Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series Page 6

  An ache started deep in her throat, growing thicker and taller with each breath. She closed her eyes and fought back the nostalgia. For every precious moment with her mother, Randi had ten instances of neglect and heartache.

  When she opened her eyes, she spotted a figure emerging from the tree line. Britt. Dressed in black running shorts and a white T-shirt, he jogged toward her, muscles bunching and stretching. Sweat soaked his shirt and hair, and his face glistened from his exertions.

  Randi’s breath stopped flowing through her lungs, her windpipe, her nose. The breeze buffeted her unblinking eyes, drying them out. Foreign cravings stirred low in her, seeking the source of their awakening.

  The second his gaze connected with hers, his steady gait hitched before slowing to an unhurried stroll. He used the dry end of his T-shirt to mop the moisture from his face. The move revealed the most amazing abs. Britt Steele was ripped. Not a single ounce of fat.

  Randi blinked several times to unstick her eyelids and sucked in her middle. She drank far too many lattes and ate way too much pasta for the same to be said about her body. What she wouldn’t give to run her fingertips over such perfection, especially the long trail of hair that disappeared beneath his shorts.

  The T-shirt dropped back in place, and Randi rose to greet him. “Good morning, Britt. I’m sorry—”

  “Have a seat.” He climbed the stairs. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Unlocking the door, he strode inside. The screen slammed shut. The interior door stood wide open.

  Randi blinked. What the heck? She stared at the screen door, cocking her head to listen. Comprehension dawned, along with irritation. Could he not have postponed his shower until after she’d left? She’d already lost thirty minutes waiting on him. For most people, a half hour was a blip of time. For her, it was a trip to the grocery store or a load of laundry or an oil change. All the things she had to pack into her Sunday that she couldn’t do during the week.

  She contemplated storming inside after him, but that would mean coming into contact with a nude, wet Britt. She contemplated harder. And harder.

  “Arghh!” Randi plopped back in her chair, her normal boldness failing her on an epic level. She’d already mooned the man. She couldn’t bring herself to shock him into a heart attack.

  By the time she’d tapped out a response to Aunt Sharon and answered a new text from Kris McKay, Britt rejoined her, wearing a gray tee and jeans and carrying a bottle of water, his feet bare.

  Taking the seat beside her, he set his water on the wide, flat arm of his chair. “Good morning.”

  Tension drained from her shoulders, though an anticipatory wariness remained. “Did you have a nice shower?”

  “Yes.” He lifted the water bottle to his mouth, keeping his gaze on the distant landscape. “What can I do for you, Randi?”

  “I’ve brought news about my mother’s will.”

  “As I recall, you promised that information yesterday.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. It took me all day to track down Virgil, then I had to sober him up.”

  He glanced down at her hand. “Phone broke?”

  “No, but I left your card at the office.”

  “Do you have Carlie Beth programmed into that smart machine of yours?”

  Randi’s jaw locked. He’d found the gap in her logic in less than ten seconds. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t want to further involve Carlie Beth by asking her for Britt’s number. But deep down she comprehended that avoidance was her main motivator.

  What would it have been like to speak with him on the phone? His deep, calm voice flowing into her ear. Close. Intimate. Tantalizing.

  “What reason should I have given Carlie Beth for wanting your number?”

  “None at all. If she was unsure, she could have cleared it with me.”

  “Men might work that way, but there’s no way I could have called Carlie Beth and asked for your number without some sort of explanation. If you and I’d had a friendlier association, she might not have thought it strange. But serving you drinks doesn’t buy me anything more personal than a drive-by hello.”

  “What’s the worst that could have happened?” His brown eyes held hers. “Carlie Beth might get the wrong idea about your intentions? Maybe think you’re infatuated with me?”

  Try as she might, Randi could not stop the blush from burning up her face. Again.

  Rather than break his visual hold though, she held tight. Let him make of her fiery cheeks what he would. He couldn’t have known what direction her imagination had taken her these past few days. Even if he had, he’d shown little interest in her.

  Except for that brief caress in her office the other day.

  “I attempted to apologize for not stopping by yesterday, but you seemed more interested in running inside.”

  His full lips curved into the slightest smile before he picked up his water and took a drink. “I think better when I’m not covered in sweat.”

  The statement landed between them like a jumbo jet taxiing down Main Street. What would it be like to see this calm, controlled, elusive man come unhinged by pleasure? Unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to stop.

  Randi cleared her throat. “Good to know. Now, how about we get to what I came here to discuss?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “In my office, you mentioned that Mom had offered to put a right of first refusal in her will for you if I decide to sell the property.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Virgil read Mom’s will to me, word for word.” She took a fortifying breath. “There’s nothing in there memorializing such an agreement. The property is mine to do with as I like.”

  * * *

  “Virgil read it wrong.” The insane comment was out before Britt had time to think about it. But what other reason could there be? Barbara had been the one to propose the clause. Had even badgered him until he’d agreed.

  “For the red wolves,” she’d said. “My daughter wants nothing to do with this land. She’ll sell it to the highest bidder. You and I both know that won’t be an organization who will give a rat’s ass about those wolves.”

  So he’d agreed, knowing that even at twenty-five percent below fair market value the property would put him so deeply into debt that he’d have to put in eighty-hour weeks for the rest of his life in order to make ends meet.

  “No, he didn’t,” she said in an even voice.

  “He must have, Randi. There’s no other explanation. Barbara was very clear to me about her wishes.”

  Anger sparked in her green eyes. “Then she either changed her mind, or never got around to amending her will.”

  “I want to see it.”

  “See what?”

  “Barbara’s will.”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “No. But I don’t trust that drunken bastard’s reading skills.”

  “Neither did I. That’s why I asked for a copy.”

  Fear splintered his gut. Barbara’s mistake would mean the end of the Steele-Shepherd pack. A land-hungry developer or a group of unscrupulous game hunters would wipe them out. Or scatter them across the countryside, where landowners mistaking them for coyotes would peg them off. All because a two-sentence wish never got added to a fucking document.

  He shot out of his chair, unable to sit still any longer. Options thundered through his mind like a nonstop locomotive. He dismissed each one as fast as they arrived. As a general tradesman, he made good money because of his versatility. He refurbished kitchens and bathrooms. Built decks and garages. Tracked down electrical problems and waterline leaks. And even changed a porch lightbulb when old Mrs. Zigfield couldn’t reach the outlet. That one he’d done pro bono.

  But he didn’t make enough to win a bidding war. And there would be one.

  He sure as hell wasn’t asking his baby brother to spot him the dough.

  “Would you consider selling to me anyway?”

  Silence.

  Facing her, he n
oted the tension radiating along her brow line and the ridge of her shoulders. Her hands gripped each other in a hold that scattered every ounce of blood from her skin, leaving skeletal white fingers behind. She stared at him, but he didn’t think she really saw him. It was as if she looked inward, searching.

  “Randi?”

  Her eyes fluttered until they refocused on him. Regret fractured the air between them, then she stomped out the last of his hope. “You’re welcome to make an offer.”

  Glancing away, he fought to control the low quakes of desperation, of helplessness, deep in his gut. “What about half?”

  “Half of what?”

  “Half to me and half to whomever you have lined up?”

  “Who said I had anyone lined up?”

  “You indicated as much earlier. Besides, why else would you go against your mother’s wishes? Someone has offered you a deal too sweet to pass up.”

  Her squared shoulders lost their stiffness, curling inward like a protective shield. “I think it’s time for me to go.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a stack of papers. “Here, read for yourself.”

  Britt took the papers. “What’s this?”

  “A copy of my mother’s will. I sense you don’t fully trust my word on this. Normally, I wouldn’t care a flying fig. But, in this case, I believe you deserve to see for yourself.”

  Unfolding the papers, Britt scanned the lines of legal jargon until he reached the clause that discussed the property. Each word ripped at him like the cutters of a chain saw tearing through wood.

  Barbara hadn’t kept her word. Her land, the wolves—none of it was protected.

  When he lifted his eyes, the world around him blurred into one indistinct background. Dammit, why hadn’t he seen this coming? Barbara had been scatterbrained at times, jumping from one project to the next. But it had never occurred to him that she would leave something this important for another day.

  He held out the papers for Randi, but she was gone. A door slammed in the distance, and he spotted her wrapping a seatbelt across her chest. Jogging down the steps, he caught up with her before she could turn the ignition.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home. Why?”

  Britt almost said, “There’s something I’d like to show you.” But he couldn’t take her to the wolves. The fewer people who knew about them, the better. Besides, given her disinterest in her mother’s environmental causes, he doubted she would appreciate the rare treat, or grasp the importance of his work. Like so many others.

  The Jeep’s engine snarled to life and the fan pushed a wave of cool air out the open driver’s side window. Randi’s unique scent floated on the current, tunneling into his senses. He could breathe her in all day and never tire of her scent. Bold woman mixed with a hint of jasmine.

  “I’d like to try and persuade you to hold off on selling your property.”

  “For how long?”

  Britt hedged. “Until I can raise the funds to meet your asking price.”

  “From your brother?”

  Jonah’s billions were no secret in Steele Ridge. His brother’s wealth had saved the town when it was on the brink of bankruptcy. But it still rankled that she thought he needed to ask his little brother for money.

  Britt considered the potential price tag for the Shepherd property and had to concede Jonah might be his only option if he wanted to save the wolves. He just couldn’t stomach the asking, the owing, or the debt that would go far deeper than financial. Who knew? He might have a miracle still left up his sleeve.

  “No, I’ll be doing this on my own.”

  “I don’t have that kind of time.” Regret crept into her expressive eyes. “I’m sorry.” She began backing up.

  Her choice of words puzzled him. Up to this point, he’d assumed her decision to sell had more to do with disinterest and the need to move on.

  “What kind of time do you have?”

  The vehicle slammed to a halt. “Pardon?”

  “Time. How much can you give me?”

  She stared at him a moment before asking in a low voice, “Why do you want this land so badly?”

  Sweat pebbled between his shoulder blades. How could he explain his interest without giving up the wolves? An explanation she would believe. He could tell her that it would make a nice, contiguous addition to the ten thousand acres of Steele Conservation Area, but he didn’t think that would earn him any extra time points. So he stuck with the truth.

  “Keeping the land in its current, natural state was important to Barbara. After all she’s done for me—did for me, I owe it to her to preserve what she loved.”

  Shifting her attention to the distant tree line, she gripped the steering wheel as if it were the only thing grounding her in place. Or maybe it was a handy substitute for his neck.

  “You have until the end of this week.” She stabbed him with a warning look. “No more.”

  Britt’s heart plummeted like the ever-changing temperatures on Mt. Everest.

  Five days.

  That was all the time he had to develop a relocation plan for the wolves. He’d been putting away every cent he could for the past decade and had managed to save a respectable amount. But it wasn’t anywhere close to what he needed to purchase Randi’s acreage.

  So relocation was the only answer.

  Britt’s fingers curled into a tight fist and he lowered his head as frustration and sorrow welled up in him. The wolves had finally found a safe haven, one he and Barbara would have protected for years to come.

  Now they had to be uprooted just when this batch of pups had begun to explore their surroundings. He would have to move them farther inside the conservation area and hope they would accept their new home. Which meant he’d have to tell Jonah.

  Although the family called the large tract of land a conservation area, no long-term plans had been developed, or even discussed. The family had been focused first on bailing out the town, then on building a world-class training facility. No one had yet given a thought to the excess acreage, except Britt.

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded and backed down the drive.

  The jagged stones beneath his bare feet began to register. He stepped off the gravel drive and slid his soles across the grass before heading back inside his cabin. Doing a quick calculation in his head, he figured he had at least three to four weeks, maybe a little more, before the paperwork was executed and the new owner took possession. It would have to be enough.

  Five days to plan, three weeks to implement. Months to worry. Wolves had a mind of their own. There was no guarantee that they wouldn’t find their way back to the edge of Shepherd land, to the farmland they used as a corridor for hunting. To potential danger.

  8

  “When did you eat last?” Aunt Sharon gave Randi a fierce hug upon her arrival.

  “Probably breakfast.” Although Randi couldn’t actually recall what she might have shoved down her throat before heading off to speak with Britt. Maybe nothing.

  “Have a seat while I heat up a bowl of chicken noodle soup.” She closed the front door. “I made it yesterday, so it’ll be good and fermented.”

  Auntie never served soup, stews, or chili the same day she cooked the dishes. She believed they tasted their best after a day or two of fermenting. Randi had to agree with her, but she wished her aunt would use a different word so it didn’t sound like a lab experiment, with her niece as the guinea pig. Lord knew Auntie liked to mix things up with her recipes.

  “Don’t go to any trouble, Auntie. I’m really not hungry.”

  “What nonsense!” Auntie flapped her hand in the air. “With Glen gone and the kids scattered all over God’s green earth, you’re the only one nearby I can dote on. Now, turn on the TV. Wheel of Fortune’s on in fifteen minutes.”

  Randi groaned. Wheel of Fortune turned her aunt into a screeching madwoman. Shouting out words and nonsensical phrases until she hit on the right combination. Then she crowed like a five-year-old for
having beaten her unfortunate opponent to the finish line. Lord forgive anyone who solved the puzzle before her aunt.

  The only time Randi had ever received her aunt’s death stare had been the time she’d called out the winning puzzle first. She’d never made that mistake again.

  Grabbing the remote, Randi hit the power button, then panned through the guide until she found the right channel. Directive accomplished, she joined her aunt in the kitchen to search for her favorite cookies.

  Auntie made the best oatmeal and raisin cookies in all of Haywood County. Soft and moist and never-ending. Raisins on their own—disgusting. Raisins in oatmeal cookies—delish.

  She went straight for the mouse-shaped ceramic jar smiling down from the refrigerator top. The mouse’s blue chef’s hat and red apron appeared as good as new. Not a single chip anywhere.

  Drawing it down, she peered inside. Nothing. Disappointment made her shoulders sag. Replacing the lid, she set the jar back in place.

  A low laugh sounded behind her.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Thirty years old, and you still go right for the Jerry jar.”

  As in the Tom and Jerry cartoon featuring a wily mouse forever on the run from the not-so-witty cat. Appropriate, given the number of greedy hands that had pounced on the cookie jar.

  “Creature of habit. Besides, your cookies are the best.”

  Auntie nodded to a large Tupperware-type bowl on the counter. “I made two dozen oatmeal to take to the children’s ward at the hospital. Help yourself to a couple.”

  Randi’s mouth watered at the mere thought of fresh-baked cookies. “No thanks, Auntie. I’m not going to steal treats from sick kids.” She grinned. “No matter how much I’d like to.”

  “Such a good, unselfish child.” Auntie set a steaming bowl of soup on the table. “If it’ll make you feel less guilty, I’ll make up another batch tomorrow before I take it over.”