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When she spotted the bizarre hand-operated gate at the entrance to the driveway—like something you’d see on the logging road—she was almost sure this was the wrong address.
She held her hand above her eyes against the blazing sun, the afternoon heat dry and breezy, so different from the sultry Tennessee late spring. The car finally pulled out onto the highway, its rear tire spinning for a moment in the gravel. Then it slammed on the brakes, another vehicle hurtling by along the highway a moment later. A close call.
Then he drove away, leaving her there alone.
“Airline got you here in one piece I see,” Max’s voice called out.
She spun around to see him standing on the broad porch in front of his open front door. He wore a black and blue pattern flannel tucked in his blue jeans, the outfit emphasizing the tremendous sweep of his shoulders versus the narrowness of his waist. Well-worn brown leather boots completed the ensemble, making him look almost like a hot lumberjack, the sparkling hazel of his eyes and the frosting of gray-white at his chin and temples only reinforcing his striking attractiveness.
Jesus Christ, girl, you just got here. Stand down.
“I almost puked on the plane,” she said, trying to put her best petulant note in her voice. “I’ve never been on a plane that had props before. I think my pilot was either drunk, or he was having some fun. That thing was dropping up and down like an elevator as we came into Wenatchee.”
Max smiled then, nodding. “It’s that way a lot coming into Pangborn. Thermals are spiraling up in the hot sun. Can make for a bumpy ride.”
He stepped down off the porch, the broad cement slab surrounded by a thin strip of green front lawn. “Come on in, Kels. We’ve got a few things to talk about.”
She wasn’t exactly sure how to take what he said, his expression frustratingly unreadable. But she knew from past experience with him that when he gave her his poker face, it was probably going to be something she wasn’t going to like.
Following him inside, Max closing the door behind her, the sound of him throwing the deadbolt sent a chill down her spine. And it made heat bloom between her thighs as well.
How often had she thought about seeing him again? The ridiculous number of times she’d stood in front of the mirror and rehearsed what she would say to him, the genius turns of phrases that she knew would be the most effective in convincing him that she was the perfect girl for him.
Or at least the perfect girl for his cock.
Then she was inside the cabin, and she thought that was actually a misnomer; the place evoked something like a cavernous cathedral. The living room ran all the way up to the top of the ceiling where the frame came together easily thirty feet above them. A huge couch dominated the center of the room, an even larger throw rug lending the wood floor some softness and warmth. The walls were all varnished wood, pretty, in a quintessentially masculine way. Beyond the living room toward the back was a huge kitchen, done in gray-toned granite, the huge island in the middle of it much like the one in Max’s house back in Tennessee.
A small hallway led back to what she assumed was a bathroom, a stairway leading straight up along the left side of the wall to the most impressive part of the structure. The second floor was essentially an open room, she seemed to remember it was a word with an M—mezzanine—which was above the living room and kitchen.
She could just see that there was a massive bed up there, four huge posts soaring up toward the apex of the ceiling. Another door upstairs led to what she assumed was another bathroom, but it too was closed. The place smelled of a vague wood scent, perhaps cedar or pine. It was wonderful, whatever it was.
Just behind the couch in between it and where the kitchen opened out, there was a dining area, dominated by a large, roughhewn, darkly stained table. Four modern, padded chairs surrounded it.
As Max strolled inside, he cocked a thumb at the table as he headed toward the kitchen. “Have a seat, Kelsey. Got a few things we’re going to go over first.”
“Oh, okay.” She slipped into one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs at the head of the table, setting her suitcase down next to it. “I’m not sure where to put my things…”
“We’ll get to that in a second. You want something to drink?”
She watched him as he opened the refrigerator door, bending down slightly as he peered inside, his snug blue jeans stretching over the muscular curves of his ass in a way that made her want to take a bite out of it. “Water’s fine.”
He strolled back, the sound of his boots clumping on the floorboards so macho in itself she couldn’t help but smile. She almost laughed at herself.
Even the way he walks is making you horny. Down, girl!
Setting a cold, sweating bottle of water in front of her, he took the seat opposite her at the other end of the table. He hadn’t brought anything for himself to drink. “First things first. I know that this was your idea—your dad dropped a dime on you on that one—so whatever you think you were going to pull off by doing this, you’re wrong. Second—you need to know what you’re getting yourself into here, because I don’t think your father explained just what this place is other than the place that Max stays at in the summer.”
“Looks like someone transplanted a ski chalet out into the fucking desert.” She winced inside right after she said it, realizing it was registering a little bit too high on the smartass meter.
He scowled at that. “This cabin cost me almost half a million dollars to build. It’s no ski chalet, I assure you that.”
“Holy shit…” She knew Max was doing okay, money-wise—not that that mattered at all to her—but she had no idea he had the kind of scratch to do something like this. Her uncle Max was a man of many surprises.
Little did she know she was about to learn another big one.
“This place, it’s called Foster Canyon Ranches. Now, that may seem boring and pedestrian to you, but you need to know what it is that happens here. Have you ever heard of something called an intentional community?”
“Yeah, but it was in reference to like a hippie commune, or something like that. That’s not what this is, is it?”
