Page 8 of Knotting With A Stranger

Hunter and Archer lean in close across the table. Hunter’s jaw is tight, that muscle ticking the way it does when he’s holding back fury. A quick glance at the door shows the guard’s back is turned.

“Finally got through probate,” Hunter mutters, his fingers drumming against the table. “After a fucking year of delays and bullshit from Travis and his cronies.”

“And?” I ask, reading the tension in their postures. Something’s wrong.

“It’s only half a fucking map,” Hunter spits out, barely containing his volume.

“Half?” I lean back, processing. “What the hell?”

Archer runs a hand through his hair. “Apparently, when their grandfather passed, the old man had one last trick up his sleeve. Split the treasure map in half—one part to Hunter’s side, one to Travis. Some bullshit about wanting the family to come together.”

“Fuck that,” Hunter growls, and I watch him struggle to keep his composure.

Losing his grandfather is still raw for him… for all of us. Grandfather Thorne had been everything to Hunter after his parents died. The man had raised him in that sprawling farm mansion in the mountains, teaching him everything from tracking to astronomy on those endless nights.

The memory rises through me, as clear as if it were yesterday instead of fifteen years ago. The four of us around a campfire on the vast Thorne estate, the stars impossibly bright above the mountains. Grandfather’s massive frame settled into his favorite hand-carved chair, his silver beard catching the firelight, those ice-blue eyes twinkling with the flame’s reflection. Even at seventy, he’d had the bearing of a mountain man half his age—shoulders broad as a doorframe and hands that could still crack walnuts between his fingers.

“Now, boys,” he’d rumbled, his voice deep as thunder. “Let me tell you about my grandpa’s daddy.” He’d leaned forward, those eyes dancing. “Old Jefferson Thorne—though Lord help anyone who called him anything but Jed—wasn’t your ordinaryprospector. Man was brilliant as a whip and twice as quick. But...” He’d paused, taking a long pull from his flask. “Well, that taught him banks weren’t worth the paper they printed.”

I remember how we’d leaned in, teenage boys hanging on every word. Even then, Hunter and I had been planning, dreaming of the day we’d search for it ourselves. The firelight had cast long shadows across Grandfather’s face as he continued.

“See, what Grandpa’s father found wasn’t just gold that made his hands shake when he wrote in that leather journal of his. Found something up in those caves that wasn’t meant to be found. Something that made him convert every last nugget and dust speck to gems and plates within a month.”

He’d stood then, all six-foot-four of him casting a giant’s shadow as he paced around the fire.

“Spent the next year burying it across our land. Five thousand acres of the meanest terrain the country could conjure. But here’s the thing that’ll curl your toes, boys...” He’d stopped, fixing each of us with that penetrating stare. “That cave system? Three men went missing in there the year after Grandpa’s dad made his find. Search parties couldn’t get more than half a mile in before their compasses went haywire. Found one man’s boot, just the boot, caught in a crevice near an underwater stream.”

“What happened to them?” Hunter had whispered, completely ensnared.

“Some say they got lost in the maze of tunnels. Others think they found what they were looking for and met with foul play while hiding it. All I know is Grandpa’s dad started carrying a rifle everywhere after that, jumping at shadows. Wouldn’t go near those caves again, not for all the gold in the world.”

“Come on, Grandfather,” Hunter had laughed, but there’d been an edge of uncertainty to it.

I shake my head now at the memory. Grandfather had always been a master storyteller, spinning wild tales about the dangers lurking in those caves. Looking back, I figure he’d do anything to keep us from hunting for that treasure—even if it meant serving up horror stories with our s’mores. Can’t say it worked, though. If anything, those stories just made the mystery more irresistible.

“Maybe,” Grandfather shrugged, settling back in his chair. “But tell me this… why did seven men vanish in spring when they tried to follow Jefferson Thorne’s trail? Why did his own brother Lincoln disappear without a trace that same year?” His eyes had glittered dangerously in the firelight. “And why, my curious boys, did they finally find him frozen solid in his bed on the hottest day of August, clutching that journal and smiling like he’d seen an angel?”

Most of those caves are gone now—collapsed, buried, or blown apart by decades of development to flatten more of the land. Sure, you can still see where the hills fold like rumpled blankets across the property, but pinpointing where those underground passages used to snake through the bedrock? That’s another story entirely. We’d spent years following dead ends and false starts, checking every depression and outcrop across five thousand acres of stubborn terrain. Without some kind of map, we might as well have been throwing darts at shadows. And just when we were ready to admit defeat, we learned about Grandfather having the map, something he denied until his dying breath.

Shaking away the memory, I breathe heavily. Sitting back in this sterile room, Hunter’s knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the table.

“We’ve been planning this since we were kids,” he says. “Mapped every inch of that terrain. Studied all the old surveys. Learned every story about where the searches went wrongbecause I assumed we were getting the full map from my grandfather. He never hinted that he’d give Travis Fuckhead half of it. And now this fucking family therapy bullshit?”

“Travis is a fucking ass, and he won’t share his half with us,” I blurt.

“Fucking snake,” Archer cuts in. “He got the lodge and half the grazing land, but they’ve been trying to get their hands on the main farming house mansion, too, that went to Hunter. Like the lodge isn’t enough.”

“They knew,” Hunter adds, voice thick with contempt. “They fucking knew the map was supposed to come to me. Hell, Travis never even visited him those last five years.”

I lean back in my chair, the familiar ache of my family’s betrayals rising up. “Yeah, well, blood doesn’t mean shit sometimes. Mine proved that well enough.” I gesture vaguely at our surroundings. “That’s how I ended up in this fine establishment, remember?”

“Not long now for your release,” Archer reminds me quietly.

“Counting down the weeks,” I agree, plans already forming. “And then we deal with your cousin, Travis.” An idea begins to take shape, one that makes me smile. “You know, I’ve made some interesting connections here. People who specialize in making others... cooperative.”

Hunter’s expression shifts, understanding dawning. “James...”

“Nothing violent,” I assure him. “But I know people who can make Travis’s life complicated enough that half a map might look like a fair trade for peace and quiet.”

---