“It’s upside down.” He took the card and unlocked the door, which swung inward as if shoved open by their expelled breaths.
Brighton rushed in.
Stone stood in the hall, unwilling to cross that line. To be alone with her. Yet, he had to make her understand a few things and that couldn’t be done out here.
He stepped in far enough to shut the door, and twinged when she scurried across the room to stand behind the chair, gripping the oversized shirt tightly in her hand. Her hair was piled atop her head in a wild, carefree way. On the dresser was a grocery bag filled with clothes. For some reason, that hit him crossways.
Focus, Metcalfe. He folded his arms. She needed to understand and comply with the rules. “I agreed to let you stay at my lodge?—”
“Your lodge?” Those molten eyes came up.
“—with the understanding you remain in this room.” Stone tightened the slipping control on his temper. “Meals will be delivered here. Laundry handled via housekeeping.”
Her gaze went to the curtains. As if she wanted to escape.
“Cord agreed to the terms, so by default, you do as well. If you can’t abide by them, then you know where the front door is.”
She chewed her lower lip but said nothing.
Seeing her with Mom and Brooke … “What’d you say to them?”
“Who?”
“My family.”
She scowled. “I didn’t say anything.”
He tightened his jaw, refusing to fall for more of her lies.
She sniffed. “Of course you don’t believe me.”
“I have every reason to believe you’d damage what’s left of my life.”
Her head dipped, but even from six feet away, he could see the way her chin bounced beneath restrained tears.
Nope. Not falling for that. “Oscar has the front desk during the day, and Olivia at night. If you need anything, dial zero.” He turned and gripped the knob, calling Grief, who trotted over. “Otherwise, do not leave this room.”
“Stone.”
He hesitated, taking in a breath, letting it out, then faced her.
Brighton Buchanan had always been confidence balled into a five-nine package of spunk, but now … standing there, shifting awkwardly, she reeked of vulnerability. “I am sorry.”
He snorted. Yanked open the door and left. No way he’d believe that. Not after the way she’d worked him, seduced him so her cohorts could photograph them and take him down. Roughing a hand over his beard, he made his way back toward the front desk.
Brooke was waiting in the foyer, arms crossed.
He sure didn’t need a lecture. “Hey,” he said with a clear voice. “The trail’s cleared. Want to go for a hike later?”
She startled. Then rolled her eyes. “You’re not putting me off that easy.”
He stepped into her personal space. “What is this, Brooke? You haven’t given an iota about me or Mom?—or any of us?—in years.” He jutted his jaw at her. “What’re you doing here? Why’re you in my business now?”
Hurt flashed through her expression, but that classic, indifference that defined Brooke slid right over like a mask. “Not everyone is your enemy, Stone. I want to help.”
“Help what?”
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “You’re the big brother, the one with all the answers, the one looking out for everyone. Yet this sweet woman?—”
