He swiped a hand over his beard. The lodge was all he had now. Had to make this work.
When Grief lazily—deliberately—dragged his nails over the door, as if to say “you’re killing me here,” Stone breathed a laugh. Glanced at his watch. Almost lunch. Mom would be here soon—and he still hadn’t checked the condo after the cleaning crew hit it last night.
“Okay, boy.” Stone stood and grabbed his hat. “Let’s go.”
They headed down the hall to the main lounge area with its open-beam ceilings and a floor-to-ceiling fireplace. He banked right, toward the front desk. Grief trotted ahead, paused at the corner leading to the kitchen, and glanced up over his shoulder at Stone.
“Get it.”
Grief bolted for the kitchen door, where he skidded into a sit at the threshold, knowing he wasn’t allowed inside. A strip of bacon sailed into the air, and Grief snagged it, then sat again.
Dog had everyone trained. With a grunt, Stone turned down the private hall to the condo he’d called home the first six months after taking possession of the lodge. Though he’d renovated it then, he went ahead and updated the décor for his mom’s tastes—a little more Traditional, less man-cave/Rustic. He entered the access code and opened the door. The scent of cleaning products hit him as he double-checked the bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. All good. He scanned the stock in the fridge and pantry, supplied until Mom could make her own trip to the store.
His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.
A text from Rowe read, BMW SUV entered the property.
That was probably his sister. He texted his thanks and headed to the front desk.
Oscar looked up from his monitor. “Morning.”
Stone nodded. “How’re things?”
“Quiet. Had a few inquiries about trail rides, including a corporate event for thirty next week that got shut out of another hotel.”
“Good, we need the business.” Man. If that booked, a guy could breathe easier. He’d spent enough on the stables and horses.
Licking his chops as he rounded the corner trotting happily, Grief was quite pleased with the snack he’d conned from Alvaro. Grief nosed Oscar for some attention.
“Good morning to you, too.” The day manager laughed and reached for a small jar he kept behind the counter.
“No treats,” Stone warned with a laugh. “He just got fed?—twice.”
“Make me the villain and he’ll take it out of my rear-end.”
“Excuse me,” a scratchy voice intruded from behind.
Stone swung aside to deliberately leave the customer to Oscar.
Instead, the wizened eyes of a gentleman in his seventies narrowed beneath a Vietnam Veteran hat. “It is you! I thought so.”
The accusation in his tone was too familiar.
“How can I help you, Mr. Blanton?” Oscar intervened.
“I don’t want nothing from you.” Jutting his jaw, Blanton harrumphed. “But this one”?—he thumbed to Stone?—“needs to go back to Maryland and take that office I voted him into!”
Molten dread poured through Stone, lowering his head.
“I’m afraid you must have him mistaken with someone,” Oscar said shakily, that nervous smile dancing on his bronzed skin.
“I ain’t got nothing wrong. He’s Sto—”
“I appreciate that you care so much,” Stone said, cutting off the use of his legal name. He heard Grief round the corner and signaled him to heel, knowing he might react to the man’s confrontational body language.
“Appreciate nothing! You walked out and left your constituents high and dry.”
Oscar huffed from behind the counter. “Mr. Blan—”
