Page 7 of Wylder Ranch
“I’m sure I can help you with that,” she replies and rushes around the other side. As she searches under the countertop, her lips move quickly as she talks to herself, before holding up a pencil. “Ah, this will do.”
Grabbing a napkin, I carefully scrawl all my contact information. I’m tempted to leave a note for Alex too, but I don’t know these people, and I can’t exactly say what I need to say on something that’s used to mop up spilled beer.
“What’s her name?” she asks again when I finish writing and place the pencil down.
“Everly,” I reply, rubbing down my daughter’s back.
The woman mutters the name a couple of times under her breath, eventually saying, “I love it.”
I try hard not to frown even though something feels off. This is weird. It’s a weird interaction.
“Thank you, and thanks for the pencil.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good, but it was nice to meet you.”
“I hope we’ll see each other again soon,” she calls as I walk away.
I don’t reply. I need fresh air, and now that Everly is sleeping, I want to move. Based on experience, she sleeps better when I do. Even though she seemed content enough staring at the lady who’s still calling to me.
I stop by the door to wrap my coat back up and adjustEverly’s hat again, when the door is pulled from the other side, and in rushes someone IknowI’ve seen before. My whole reason for being here follows him.
The guy I’ve thought about every day for the past ten months.
Alexander Burlington, my daughter’s father.
CHAPTER 2
Alexander
The door ricochets off the wall with a clatter. My head snaps up, and I find Miles, my youngest brother, bent over double and gasping for air.
“I’ll have to call you back,” I tell Jared, my number two for the North American division, before dropping the phone down and rushing over to where Miles is now clinging to the doorframe, hands over his head and stretching out his lungs. “Milo? Are you all right?”
“You. . . now. . . me.” He wheezes, thumbing behind him haphazardly.
“What?”
“We. . . have to. . . go. . .”
“Go where? Why are you so out of breath? Where’ve you come from?”
“Pub—”
My eyes roll, and I exhale deeply. “Miles, I’m not going to the bloody pub. I have work to do. And might I add that, considering you’re so out of breath, perhaps you shouldn’t be going to the pub either. Maybe hit the gym. You’re supposed to be a professional athlete.”
When I turn back to my desk, Miles grabs me by thearm. “No. Al?—”
“Miles, I’m not going to the pub.”
My huff should tell him I’m not in the mood for this today. I’m trying to buy a ranch in Aspen that’s recently come up for sale. Except after I put in the offer, everything went quiet, and I want to find out why.
Miles takes a deep breath and stands upright, pinning me with his Burlington blue eyes, the same eyes my siblings and I inherited from our late father. Deep azure and crystal clear.
“Alex, you need to come with me. Something’s happened.”
Immediately, my stomach drops. It’s a subconscious reaction back to the day my father died. Not quite the words, but the expression Miles is wearing—serious and firm—are two traits he very rarely is. Therefore, I pay attention.
