Page 12 of Into the Lion's Den (Secrets of the Northland Shifters)

Sam offered his elbow with mock gallantry, and she played along.

“Reese?” Sam asked, offering me his other elbow as I exited the room.

I scowled, communicating a silentfuck off.

“What?” Sam asked innocently. “Cat got your tongue?”

I scowled even harder and resisted the urge to hiss. If Sam wanted to get a rise out of me, it wasn’t going to work. My energies were focused on the business. Not on any woman.

“Hey, Reese!”

I turned to see Toby, our youngest brother, striding past the front desk on his way toward us. He stopped and gave Sarah a full-body perusal.

“Toby,” I said. “This is Sarah McAvoy. She’s replacing Dorothy as our new events coordinator.Sarah, this is Toby, our youngest brother.”

“Right,” she said. “I recognize you from the pictures in the pamphlet your father sent me. I’m sorry… I heard that he passed.”

The pain that always came when those words were said out loud sliced through me like a newly sharpened blade.

“Good to meet you,” Toby said, then he turned toward me. “Uncle Joe is pulling up the driveway.”

“Joe?” Sam asked. “I didn’t know he was back from Chicago.”

Sarah flinched, and the scent of fear lifted into the air.

Sam glanced down at her with surprise.

I narrowed my eyes in concentration, realizing that this was the scent that had captured my attention yesterday. But it wasn’tjustfear. It was a strange mix of fear and something else, something slightly familiar but just out of reach.

Why Sarah would react to the mention of Joe Turnbull, I had no idea. But as soon as I learned what Joe wanted, I’d be back to continue this conversation with this perplexing woman. The man and beast both needed answers.

6

REESE

“Uncle Joe” Turnbull got out of his Lexus as I descended the front steps of the lodge. Though human, he had been our father’s best friend, and he threw his arms wide in greeting, affable as always. “How’s it going, Reese? Too busy to get a haircut, I see.”

Now in his early sixties, Joe was still incredibly fit, well-groomed, and stylish. He had dark eyebrows over light blue eyes, and he shaved his head, leaving a dark gray stubble on the sides and back that matched the finely contoured stubble of his beard.

Joe grew up about thirty minutes from the resort and still had a summer cabin in Evergreen, but he designed golf courses all over the country and had been on a business trip in Chicago ever since our father’s funeral six weeks ago.

“Are the local greens already dried out enough to play?” I asked, responding to Joe’s attire: loose tan pants and a vibrant purple golf shirt. I could just see the end of his golf bag in the back seat of his car. “We still had snow two weeks ago.”

“Just barely dry enough.” Joe’s gaze turned scrutinizing. Obviously he was noticing my increase in physical mass, but he wasn’t trusting his own eyes enough to say anything about it. “Applewood is hosting a best-ball charity tournament, and I somehow ended up in a foursome.”

“Who picked your team shirts?” I asked. “The color’s a little blinding, isn’t it? You’re like a radioactive grape.”

Joe laughed easily. “At least we’ll be easy to spot on the fairways. Less chance of a ball to the head.”

I forced a smile. Joe was both a comfort and a curse. As much as I was grateful for his friendship, seeing him…hearing his voice…only amplified my father’s absence.

“So what brings you here?” I pushed all thoughts of my father from my head. “Not that it’s not good to see you.”

“Just thought I’d swing by to see how you were doing.”

Joe had no idea his best friend was a shifter, so we’d told him the same lie we’d told our employees: that Dad’s own gun had accidentally discharged.

“We’re all doing fine,” I said.

---