Page 208 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
“I promise it won’t take long. All I need is a minute of your time.”
He sighs heavily down the line. “Is it an emergency?”
“No, but—”
“Then it can wait until I call you this afternoon.”
My frustrated squeal bounces off the fancy gray walls of the lobby when he disconnects our call without giving me the chance to reply. With my hackles up and my annoyance at its pinnacle, I angrily fumble my fingers over my phone. Because it’s so ancient, it takes me nearly five minutes to send a two-line text, but the reprieve it comes with is undeniable. It’s time for me to start sticking up for myself.
Me:Don’t bother calling me back. You obviously have more pressing matters to take care of.
I stare at my phone, willing it to ring or announce it has received a text. It’s an extremely long two minutes.
As disappointment stabs my chest, I snap it shut, shove it into my pocket, then stomp to Brandon’s blue BMW idling at the curb. Hugo doesn’t speak a word as he retraces my steps. He’s not stupid, and this also isn’t his battle. Only one person is deserving of my wrath. That person is the incredibly alluring and undoubtedly frustrating Mr. Isaac Holt.
CHAPTER23
ISABELLE
My eyes bulge when Hugo weaves Brandon’s car down a large pebbled driveway lined with manly hedges that are a foot tall. A dense thicket of trees blocks the view of anything over the horizon, but the heavily-wooded property adds quaintness to the country residence in the distance. The white two-story house is surrounded by rolling turf and deciduous trees that display the color of fall. All the windows at the front face the rolling hills, and they’re flanked by rustic blue shutters that are in the process of being given a fresh coat of paint. The ladder and paint tins stacked to the left of the house assures this, much less than men painting the lower level shutters. Brandon’s family home is a classic farmhouse that will be breathtaking once it’s renovated.
As the car rounds the corner, a cedar wood barn peeks out from behind the farmhouse. Its roofline matches the height of the house, but it’s longer in length. The double black wooden doors are hanging open, exposing bales upon bales of hay.
“Do you have horses?”
The veins in Hugo’s arms bulge when Brandon places his hand on my shoulder. He’s not cozying up. He’s merely assuring me the panic in my tone isn’t necessary. It is, but who am I to argue? I’m as scared of horses as I am flying.
“Do you want me to teach you how to ride—?”
“No.” My tone is blunt and straight to the point and somewhat rude. “I prefer keeping my feet on solid ground, thank you very much.”
When my nerves make my voice come out as bitchy, Hugo’s rigid grip on the steering wheel weakens. He smiles, believing I’m shutting down Brandon’s offer simply because it came from him. I’m not because unlike him, I don’t dislike people without a plausible reason.
Once the fear clutching my throat slackens, I force out. “Horses scare me. They’re so big and…hairy.”
Brandon’s grin competes with the mid-morning sun. “I swear I like you more and more every day, Izzy…as a friend.” He adds on his last three words in a hurry when Hugo’s growl demands an explanation for his comment. “I meant as a friend.”
He pulls on the collar of his shirt, suddenly overheated. He’s not the only one feeling the heat. Sweat rolls down my back as awkward stuffiness fills the car with humidity.
After slitting my eyes, I lock them with Hugo. “Stop it,” I mouth.
My request appears to fall on deaf ears, but I know he heard me as his familiar giant grin adds to the disgusting mugginess teeming between us.
My attention reverts from Hugo to Brandon when he sucks in a sharp breath that puffs his chest out. He’s peering at a young lady dressed in tan riding pants, knee-high black boots, and a black jacket with tan patches on the elbows. Her tight outfit accentuates her fit, petite frame, and her wavy blonde hair frames her flawless heart-shaped face. She’s guiding a bowed-back horse along the dividing fence of the neighboring property. I don’t know if she’s going for a ride or returning from one.
Once the blonde, who Brandon’s gaped mouth assures me is Melody, walks out of our vision, I devote my focus back to Brandon. His pupils are the size of saucers, and his cheeks are hued of red.
I squeeze his hand before giving him a reassuring smile. “You’ve got this.”
Before he can respond, Hugo pulls the car in front of a large six-door wooden garage. When he flings open the driver’s side door, the undeniable smell of country invades my senses. It’s a refreshing change from the city fumes I’ve become accustomed to sucking in the past seven months. Birds are heard chirping in the distance, and the occasional moo and neigh of livestock sound from the barn.
I smile when my curl out of the car has me stumbling onto Hugo’s scrunched-up expression. He’s plugged his nose, and his forehead is indented with three deep creases. “All I can smell is cow dung,” he remarks, gagging.
I giggle. Cow dung is prominent, but since it’s mixed with trees, fresh-cut grass, and wildflowers, it’s not as potent as he’s making it out to be.
When I pace to the trunk to assist Hugo and Brandon in removing our luggage for the weekend, Hugo’s blue eyes pop up to Brandon’s. “Which bag is yours?”
Nerves jump off my vocal cords when I reply on Brandon’s behalf. “We need all the bags.”
