Page 51 of Protecting Her Secrets

“Yep. You have the burner phone?”

I nod and hesitate, not wanting him to go. Anything could happen, and it would be all my fault. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t mind wearing your clothes for now.”

“Not that I don’t like this oversized potato sack look you’ve got going, but I want to find your bra on the bedroom floor. I want to get annoyed when your makeup takes up the whole bathroom counter, and most of all, I want you to be comfortable. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wanted to see just how closely Klutch is monitoring things too.” He leans over to give me a sweet kiss,but I hold him in place and deepen it, hoping it’s not our last. Eventually, he pulls away. “Sweetheart, I promise it’ll be okay.”

I bite into my inner cheek, tasting blood since I’ve been chewing on it all morning. “Be safe.”

“I will. Now go annoy the shit out of Ridge. It’ll be good for him.”

The path to the stairs feels like a tunnel with how tall the snowbanks are on either side. I’m guessing some sort of electric plow is a must in these parts. I don’t miss the fact that the path is clear and the stairs have a fresh layer of sand sprinkled on them to stop me from slipping. Ridge might play like he’s emotionally shut down, but I think it’s just his way of keeping people at a distance.

I don’t have to knock because Ridge is waiting for me at the door. “Hey.”

“Good morning.” I step inside and get an up-close look at the living room I could see from the car, which is practically nothing—a modern, slate blue sofa with overly round edges, a wood stove, a bookshelf, and a furry brown rug with a bear head attached to it. I point to the offensive object. “Is that?—”

“Real? Yeah. Rowan and I took him down earlier this year.”

“Why?” I ask, horrified.

“I didn’t want to, but he was being a menace around here. Most bears are shy around humans, but this asshole tried to attack me multiple times. Once he even broke one of these panes of glass trying to get inside. I’m sure somewhere during his life, some idiot human fed him, which made him equate humans to food. It wasn’t his fault, per se, but he didn’t go to waste. His meat stocked mine and Rowan’s freezers, and I got a rug.”

“Aren’t artists supposed to be vegan pacifists?”

“Not the kind that lives off-grid in the mountains.”

“You’re completely off-grid?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“How do you cook? Or keep your food cold?”

He sighs. “I guess I have to give you a tour.”

I smile. “I’d love one.”

He walks me through the living room and into a kitchen with newer-looking appliances, just smaller. His fridge is no taller than I am, his stove being two burners on top of a toaster oven, and there’s a single-unit washing and drying machine. There’s no dishwasher, and the counter space—some kind of nice solid surface material—is limited.

A small hallway connects the two A-frames and leads to two bedrooms. One has a king-size bed covered in white bedding, a black nightstand, and a black dresser. On top of the dresser is a catch-all tray and an urn. Since he’s not incredibly forthcoming, I don’t ask about it. The second room is an office with a solid wood desk and another bookcase. On top of the desk sits a laptop, and that’s it.

“Minimalist, huh?”

“I guess.” He reaches down to a metal handle I didn’t notice before in the floor and pulls up, revealing a hatch. “You have to climb down to see the rest.”

Even though it feels like he’s leading me to my own grave, I follow after him. Because it was buried under snow, I didn’t notice it before, but underneath this portion of the house are two more rooms. The first one is windowless, something of a utility room full of things I don’t recognize.

“This is where the solar energy I harvest is collected and dispersed to wherever I need it. Then there’s a water heater and the other boring shit of a house.”

“Where are your solar panels?”

“On the cliffside.”

Much like Walker’s house, Ridge’s is close to a mountain drop-off, giving him spectacular views. If I had to guess, the other two men in their friend group have the same.

“What’s in there?” I ask, pointing to the closed room.

“It’s my art studio.”

“Can I see?”

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