Page 91 of Come Back to Me

Cody won’t die from being coyote kibble.

I won’t go to prison for manslaughter.

And maybe I can nix my deal with God about church?—

No, no, no.

(I totally shouldn’t have made that deal.)

Carson grunts. “It’s hot that she knows we love that movie.”

“I heard that,” I retort. “Anyway, I know everything about you. Was there when you were born and everything.”

Calder’s nose wrinkles. “Can we forget that?”

“What? Your jaundiced coneheads and tiny penises?”

“They’re not tiny anymore,” Colby blusters.

“That’s between you and the ruler you measure with. Now, I really need your help,” I plead. “Where’s the nearest lake?”

“You mean our lakes or Lake Ontario?”

“Why the fuck would I mean Lake Ontario?”

“God, she’s hot,” Carson groans.

Okay, I preen.

(Look, I’ve had a troubling few days. And nights. Can’t forget the nights.)

“The lakes, you know, the three ones. Your ones.”

“Ohh,” Calder muses, scratching his chin—when did he grow a beard? “Why?”

“Because I may have abandoned a billionaire there.”

His brows lift. “Is this a kidnapping? What did Colt do?” A militant glitter appears in his eyes, and at that moment, though he shares nothing in common with Walker appearance-wise, he’s the spitting image of my long-term crush.

“His dipshit brother,” I correct with a croak.

“Callan? Ooh, can we get in on it?” Colby chimes in. “He’s so fucking annoying.”

“No. The other one. And it isn’t a kidnapping. It’s more of an abandoning in a huff and then realizing it might take ten days to walk back to the ranch and it’s hot right now and there could be coyotes who’ll eat him. Can you drink lake water? Sure. Yes. Of course you can. There’s no agricultural runoff around here.” Panicked, I tug at my ears. “None of this was planned.”

“Sounds like it. Should be more organized if it’s a kidnapping.”

I scowl at Calder. “It isn’t a kidnapping!”

“You sure? What’s the ransom demand? Is Zee in on this?”

“No. We argued and I may have pushed him into the lake and stolen his truck.”

Carson whistles. “Grand theft auto. Neat.”

“This isn’t grand theft auto,” I counter.

“I mean, technically, it is,” Calder agrees, leaning over to stroke his mount’s ears when they flick off a fly. “You know how much these trucks cost?”

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