Page 7 of A Little More Forgiveness

At least the never-ending drudgery would finally be over if they did.

Chuck’s and Norris’s heads came up rapidly, gaining my attention. Ears twitched forward, they barked repeatedly, their nails clicking on the hardwood floors as they loped to the window to see into the yard. I sighed. More visitors. This was all I needed, though except for the two who’d already been and gone, people rarely came out here anymore, most of our friends disappearing after Katie’s death. Moving between the dogs, I peered outside to see the same battered red Jeep returning up the track toward the cabin.

What the hell were they doing back?

I had nothing else to say to either of them. A bad feeling settled in my belly. I’d been on steady ground until being told Jared had sold out, but now only quicksand lurked beneath my feet, slowly dragging me under. Once more pulling open the door, I planted my feet on the porch—my porch—in readiness for the next battle.

The vehicle pulled into the same spot as last time, and the two men exited. Both of them looked so out of place in their designer clothes, it was laughable. One set was definitely more expensive than the other, which wasn’t any real surprise. Sanchez struck me as the type of guy who liked flashy and expensive things to go along with his flashy and expensive life, and he’d done nothing so far to change my view.

Leo Taylor, though, had been a bit of a surprise. Younger than I’d expected, and yet somehow carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders, which had me wondering what he’d been through to become far older than his years.

“I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, we tried,” Sanchez answered, his lazy drawl immediately getting under my skin. “Didn’t work out.”

God, what an annoying piece of shit. Ignoring him, I turned to my lawyer and growled, “Get him off my property before I do it myself.”

He stared hard at the guy. “Believe me, if I could, I would.”

I frowned. What the hell did he mean?

“We got to the bridge,” Sanchez continued, and I swear amusement danced in his eyes. “Only the bridge ain’t all there.”

I returned my gaze to the lawyer. “What’s he talking about?”

The man let out a long, weary sigh and for a second looked…defeated?

“Heavy snow took out a tree and the trunk landed on the bridge, taking a section out.” He retrieved his phone from his pants pocket and flicked me through the photos he’d taken.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. So unless you know of another way out?”

He let his question hang. There wasn’t another way out, by vehicle anyway, and in snow this deep, none fully walkable or by horse either.

Wait. Did that mean? No way. No fucking way.

“Yep,” Sanchez confirmed, reading my expression. He strutted toward me, stepped onto the porch, and carried on by. “Looks like you’ve got yourself some house guests.” He continued to walk straight into my home as if he owned the place, the dogs trailing obediently after him.

Annoyance hit first, at his nerve to walk uninvited into someone else’s home, before a bone-deep anger took over, simmering in my gut on realizing he didn’t need an invitation as, in fact, he owned as much of the place as I did. I turned to Leo Taylor, my voice rising an octave. “You can’t seriously think I’ll let you stay here?”

“I’m sure there’s something we can do to get us out of your hair,” he answered instead. “Maybe, we could call mountain rescue or the fire service or the police?”

I scowled at his ill-considered question. “You are not wasting their time and effort on this. They’re an emergency service for a reason.”

Did he think I’d call them out? He was out of his mind. They were for people in real danger, not two suits who didn’t know better than to venture outside in heavy snow.

“Send me the photos, and I’ll contact some people, see what I can do to get you out of here.” As fast as I damn well could. “Now come inside before you freeze to death.”

Sanchez had already made himself at home, and currently stood in front of the fireplace, hogging the heat. My dogs, the traitors, sat either side of him, his hands absently scratching the tops of their heads. He didn’t belong in my home, his fancy suit entirely out of place against the well-worn sofa, scuffed leather wingback and hand-me-down furniture. His presence was yet another stark reminder of how lacking my life was compared to his.

“Chuck. Norris. With me.” I clicked my fingers, ignoring the reproachful look they gave before dutifully following me toward the bedroom.

“Chuck and Norris,” an amused voice followed behind me. “Seriously?”

His low chuckle only riled me all the more. Cursing under my breath, I refused to rise to his baiting, needing all my strength and energy to not go over there and ring his goddamn neck.

Forty minutes and three phone calls later, I hadn’t stopped cursing. Nothing. We’d get nothing in the way of help for at least a few days or longer, depending on the weather clearing up, and on checking the long-term forecast, it didn’t look to be breaking anytime soon. Pacing the bedroom, the floorboards creaking under my feet, panic started to take hold, winding long, icy tendrils around my throat. I needed my space, the peace and quiet, in order to function. If I remained stuck with those two for even a few hours, let alone a few days, I’d end up killing them. Well, one of them, at least. If he kept his mouth shut and stayed out of my way, I’d probably manage to tolerate the lawyer.

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