Page 33 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

After what happenedyesterday with Lexie in the office, I keep my distance. I don’t trust myself. Am I just so pent up I’m going to attack the first woman that comes within six inches of me? Or is it her, the girl who made my dreams come true that night by singing my songs?

I exhale hard to soften the ache in my chest, but it doesn’t help. Until I’m clear of Brielle and her demands, I have no business even thinking about someone else. Dream girl or not.

We climb into the truck—me in the backseat while Quinn and Lexie take the front. During the drive, Lexie gives us a preview of our hike, and I try to figure a way out of this mess with Brielle that doesn’t involve jeopardizing a pristine ecosystem.

Bealer thinks we’ll just cave with this proposal, do they? Damn it. I’ve demanded asolution.

Lexie parks at a gravel lot next to a trailhead sign and we step out. Low clouds obscure the distant mountains. The summer air hangs heavy with moisture, and beads of dew cling to the tall grass lining the trail.

“We should see a ton of flowers. Lupine are blooming, valerian, larkspur, columbine…”

Quinn and Lexie hike ahead of me, talking about electric cars. Lately, Quinn’s been warming up to my idea to invest in green energy infrastructure. Maybe Lexie’s enthusiasm will help.

I hang back, trying to examine my problem, hoping for some loophole I’ve overlooked. Can I find a molybdenum mine for Brielle somewhere else? Somewhere less remote that doesn’t need a power source and building seventy-five miles of road.

Somewhere less raw and beautiful.

We pause at a fork in the trail where a creek joins the main river. The water is so clear, with a sandy bottom that glitters in the flashes of sunlight.

“What’s your favorite dinner, Dawson?” Lexie asks as we share a handful of pretzels from the snack bag.

“Anything I don’t have to cook,” I say. “I’m not a foodie like Q.”

Lexie wrinkles her nose. “Do you have a chef? Or does Quinn come over to cook for you every night?”

“Quinn refuses to enter my home.”

Quinn scoffs. “Because Brielle knows I hate her guts.”

“True,” I reply.

Lexie packs away the bag of snacks and we start walking again.

“How did this fake marriage happen?”

“I tried to warn him,” Quinn starts, but I throw a pebble at his head. He ducks, laughing.

“You warned me, all right. You warned me that if we didn’t do something drastic, the company wouldn’t survive. Brielle was the solution, and as much as we both hated it, we were right.”

Quinn eyes Lexie. “Brielle and Dawson grew up together. Family picnics, holidays, summers at the lake, yadda yadda. Brielle has a seriously gifted mind for business, but after working her way up her grandfather’s oil empire, she hit a roadblock. Her family wouldn’t let her into the upper ranks until she was married, and to someone suitable.”

“Dawson,” I say.

Quinn nods. “When he inherited the company, Brielle recognized the perfect opportunity. In exchange for marrying her, she promised to pull the company out of ruin, meanwhile gaining the status she wanted in her family’s empire.”

“So you’ve both benefitted,” Lexie says. “But that’s still so sad. Who keeps you warm at night?”

“Hookers,” Quinn quips.

Lexie’s eyes widen.

“He’s messing with you,” I say, sending Quinn a death glare. “Brielle and I often aren’t even in the same city, let alone the same house.”

Lexie gives me a sympathetic glance. “What will you do when it ends?”

A powerful thrill shivers through me. “Live.”

Lexie points out Labrador Tea,shooting stars, and the delicate moss campion tucked into the rocks, sometimes consulting her field guide for details. We stop to pick huckleberries, being careful not to touch the thorny Devil’s Club.

---