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“After six years? Why?”
“Because I plan on selling it.”
I blink twice. “No. Absolutely not happening.”
“Lana—” His use of the old nickname has my dead heart sparking with recognition.
No wonder he thought you were so easy last time. All it takes is one silly nickname for you to let your guard down.
“Don’t call me that.” My lips pull back.
“Alana,” he corrects himself with a small frown. “I don’t know what my grandpa told you, but you must have misunderstood him.”
“Right. Of course, you assumeImust have misunderstood him.”
His eyes narrow. “Now you’re just being difficult.”
“As opposed to what? Naïve and stupid like the last time?”
He ignores my outburst and carries on. “We can clear this up easily. Where’s the deed?”
I pause and consider the cons of giving in to his request.
The sooner you show him the deed, the sooner he’ll leave.
“I’ll go get it.” I move toward the stairs before throwing him a look over my shoulder. “Don’t leave that spot.”
“And risk giving you a reason to shoot me? I’m good.”
My reply hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I bite down on it. That’s the thing about Cal. He can make anyone forget that they’re angry with him solely by cracking a joke and flashing a smile. It is his greatest superpower and my personal kryptonite.
You’re more prepared now.
Or at least IhopeI am.
I run upstairs and put my handgun away in the safe before searching my documents for the deed. It only takes me a minute to find it stuck between a few other important legal papers.
Cal checks my hands as I walk down the stairs. “No firearm this time?”
I shrug. “I know five different ways to kill a man with my bare hands, so it’s not like I really need it.”
His golden skin turns pale. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
I wish I was. My mom sent me to Colombia to visit my uncle one summer, and he had no idea how to entertain me other than to have me work at his farm and teach me mixed martial arts. I came back a month later with a black belt in kicking people’s asses and enough survival skills to compete on one of those outdoor reality shows.
I place the deed on the entry table and point at Brady’s signature. “There. Just like I said.”
Cal stands beside me while he checks out the deed. He is careful to keep his distance as he reads, but when he shifts his weight, our arms accidentally brush. A current of energy rolls through my body. He’s quick to tuck his arms behind his back, although the lingering effect of his touch remains. It’s been six years, yet my body reacts as if he only left yesterday.
My frown deepens.
Cal’s head shakes after he reads the entire page. “I’m sorry, but whatever deed he gave you is outdated.” He points at the date written beside Brady’s signature. “This was signed before his updated will.”
“What will?”
“The one he rewrote before his accident.”
My throat feels as if Cal wrapped his hands around it and squeezed.
