Page 15 of Into the Lion's Den (Secrets of the Northland Shifters)

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest of seconds, causing heat to prickle up the back of my neck.

I cleared my throat. “I mocked up a simple but improved site for you to look at.” I may not have had any experience as an event planner, but my work in IT had taught me a few useful skills for this job.

He met my eyes. “Already?”

“I was up early. I’d just emailed you a link when we spoke in my office. It’s just a draft.”

Reese pinched his lips together, then said begrudgingly, “I’ll take a look.”

“Great.” I let out a breath. Maybe he was finally warming to me.

“But no promises.”

“Of course not.” I remembered what Sam had said about Reese not being good with change. I could do baby steps.

Hell, I could do no steps at all, except I had never been one to give less than one hundred percent. Even in a job I’d never intended to have.

“Sarah?” Toby asked. “Are you ready for your tour? There’s a lot to show you.”

I heard a noise behind me, something like a growl. But when I looked back at Reese, I found the front door already swinging closed behind him.

“Don’t worry,” Toby said, pushing back the cuffs of his long-sleeved black T-shirt. “It’s not your fault.”

He had dark hair cropped short, an unshaven jaw, and his eyebrows framed the same green eyes that all the Fitzpatricks seemed to share.

“What’s not my fault?” I followed him down the porch steps to the driveway, and we headed left toward the first of two large wooden outbuildings.

“My brother’s mood.”

“Oh.” I kept my eyes on my feet as we traversed the uneven ground. “I made the mistake of mentioning a new idea yesterday, before Sam told me Reese wasn’t good with change. I didn’t realize he’d be stubborn about a website though.”

“Reese? Stubborn?” Toby snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“That doesn’t sound encouraging.”

“The Irish are known for their stubbornness, and when it came to Reese, our ancestors dished out a second helping.”

By then, we’d reached the first building. Toby paused only briefly to gesture at it and say, “Inside there, you’ll find pretty much anything you’d need for a week in the wilderness, no matter what the season. Eight ATVs, canoes, dozens of snowshoes, cross-country skis, backpacks, tents, and fishing equipment.”

“Can I join your tour?” asked a male voice from above us.

I looked up to see another Fitzpatrick brother nearly twenty feet off the ground, perched on top of the building’s steep roof.

He raked his hand through his dark blond hair. It had a slight wave and was all one length, falling nearly to his collar. He might have reminded me of a beach bum, if not for the tool belt around his slim hips. That, and the slightly feral expression lurking behind his easygoing facade.

“How big is the problem, Angel?” Toby asked.

“Just a few shingles to tack down,” Angel said. “Already done.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to fall off?” I called up to him.

A sly grin spread across his face. “Don’t worry. I always land on my feet.”

A young woman jogged up to us. She had the same green eyes as the rest of them, but her hair was a golden blond.

“Our sister, Melanie,” Toby said.

Melanie didn’t say anything when she shook my hand, and her female gaze was assessing.

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