“Yeah, Jemma and I wondered, but he hasn’t said. Besides, I don’t care.”
“Okay then, let’s go and have some cinnamon rolls at Kemstead’s Bakery and forget the search for my dream man for a while.”
The spontaneous hug rocked her back on her heels. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mere.”
From the corner of her eye, Meredith caught sight of Mutt lurching out from around the corner. She repressed a frown. Why would a man hover around the corner after a run-in with his former best friend?
Jill squeezed her tighter, and Meredith returned the embrace, the wind rushing over her face.
Who the hell could account for what a man was thinking anyway?
Chapter 7
Tanner was dreaming up ways to murder Sommerville without being put in jail. Coming out of what his GPS called Sardine Canyon—aptly named—he surveyed Dare Valley. Fall had broken out across the land, and crayon-colored trees made the jagged peaks of the mountains look like they’d caught fire. Knuckles white from veering to avoid some stupid ass deer that had tried to cross the two-lane highway, Tanner read the town’s population sign. Only twenty thousand people? Holy shit. He couldn’t live here. He needed the city, the chaos.
Something plopped on his windshield, leaving a white stain. He grimaced and looked up at eleven o’clock. The eagle’s majesty should have given him pause, but he didn’t need some damn bird splatting his SUV, although it might be a common occurrence in Eagle County. He cursed at the sky and hit his window washing button.
Nature. What the hell did people see in it? Too much space, too few people, and too many dumb animals waiting to careen into your car or drop a load on your windshield. He liked National Geographic just fine, thank you, but its proper place was in a school classroom or on a coffee table.
His phone rang. He plugged in one earbud, keeping watch for other dumb-ass animals that might want to put natural selection to the test.
“Hello.”
“So, you’re on the way to Dare,” Sommerville said. “What do you think so far?”
Tanner cursed under his breath. It had only taken the son of a bitch two days to find his number. “I don’t like you keeping tabs on me.”
“Don’t growl, McBride. I have a personal interest in this story. I told you I wanted updates.”
“I’m only just arriving in town. I was going to call.” And tell him to go straight to hell. Or so he fantasized.
“That’s good to hear. I don’t want to have to exert any more undue influence to secure your cooperation. Did you read the file on Meredith?”
He turned right when the smooth voice from his GPS instructed. The road led east of the downtown area. “Yes, it was quite thorough.” He’d included everything down to her favorite flowers—yellow roses.
“What’s your plan for approaching her?”
Too bad Tanner had a good signal, or he would have happily blamed a dropped call on this Beyond Fucking Egypt—BFE—town. The road rose up the mountain. He passed private driveways among the foothills, and through the blur of trees, he caught sight of a few McMansions.
“I don’t know yet. I need to get the lay of the land. See where she hangs out. If I push too hard, she’ll be onto me.”
“You’ll be okay. She won’t see this coming. She’s pretty trusting. You’ll simply be another interested male in a limited meat market.”
He slowed when the GPS alerted him to an approaching left turn. He veered onto a gravel road, the crunch under the tires making him slow down. Aspens and assorted conifers crowded together on both sides. The boughs waved in welcome. The narrow road opened up to showcase a killer house.
“Holy shit.”
“Are you finally there?”
Was the guy tracking his GPS? Hell, it was why his friends never used it overseas. It made it too easy for the bad guys to target you. He wouldn’t put it past Sommerville.
Tanner pulled into the circular driveway and stepped out. The sunlight reflected off the squeaky clean massive windows. The cool air carried a pine scent combined with the smell of the damp loamy soil.
“I’m here.”
“I know you’re pissed, but I hope the accommodations will soften the edge. What do you think?”
He studied the trendy cabin—if it could even be called that. It reminded him more of the natural architecture of Fallingwater by Frank Lloyd Wright. Gray stone and natural wood converged into a two-story dwelling recessed into the forest. It was secluded and quiet. Tanner instantly disliked it.
“Not my style.”
“Well it beats where you’ve been staying. You’ll get used to it.”