Page 22 of Operation Wolf: Eli
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“Horses,” she groaned not quite two hours later. “We have to take fucking horses.”
“Just one horse,” I corrected absently, tugging on my mare’s reins to urge her to take the left fork on the trail. “The other one’s a mule, and he’s got our luggage.”
“Remind me again why we couldn’t take a cab out into the boonies, which is apparently where you’re leading me,” Olivia demanded, leaning her head back against my chest so that her hair tickled my chin.
“Because I didn’t want to have to kill another cab driver if he turned out to be in the Mafia,” I said patiently. “And because a rental car is a hell of a lot easier to track than a horse.”
“I hate horses,” Olivia grumbled, shifting so that her bottom was pressed against my groin.
I nearly groaned. She’d been squirming ever since we mounted the mare back in Burlington, which I knew was partially because of her unease around horses and partially because of her ribs. Not that I could fault her for the latter. I imagined it would be excruciating to ride a horse with broken ribs and had to be at least half as uncomfortable while riding with someone else to lean against. But damn, it certainly wasn’t making it any easier on me, having to ride the thing with an insistent hard-on.
Guess if one of us isn’t going to be comfortable, neither of us is.
“Do you remember what our story is?” I asked, trying to distract both of us from our situation.
“My name is Samantha Degan, and you’re my husband, Todd,” Olivia repeated dutifully in a singsong voice.
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to laugh or wring her neck.
“We’re distant relations of the Golden family that owns this property, and they’ve offered us their vacation home for the summer.” She dropped the tone and then continued in a more subdued voice, “Do you really think we’re going to end up staying here the whole summer?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted honestly. “Probably at least the summer until we can figure out a more concrete plan. The Outfit doesn’t really have much of a foothold here in Vermont though, so it’s one of the safest places we can be, short of leaving the country altogether.”
“I am not leaving the country,” Olivia insisted. “And I refuse to remain in hiding forever. I have a life to get back to, Eli.”
“I know that,” I said quietly, ignoring the pang in my chest reminding me that the life she was speaking of did not include me. “But, on the bright side, at least you won’t have to stop creating your art while you’re here.”
Olivia instantly sat up straighter. “I won’t?”
I shook my head. “One of Hunter’s uncles is an artist,” I said, “so the cabin has a studio there, fully equipped with paint, canvases, and brushes.” Or at least, that was what Hunter had told me when I asked about the place’s layout for logistical purposes.
“Ooh. That’s the first good thing you’ve told me all week,” Olivia said excitedly. Then she sagged. “But I can’t use someone else’s studio. It wouldn’t be right.”
“The studio doesn’t belong exclusively to his uncle,” I told her. “It’s available for anyone who wants to use it. Hunter told me that he’s dabbled in there a time or two, though he isn’t really a painter by any stretch of the imagination.” I held back a snicker at the image that filled my mind of Hunter standing in front of a canvas, covered in paint. My friend had a great musical ear but the worst artistic eye I’d ever seen in my life.
“Hmm. Well, I don’t know,” Olivia said dubiously even though she sounded a little less put out. “I guess we’ll have to see when we get there.”
“Maybe we can see now,” I suggested as we finally emerged from the forest trail and into the backyard of what was clearly Hunter’s cabin.
Olivia’s gasp mirrored my own feelings as I stared up at the huge structure, which looked more like a lodge than a cabin. Three stories tall, it was constructed entirely of logs, except for the bottom floor, which was covered with cobblestones, and the home featured a sloping rooftop shingled with gray slate.
“Holy shit,” Olivia said. “This isn’t a cabin, it’s a mansion!”
“Um, yeah, wow.”
Hunter had already described the place to me, but seeing it was a whole other thing. The little kid inside me did a dance of excitement at the idea that we were going to stay in such a cool place. And though the pragmatic part of me warned this was not supposed to be a vacation, I still spurred the horse forward.
“Come on, let’s go have a look at the back of the house!”
The back was even more amazing, with a huge flagstone courtyard boasting a fire pit, grill, and wooden benches. Here, the cobblestone walls of the first floor were recessed beneath a balcony, which expanded all around the front of the house and across the second floor, supported by more logs. A staircase on the side of the house stretched from the courtyard to connect with the balcony, providing direct access to the second floor from the outside. Dormers jutted out from the main roof, and I knew if I were standing up there, I would have an amazing view of Lake Champlain and the private beach that lay before us.
“On second thought,” I said slowly, the little kid winning out over the pragmatic adult, “why don’t you and I put our bags, mule, and horse away and go sit in the sand for a little while?”
