have a second to think. I know I locked that door. My pulse spikes, the flutter in my neck I’m sure visible from across the room. It's really hard to catch me off guard, yet here we are. The man in my kitchen may be gorgeous, but he wasn’t invited in.

He leans casually against my counter like he owns the place. His skin is warm, golden brown, a solid build, one I’d have zero chance of overpowering. His steel gray eyes dance like he finds this interaction high-quality entertainment. He doesn’t look dangerous. He looks like he stepped right out of the pages of a GQ magazine. But that’s the thing about men who look like him, you never see it coming.

“Who the hell are you?” My voice thankfully comes out even. He doesn’t need to know my heart is threatening to explode. I reach for my hip. For frick's sake, why did I leave my gun in my room?

“Markus Samuels,” he drawls as he wraps his hand around the back of his neck, giving me a slow, growing smile full of mischief.

“Monroe didn’t tell me he had a gift waiting for me at book club this week.” What does he have to do with the man in my kitchen? And what freaking book club?

He steps toward me, and I hold my stance, even when everything in me is telling me to run, but if he knows Lucas, maybe he’s just here to see his friend and got lost. “What’s your name?” he asks as he steps even closer.

My eyes catch on the metal ring in his lip. Shiny, exposed, a vulnerable point I can exploit to gain the upper hand. Bingo. I close the distance, my icy stare locked on his heated one. “Hmm… You know, this might be more fun if you don’t know the answer to that question.” I put a little sway in my hips as I close the distance until we’re nearly toe to toe.

He leans in closer, almost on instinct, like he’s already won this game, “Mami it is then, but make sure it's ‘Markus’ you scream later.” And then his face moves toward mine, once he’s close enough, I strike. Biting down on his lip ring at the last second and pulling until he’s hissing.

“Ayy! Come on!” He chuckles as I grab his wrist, spinning him around and pushing his chest into the arm of the couch. He’s still laughing, entertained by my attempt at manhandling him, but I haven’t found the humor in breaking into someone else’s house yet.

“Sammy, what the hell?!” Lucas shouts as he bursts through the front door, frantically looking around the room, absently adding. “You idiot, I told you my house, not this one!”

When his eyes catch mine, a shit eating grin slowly takes over his face. Like it’s being unzipped right in front of me, starting at one corner until I find myself smiling. Internally, that is.