“I guess you better find him before he costs you more than a month’s wages.”
Month? He cursed. “We will.”
“You’d better, or I’ll put you on a permanent repayment plan.”
In other words?—death.
Bexar-Wolfe Lodge, Northern Virginia
So much for a talk.
Frustrated that he’d walked out, Brighton hobbled out of the cabin and searched the undulating terrain and tree line for Stone. She didn’t know why she bothered??—it was clear her story repulsed him. She repulsed him. She’d wondered even back then, when he was hers, what he’d say or do when he knew the truth. Now, she didn’t have to wonder.
His dog??—where had he come from???—nudged past her and trotted down to the pool. “Grief, no. Come here, boy.” Wouldn’t Stone just love it if she lost his dog? There was clearly a reason he named his dog that. “Grief! Please!”
Snout to the ground, the furry beast headed up a slope of steps and into the foliage.
“Grief!” Unwilling to negotiate stairs with her aching ankle, she took the wider path. Luck not only had not been on her side, it’d been set against her. If she tried the steps, she’d likely break something. “Grief, come back! Where did you go?”
“He’s okay.” The resonant voice came from behind.
Brighton shuffled around, surprised at the handsome guy coming her way. He didn’t look like a lodge worker. In fact, he looked a lot like he’d stepped off a catwalk.
“Grief wanders all over the place but always comes back when he’s ready.” He shoved a hand at her. “Rowe Kincade. Bexar-Wolfe manager, trail guide, and all-around nice guy.”
Unsure whether to believe Superman, Jr. about the dog, she accepted the handshake. “Brighton, though you might call me ‘dead meat’ if anything happens to Grief.”
“Nah.” He had a wicked grin that would bring most girls to their knees, but she’d had enough of his type to last several lifetimes. “Stone lets him wander the property for added security. Grief might ignore you, but one whistle from the boss and he rockets back.”
Rowe extended something, and she glanced down, surprised to find a small yellow-and-blue box. “Chef asked me to bring this up to the cabin. Considering your limp, I reckon it’s for you.”
She accepted the wrap. “Yeah, thanks.”
“You seem a bit unsteady. Let me help wrap your ankle.”
“No, it’s alright. I …”
He took it back and unboxed the wrap.
“Uh …” Brighton glanced in the direction Stone had stalked off, searching for Grief or his grumpy owner. Instead, she saw only trees … trees. Oh, look! More trees. She really did not want Stone angrier at her, and this delay?—
“Sit on the retaining wall.” Rowe urged her back until she plopped against it. “This won’t take a second.” He went to a knee and slid her shoe off, then made quick work of wrapping the bandage like a helix.
It felt wrong to have him handling her leg, but he had a knack for it. Besides, it sure was a lot easier than trying to do it herself. “You seem familiar with doing this.”
“Baseball. Never broke it, but I had some wicked sprains turning bases.” He set the claw hooks to hold the bandage in place. “That’ll work.” He slid her shoe back on?—and thank goodness she had a ballet flat on or it wouldn’t have fit?—and stood. “Give it a go.”
Flashing him a smile, she saw shadows moving past him and up the hill. “Oh …” But when she searched the spot, she found it empty?—well, except for the trees. Carefully, she came to her feet arms out for balance. “Wow, that helps. Thanks.”
“Might do better with a crutch or cane.” He held her hand to steady her. “D’you do this hiking out toward the road?”
She frowned. “How’d you?—”
“I was out clearing brush when I saw you.”
“Oh.” So that’s how Stone had known where she was.
“Should probably rest it for the next twenty-four.”
