Page 3 of Dare to Fall
Alanna turns three shades of red, and I don’t bother swallowing my laughter as I round the van and hop in, taking shotgun since no one has claimed it. I want to enjoy all the views before the sun goes down. Maybe the rest of the women arebummed that we’re not hanging out on a beach right now, but I’m fucking giddy about the change of scenery.
Chapter Two
Tucker
With a box of cupcakes from the Cinnamon Creek Bakery in hand, I head toward the lodge to meet with the owners: Reid, Hudson, and Mason.
I’ve known Reid Grey my whole life. We were thick as thieves growing up and joined the Army together. He always kept me out of trouble, or tried to anyway. Though we ended up on slightly different paths in the military—Reid went Special Forces, and I became a Chinook mechanic in an aviation unit—we ended up separating from the service about the same time.
When he told me about the lodge he was buying in a small Montana town with a couple of buddies, I wanted in.
But a year ago, I didn’t have the money to invest.
I hardly had two dimes to rub together.
Reid was kind enough to hook me up with a local rafting company who needed another guide this past summer. But after this weekend, the season’s over. I’ve had a handful of offers for odd winter jobs, all feasible and some even tempting.
But I want more.
And for the first time, more is a real possibility.
I walk through the sliding doors of the lodge. The kindest elderly woman I’ve ever known waves to me from behind the front desk. Winnie greets me warmly, and it’s enough to make me want to hug her. She’s night and day opposite of the grandma I grew up with. Mine was cold, stingy, and allergic to praise or affection.
“You’re working late again?” I ask, not entirely surprised to see her here. Winnie loves the lodge as though it were her own. “I should have a talk with the manager about overworking my favorite lady.”
Winnie chuckles. “We have a group of five coming in soon,” she says, glancing behind her at the clock on the wall. “Fred should be picking them up from the airport any minute.”
“That’s good news.”
“I’ve wrangled up the boys for you.” She points to the room next to the gift shop that serves as a business center.
“Thank you, Winnie.” I step up to the counter and flip open the lid. “Can I tempt you to steal a cupcake? Ivy put together a special collection of fall flavors.”
“You’re too sweet to me, Tucker,” she says, plucking a caramel apple cupcake from the corner of the box. “Good luck on your meeting. Not that you’ll need it.”
Does Winnie know something I don’t? Probably. That woman has the strongest intuition of anyone I’ve ever met.
I nod at her in gratitude before I push open the business center door. Reid, Hudson, and Mason sit around an oval-shaped conference table sipping on coffee and looking worse for wear. Like they haven’t slept in days.
“Did someone die?”
“Only me if Reid and I don’t get that master ensuite renovation finished for Ivy,” Mason says of his wife. He looksexhausted to the bone, but there’s still a sparkle in his gaze that promises he’s only grumpy because he’s sleep-deprived. I’ve never met a man crazier about his wife than Mason Steele. “So let’s make this quick?”
I slide the box of cupcakes to the center of the table, unsurprised that half of them are swiped up in seconds. I swear Ivy laces her desserts with crack.
“Gentlemen, I want to invest in your lodge.”
Reid freezes, cupcake halfway to his agape mouth. The flicker of surprise in his otherwise confused gaze is understandable. I grew up dirt poor. It made my decision to join the military right out of high school that much easier—that and Gabby Owens shattering my fucking heart into a million pieces.
“I recently came into some money,” I explain, pulling out a chair and dropping into it.
“You win a jackpot or something?” Hudson asks, half joking, half serious. Hudson was Special Forces with Reid. I only met him when I moved to Cinnamon Creek earlier this summer. He might not know me well, but he knows me well enough to understand why my having enough money to invest in anything might be suspicious.
“I don’t gamble.” I don’t mean to sound like an ass, but the very thought of being compared to my father makes my skin fucking crawl.
“I know,” Reid says, that simple acknowledgement enough to help me relax.
“But my dad?” I explain. “Yeah, he was a gambler.”
