“That woman destroyed my life!”
She lifted her chin. “So it is her.”
He could not believe he’d just done that. “I have work to do.” Signaling Grief to come, he started for his office.
“Is that offer for a hike still on the table? So we can talk. You sound like you need it.”
Just like his sister, trying to take the high road, instruct and correct him.
“I’ve never seen you behave so poorly, Big Brother. The man yelling at a woman, the man raging like a wild beast?—that wasn’t the brother I’ve always looked up to.”
“You never looked up to anyone in your life, Brooke. You’ve always looked down on us.”
She startled. “That …” She sighed. “What you did, how you treated her—that’s abuse, Stone. The sheriff in you knows that.”
“You’re operating with one-tenth the information and making assumptions.”
“Abuse is abuse, Stone. No matter what color you shade it with.”
“Enough.” He brushed past her into his office, tossed his hat on his desk, and dropped into the chair. Head buried in his hands, he let out a long breath. Leaned back in the chair and stared out the window overlooking the pool. He’d bought the Bexar-Wolfe Lodge for peace, to start over. Got a pretty good lead on both. Now … Brighton was back and everything upended.
He stared at his computer, knew he’d never get any work done today, so he grabbed his hat and went out the rear door?—only to realize Grief wasn’t there.
He glanced back at the door. Recalled signaling him to follow. But he’d been so frustrated with Brooke, he hadn’t noticed his dog hadn’t obeyed. He crossed his office to the lounge area. Gave the low whistle that never failed to bring the black Malinois to heel.
Nothing.
He strode to the front desk. “Seen Grief?”
Oscar looked up from his work. “No, Boss.”
Where on earth was that mongrel?
An idea hit him. He recalled Grief sniffing at a door. “No,” he groaned. But with the way his day had started … Stone stalked across the lobby toward the rooms. Something in his gut tightened when he saw Brighton standing in the door. Irritation slashed what little restraint he had on his temper.
“He was scratching,” she explained. “When I opened it, he darted inside.”
“Why’re you opening the door? Stay inside! Is that too hard to comprehend?” He nailed his dog with a glower, Brooke’s chastisement strangling his temper. “Grief, come!”
The Malinois lifted his head from his perch on the bed and thumped his tail.
“Come!”
“Sorry,” Brighton said, “I would’ve brought him, but you told me to stay—”
“Grief! Heel!”
“I see why you named him that.” Her words were soft, nervous.
“It’s all I’ve had since you.” His words came out as pointed as he meant them. “C’mon, boy.” But his dog stayed on the bed, tail thumping the coverlet. He knew better than to let his frustration into his voice with his dog, but he’d had enough. “Grief!”
“Come on, buddy,” Brighton said cheerily, nodding to the hall. She stepped out and Grief leapt off the bed to follow her.
Unbelievable. “Traitor.”
“Me or your dog?”
Stone didn’t trust himself to answer. There was too much edge churning through him, so he made himself walk away. He had a bad feeling this would be the longest week of his life.
