Page 8 of Tangled Kisses
“You wouldn’t dare.” But there’s a hint of something lining his voice now. A crack in the armor, because even though his words clang with finality, his tone wavers with uncertainty.
Another glance in my rearview mirror throws back a hollow-eyed woman. What would she look like if life became fun again?
It’s a path I’m choosing to pursue because this one has made me miserable.
“Goodbye, Vander. No doubt you’ll be on the phone with your assistant soon, asking if she’s willing to take on more overtime. Give herallthe overtime. Every. Single. Drop. You didn’t think I knew about her either, did you? I know much more than you think I do, and I’m tired of playing the little woman. Get someone else to fill that role.”
“You’ll regret this,” he says softly, dangerously. “Nobody walks away from me.”
“Watch me.”
With a click, I end the call.
And my relationship.
And life as I know it.
I release a shriek much resembling the one Piper fired off an hour earlier.
Then, with steady hands, I text my sister.
Reese: What’s the address? I’m leaving at dawn.
Chapter Three
Reese
“Well, Chowder, what do you think? Pretty, right?” I sneak a glance at my orange tabby, who glares at me from his perch on the front seat like I’ve personally offended his nine lives.
We tried the cat carrier, but we hadn’t made it past the New Jersey border when I realized it wasn’t a feasible option. Chowder has quite the set of lungs, and he made that clear by yowling like a dying opera singer for forty-five straight minutes.
I knew I’d lose my mind if I didn’t set him free.
Once I unzipped the carrier, he strutted into the front seat, turned his back on me, and began grooming his ass. A silent protest, no doubt. But at least he’d stayed quiet. Until now.
As the sign welcoming me to TangledVines blurs past the windshield, Chowder decides to serenade me again.
God help me. He’s lucky I love him.
The town looks like a picture postcard of small-town Americana—brick sidewalks, flower boxes spilling over with color, and a main street dotted with antique shops, cafes, and a bookstore with a crooked wooden sign.
Talk about a change of scenery.
According to Piper, my new job sits on the outskirts of town, at the Rockin’ Rodeo Ranch. I’ll be working and living there, but beyond that, my sister has been suspiciously tight-lipped.
Typical Piper. She thrives on mystery and intrigue. For me, it just breeds anxiety.
Chowder’s complaints reach a fever pitch as I turn off the highway and onto a long, winding drive bordered by white fences. Beyond them stretch rolling fields gone gold from summer heat, the Cascade mountains faint against the horizon, and scatterings of wildflowers still clinging to life along the roadside.
At the end of the drive, a sprawling white clapboard house rises into view, sunlight glinting off its wide wraparound porch. Gardens frame the steps—roses climbing trellises, tidy beds bursting with color, and stone paths winding through the greenery.
My jaw slackens.
When Piper saidranch, I expected rugged. Barns. Mud. Possibly a bull with a bad attitude.
This looks like a resort brochure come to life.
“You know you’ll have to go into the carrier now,” I warn my cat, earning yet another side-eye.
