Page 65 of Under the Mistletoe
“What’s that?”
He pulled her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Oh, we’ll get the happily ever after.”
“Is that so?”
That was definitely so. Fifteen minutes later, he turned into the community center and didn’t miss that Greyson’s truck was still there. “I didn’t realize Greyson was coming to help.”
“He just showed up.”
No doubt he did.
Maybe he should stay. Logan tapped the wheel. “You want me to stay and help?”
“You have a chapter to write, and this time I have a lot of fire tenders.” She winked.
His gaze darted to Greyson’s truck again, but her fingers landed on his chin and turned his face to her. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then opened her door. “Text me when you’re done with your chapter.”
He agreed and waited for her to disappear into the building. She had chosen him, and he had to trust that. Although he’d trusted Jacquelyn too. No, that wasn’t fair. Devin was nothing like Jacquelyn.
He shoved his Bronco into drive. He refused to mess this up with Devin over his own fears and insecurities. Ten minutes later, as he made his way through the back roads of Heritage toward his parents’ place, something he couldn’t quite define had him turning at a For Sale sign on the edge of a dirt road. He followed the unmarked single-lane dirt road that dead-ended at a small frozen lake. He climbed out of his vehicle but left it running. He could easily see the other side, but it would be a great place to kayak or paddleboard in the summer. It provided the privacy and peace of his cabin but wasn’t so remote.
This was crazy. But there was just something about the property that seemed to call out to him like a beacon. Maybe it was time to move back closer to civilization, closer to family, closer to Devin. Maybe that was jumping the gun a bit, but ever since that kiss—since hearing her say she loved him—his desire to return to his cabin had all but disappeared. The Wallis kids flashed in his mind, but he shook that image away.
The Barlows would come around. Who wouldn’t want those kids? Besides, taking on three kids right now would definitely be jumping the gun on life. He released a deep breath and climbed back into his Bronco. He needed to get going. Because he had a character to kill and was running out of time to do it.
When he got to the end of the drive, he snapped a photo of the Realtor’s name and number. Hannah was a Realtor. Maybe he’d have her reach out for him. After all, the money had arrived in his bank account that morning and, just maybe, he knew what to do with it.
* * *
Stone of Anwar: Chapter 18
Orin and his men should have returned to Anathia last night. And yet here it was well past noon, and still no sign of them.
Perhaps they’d left late. Perhaps they traveled slowly. Rand closed his eyes. He’d traveled with his brother too many times to put faith in either. Which left one other option. They’d met trouble. Hopefully, only something minor, like a maimed horse. Whatever it was, Rand was done waiting to find out.
He marched toward the stables, but before he’d gotten far, the gate to the keep opened. It was just a hooded man and an old farm horse pulling a small wooden cart that entered, but something made Rand pause. The man didn’t ride like a peddler or even a peasant, for that matter. His back was too straight, his shoulders too broad. Rand wasn’t imagining things either, as everyone else in view was stopping in the middle of their daily routines, staring at the new arrival and whispering among themselves. Rand approached but kept his hand near his sword.
The dirt-faced man finally lifted his head. The hood fell back as his red-rimmed eyes locked eyes with Rand’s. Timus? What was the captain of his brother’s guard doing here when he should be guarding—Rand’s gaze shot to the long bundle in the cart, and his heart seized as he recognized the clear outline of a body.
Rand jumped onto the edge of the cart and knelt next to the body, then pulled his knife. It couldn’t be.
“Rand, wait.” Timus’s words muddled in his ears as if spoken from a distance.
Slicing through the first rope, Rand yanked the cloth down, revealing Orin’s ashen face.
“No!” The word ripped from his throat, echoed through his ears, and vibrated in his chest. It couldn’t be. Not Orin.
Rand collapsed on his knees and buried his face in his hands as he struggled to draw a deep breath. Nausea rolled over him, wave after wave. Someone would die for this. He’d make sure of it.
“It was an ambush, Your Majesty.” Timus stepped next to Rand. “We’d settled down to rest for a meal. We had a guard watching, but they were well hidden, must have guessed exactly where we’d stop. They took the sentry out before he could even sound the alarm. No one was armed. Everyone’s gone.”
Your Majesty.
In one smooth motion, Rand pulled his sword from its scabbard and pressed it to Timus’s throat. “But you lived?”
The captain was still as a statue as a tear carved a path through the grime on Timus’s cheek, seemingly paired with the drop of blood trickling down his neck as the razor edge of Rand’s blade pressed against his skin. Timus’s back slowly arched over the cart to relieve the pressure, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Trust me. I have questioned the same thing for the past twelve hours. And I can only think of one thing. They needed me to tell you that they were dressed like Kenthorians.”
“You are saying that Kenthor did this?” He pointed to Orin’s body again, his voice a dangerous growl. “They are an ally. Our mother was Kenthorian. That doesn’t make sense.” He pressed the sword forward against his friend’s throat again.
