Page 52 of Recurve Ridge

“Because we have work.” The finality in his tone etched a strike through my heart.

“Fine,” I snapped with the last of my energy and shoved past Jon, unable to deal with Robe’s warmth at my back, the pity in Alan’s eyes, and a fresh, shattered heart.

Someone might have called my name, or maybe I imagined it and they watched me go in silence. Worse, maybe they didn’t watch me at all because my presence counted as temporary at best.

Why am I fighting for permanency when I’m supposed to leave soon?

It wasn’t until I peeled sweat-laden material from my skin and stood under a scalding hot shower, going back over the moment we’d returned to the cabin, that I realized I’d called it home in my head when we arrived in the clearing.

And that made my enforced isolation so much worse.

13

ROBE

The forest settledonce Mari left the living area, and every man in the house breathed his relief. Except for Jon.

He glared at me, accepting the plate Alan thrust into his hands. I spent that night dozing in a recliner by the door, hyperaware of every single body in the house and subconsciously listening for any unusual sound outside. I hadn’t been able to settle since the Blackthorne incident, blood thrumming in my veins as I worked through every inch of potential, both negative and positive.

There weren’t as many of the latter, but we needed to do this.

I had always been sleepless the night before a mission, going over it in my head dozens of times to pick out the weaknesses in my plans.

“Not well done. Not after… the other afternoon.”

I hadn’t been backward in telling Jon exactly what our resident barkeep got up to in his spare time with our guest.

His tone bothered me, but we had work to do. “It went well?”

“It went well—until we walked inside.” His teeth ground together. “It went fine.”

“Fine? The fuck does that mean?”

“She asked questions.”

“Which ones did you answer?” Alan asked over his shoulder as he grabbed another plate and headed for my bedroom.

“All of them,” Jon groused, throwing a baleful look my way.

Alan hesitated midfootfall but then kept walking without another word.

“Don’t get all pouty. You wanted to spend time with her,” I reminded him, dragging my ass to the kitchen to serve up the rest of the plates.

Pulling a handful of greenery from his pocket that sure as shit didn’t come from the forest, Jon deposited it onto the bar and started eating where he stood. “And it worked. Though I made her cry.”

“Asshole.”

“We were talking about you.”

I smiled, though no part of that struck me as funny. “Of course you did. We need to plan. Alan?” I asked as he entered the room.

“Unhappy, almost in tears, and force-fed until she ate on her own. And locked in, on your orders. As usual, I’ve followed your command to the letter, oh Great One. This doesn’t need to continue.” He sent me a baleful glare full of blame and betrayal.

“At least we won’t be interrupted.”

“Fuck, you’re an asshole,” Alan cussed, swiping his plate from the bench and retreating behind the bar.

I ignored him, letting him continue his rant beneath his breath. “Miller found tracks on the northwest boundary after I spoke to our… sweet neighbor. Three men, combat-style boots with medium depressions.”

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