“Although,” he said, rubbing his chin, fake-serious, “it’s kinda like finding a needle in a haystack. And, well, we are quite literally in hay country.”
“Exactly why I was gonna do it alone,” I muttered.
He raised a brow. “Shouldn’t that mean youneedme? I’m basically the hay whisperer.”
“I’m more efficient solo,” I said, straight-faced. There was no way he’d actually leave me alone, and that meant the necklace would stay exactly where it was. For now.
I dropped my gaze, leaning down to Reko for cover. “He’s got retriever in him, right? Maybe he could sniff something out.”
Noah chuckled. “Could be.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Let’s give him a shot.”
We started walking, with him casually scanning the grass as if we were really on a treasure hunt, and me throwingstrategic glances at the tree. So close. Yet still guarded by one six-foot-two complication.
“How’s your side?” he asked.
“Better. Painkillers work.”
His lips twitched. “So you’re ready for a Reverse Corte?”
“You’re evil.”
He laughed, full and unbothered.
Reko, trotting happily ahead of us, had already begun his own search, snuffling through the grass. Noah’s hope clearly surged for half a second, until the dog barked once, his tail wagging furiously, and unearthed…someone’s leftover mac and cheese from last night’s dinner.
“Glad someone’s having a productive morning,” I muttered.
Noah smirked. “He’s thorough, I’ll give him that.”
We kept looking. Or pretending to, at least. My nerves buzzed. One wrong move and he’d figure out I wasn’t looking for jewelry—I was looking for an exit.
“So, you said you just moved here?” I asked to keep him talking, to keep him distracted.
“Yeah. From Salt Lake.”
“Ah. Your hockey days. Your pretend-physio days. And your media mogul era?”
“All of the above.”
I gave him a once-over. No suit today. Just boots, worn jeans, a T-shirt that had no business clinging that well. “You clean up nice for a cowboy.”
“I always belonged here, Blue.”
“But you wanted something bigger? Better?”
He paused. “Not really. It was just…complicated. Cliché, I know. Maybe worse.”
There was something in his face. Not just weariness. What he’d survived left its mark.
I reassured him, “You’re here now. That proves you belong.”
He nodded, his eyes still on the ground like we might actually find something. “I’ll show you my new place if you want. It’s Victorian and ready to be lived in.” He nudged a rock with his boot. “Deliveries came and went, but I’m still waiting on the bed. They just kept messing it up.”
Ah. So that’s what he meant earlier when he said the delivery hadn’t gone well.
“Can’t woo anyone without a decent bed,” I quipped.
That earned a laugh. “That was my thinking exactly.” Then, in a voice far too smooth, he added, “Not wooing you, though, Blue.”
