Page 63 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

I lean my head against his chest as I finish chewing my last bite. “You are amazing. How did I get so lucky finding you?”

He kisses the top of my head. “The feeling is mutual, but we should probably head out. We can walk the two blocks to her office and leave our cars here.”

I run over to the desk and grab all my notes about Cody and my purse. “Let’s go, handsome. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get some baby alpacas!”

I grab his hand, intertwining our fingers, as he leads me out the door.

Chapter 43

Cody

James and I pull into the parking lot of the county building. It’s a tiny single-story building which appears to have been built in the 1940s. I doubt it has been renovated since then, either. The fresh coat of white paint only highlights all the other flaws.

We unfold ourselves from the sedan and trot up the steps. I try brushing all the debris off my suit as we head toward the front doors. The last thing I want is to look like I rolled around in a field. James reaches out for my hair, and I try to dodge him.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

His fingers touch the back of my head, and he chuckles as something moves through my hair.

“You had a little something—right there,” he responds dryly.

Between his thumb and forefinger is a piece of straw or hay. I grab it from his hand and throw it to the ground, grinding it into the concrete with the toe of my leather shoe.

I can’t believe Aislinn kneed me in the dick. That wasn’t the warm welcome I was expecting from her. I seriously thoughtshe was playing coy and being a tease. I assumed she wanted me to step up my game. Show her how devoted I could be.

But I arrive and find she’s shacking up with a cowboy. When she tensed under my touch, I about lost it. She was supposed to be mine.

I’ll make that modern-day John Wayne wish he had never met her. Once that guy sees that being with her means losing his family ranch, he’ll drop her. I’ll be right there to pick up the pieces. Maybe the ranch can be a bargaining chip. He can keep his ranch if I get Aislinn. I will be right there waiting for her to realize the error of her decision.

This morning I formed an LLC in Montana on the Secretary of State website. Topaz Resort GC, LLC will soon be the owner of the land. At our hotel, I prepared a Deed of Trust showing the transfer of ownership from Lachlan’s grandfather to my LLC. James and I drove into Whitefish and had a notary public at the local copy store notarize the signatures.

It may be property fraud, but when his original recorded Deed of Trust goes missing from the county building, there won’t be any other proof of ownership. The gangly guy behind the counter at the copy store was too busy playing Kandi Krusher on his phone to bother looking at my identification. I know James isn’t behind this plan 100 percent, but he is a defense attorney, so gray is his favorite color. Hell, even his suit is gray today.

Opening the door, we are assaulted by the smell of a candle and lotion store. It’s like Bath & Body Works had a baby with Yankee Candle.

There are little tables and bookshelves all around the waiting room. It’s decorated from head to toe with figurines and dollar trinkets. The seat has knitted seat covers, and the tables all have doilies.

I’m honestly afraid to see their bathroom. There's probably a carpet cover on the toilet lid and a quilted cover over the tissue box. I would bet money there is even potpourri instead of a standard air freshener.

How is this possibly a government office?

“Hello? Young man? Can I help you?” comes a reedy voice.

I look up from browsing the waiting room, placing my hands on my hips. When my eyes make contact with the owner of the voice, I audibly gulp. James chokes next to me, covering it with a cough.

An elderly woman sits behind the counter. She has curly, fire-engine-red hair. There is no way that color is natural. She is looking at me through oversized aqua glasses with strands of beads hanging off the earpieces. The lenses are so thick her face appears distorted behind them. The aqua eyeshadow she is wearing makes her look surprised even though her eyes squint at me over the front desk. I look around, assuming I’m on theDrew Carey Showand meeting Mimi Bobeck’s grandmother.

We hesitantly approach her desk, and I notice she has a gaudy ring on each finger. Her outfit is the same color as her glasses and makeup. My retinas are burning from the overload of color they’re absorbing.

Blinking, I clear my throat and adjust my cufflinks. “Good morning, Mimi, I mean, ma’am. Could you please look up a parcel number for us? We need to see the original Deed of Trust on the property.”

“I certainly can, young man. My name is Marilyn,” she replies, reaching for a pad of paper and pencil.

Her fingers can’t quite get the pencil from her chair as she leans as far to the right as she can. Realizing she is still about three inches away, she scoots her wooden chair back and standsup. The sound of the chair scraping against the flooring sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard. I can’t hold back the shudder that travels up my spine.

As she hops out of her chair, I realize she is only about five feet tall. She scampers over, grabs her pad and pencil, then readjusts herself in the chair.

“Okay, so you wanted me to look up a Statutory Warranty Deed on a property? What is the recording number?” she asks.

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