“Of course.” I’ll do no such thing, and he knows it. My brother built a three-story condo for a field mouse that got into his house, so I know he’s not the violent type, either.
But I appreciate him thinking I’m the sort of woman who’d defend myself aggressively if needed. Hefting my new tool, I lay the hatchet carefully on the table just inside my front door. “I’m prepared to bash anyone who knocks.”
“Maybe not Doc Bradley,” he amends. “He’s a good egg.”
I’m unfamiliar with the expression, but the thought of Bradley in a delicate white shell makes me giggle. “Thank Chelsea again for dinner. It was wonderful.”
“Yeah.” He gets that goofy, lovestruck look he has anytime his wife walks into a room, and my heart melts a little. “Call if you need more cupcakes.”
I ate two already, and I’d surely explode if I went back for another. “I’ll certainly do so.”
Throwing my arms around his massive bulk, I squeeze hard before letting go. “Good night, Mark.”
“Night.”
I watch him amble away, and yes, I lock the door behind him. Then I wait five minutes. Ten, just to be sure he’s busy tucking Libby in bed or kissing Chelsea or whatever my brother does in the privacy of his home.
When the clock strikes nine, I slip out the door into the darkness.
I’m still in my jeans, but I’ve pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt with the Jingle Bell Reindeer Ranch logo. A gift from Jade and Amber, though I never planned to wear it for covert nighttime activities.
As I duck through shadows, I take care to avoid the security guard I spotted near the spa. I do my best not to look suspicious, though if anyone sees me, I’ve got a cover story planned. I even pause a few times to gaze up at the stars, pleased I did my homework enough to know there’s a small comet passing through. I’m just a simple girl, out watching for shooting stars.
Making my way across the resort, I picture my siblings tucked snug in their cabins. They’ve got spouses and kids, pets and pleasant plans for the evening. What would that be like? Meeting my soulmate, dating a while, maybe settling down to get married. I can’t imagine it.
That doesn’t stop me from longing just a little.
And thinking of Bradley, if I’m being honest.
Seeing him today was wonderful. His mother was lovely, of course, but she’s not the one occupying my thoughts. It’s the memory of Bradley’s kiss making my lips tingle, the echo of his hands on my body as he held me in his arms.
Most of all, it’s the way he looked deep into my eyes. He saw me—really saw me—at least as much as I’ve allowed anyone to see me since I arrived at Ponderosa Resort.
What would it be like to let myself fall for him? To kiss him, touch him, devour him the way I’m dying to do?
But I can’t let myself think like that. Besides, I’ve got a crisis on my hands.
Picking up my pace, I huff out a breath that turns frosty in the dark winter night. The air smells like pine needles and the possibility of snow, which I never knew as an identifiable scent before I came here.
By the time I reach the other side of the resort, I’m feeling winded and oddly sentimental. That’s not the mindset I need to be in, so I spend a moment psyching myself up.
“You’re tough,” I whisper as I clench my fists at my sides. “You’re a badass, Izzy.”
Badass Izzy doesn’t sound right, so I try again. “You’re a badass, Iz. A rebel. A renegade. A frondeur.”
A deer bounds across a field in front of me, and I jump and nearly pee myself. Dammit.
The deer passes, and my heart rate slows again. I take a few more deep breaths, then bounce a couple times in my hiking boots to get myself in the zone.
By the time I knock on the cabin door, I’ve nearly convinced myself I’m not terrified.
That dies the instant he throws open the door. “What?”
The porch light glints off his bald head as he glowers at me. His black T-shirt reveals biceps the size of hams, and his scowl leaves little doubt how he feels about the interruption.
I gulp and let my gaze drop to the firearm in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
I swallow hard, struggling to summon small shreds of bravery. “Answering the door with a loaded gun.”
“It’s not loaded.” He turns and walks back into the cabin, leaving the door ajar. I hesitate a moment, then follow him inside.
He’s already at the dining table, seating himself beside an impressive pile of ammunition and a heap of cleaning supplies. Ignoring me, he gets back to work rubbing a rag along the barrel of the lethal-looking pistol. Some sort of Glock 9mm, if I recall correctly from the shooting lessons I endured as a royal teen.
I hated those lessons. Hated everything about the high-security environment at the Dovlano Royal Palace.
Folding my arms over my chest so he doesn’t see my hands shake, I fix my gaze on the gleam of his bald head. “Why are you here?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps rubbing the gun. Was he serious about it not being loaded?
As if on cue, he puts the pieces back together and starts loading bullets. I gulp again.
“Dante!”
That gets his attention. He looks up sharply and scowls. “Do not use my name.”
I roll my eyes. “What the hell do you want me to call you, then? ‘Asshole my father hired to spy on me’ takes too long to say.”
He blinks. This is possibly the greatest show of emotion I’ve ever witnessed from the man. “Since when do you use profanity?”
“Why? Are you planning to report back to my parents?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
He shrugs and clips something onto the gun. A silencer? I have no idea what that looks like, but I don’t doubt he owns one. I watch him for a solid minute before I give up waiting for an answer. There’s something more pressing to ask anyway.
“Who are you here to kill?”
He doesn’t look up. Just concentrates on reassembling his weapon. I’m torn between hoping he blows his face off and praying he doesn’t drop it and get hurt.
Once, when I was thirteen, Dante tackled a man who tried to grab my mother in a crowded market. Back then, Dante couldn’t have been more than twenty, though the Duke loved to crow about the military expertise of his right-hand man. Maybe Dante’s older than I think. The asshole big brother I always wished for, though I never envisioned a sibling with his own personal arsenal.
He’s still not saying anything, which makes my mind run wild. Maybe he’s here to kill me. I don’t think so, but I’m hardly an expert in predicting hitman behavior.
Because that’s what Dante is. A hired gun. A killer. A bodyguard. Lord knows which capacity he’s acting in now, which is why I need to get to the bottom of this.
“Dante!”
“I said d—”
“I don’t care about using your name!” I shout the words, demanding to be heard. To hell with his stupid rules. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
I clap with each syllable, trying to sound fierce. Instead, I sound like a child playing patty-cake. My hands are still shaking, so I shove them in my pockets just as Dante meets my eye.