Lana hummed playfully. “I’m in trouble. Be careful. I might like it.”

“I’m serious. What are you doing?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Sighing with feigned distress, Lana leaned against the bar. “What would you say if I bought the resort?”

“I’d say I’m packing my belongings and running north as fast as humanly possible. You don’t have the staying power for a business like that one, and by the time you were bored enough to sell it, my town would be ruined. Don’t. Buy. The resort.”

Graham held her eyes, trying to use his frown and all his nonexistent telewhatever powers to psychically influence the most dangerous person he knew.

With an actual sigh, Lana set her elbows on the bar and stared sightlessly at the wall behind him. She only pulled out of her head when Graham set a shot glass in front of her with a single fry in it. Then, because he genuinely liked her, no matter how much of a pain in the butt she was, he added a second one.

It just seemed wrong to have an L without some resemblance of happiness on her face. “You look like you need a double. Talk to me, goose.”

“If I do, you’re going to be mad at me.”

“You’re not actually buying the resort, are you?” Concern creased his brow deep enough he could feel the lines digging into his skull. “I’d love having you around more, but it’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Because the only positive thing about the place is the Shaws. Jax grew up with us. They raised their son here. They’re not local but they aren’t—”

Pursing his lips, Graham stopped himself from saying something hurtful, no matter how much he believed it.

“They aren’t the enemy,” Lana provided, her beautiful features hardening, even though her voice was soft.

“No. The Shaws are just the people who made it easier for the enemy to cross behind friendly lines.”

Awkward silence fell between them until Lana frowned, reaching for a fry. “I’m not buying the resort. Your deepest, darkest fears are yet to be realized. Speaking of…” Lana waggled her eyebrows comically. “I’ve been busy, but I’m not blind. Someone’s been consorting with the enemy.”

Leaning on the counter, Graham stole her second fry and shot that sucker without a chaser. “L, do I have a story for you.”

Chapter 6

The adventure excursions weren’t cheap. When she had booked them nearly six months prior, Zoey hadn’t cared.

There simply wasn’t any way she was traveling all the way to Alaska and not doing every single thing possible to make the most of her vacation. Digging deep into her daily living money, Zoey paid ahead of time for a “Deluxe Excursion Package” through Moose Springs Adventurers, the top excursion package the budget off-site travel company offered. And if she lived off ramen and peanut butter for months to compensate, it was worth every penny.

Moose Springs Resort provided their own arrangements for experiencing Alaska, but those catered to a clientele financially superior to herself, starting with a deluxe excursion package about four times pricier than the one Zoey reserved, with fewer activities on the list. Their “Luxury Package” and the “Too Stupidly Expensive for Any Mere Mortal Package” were heavily advertised in her and Lana’s room, but she doubted that was the limit to what the resort was willing to offer. With their own helicopter landing site on the grounds and a fleet of staff ready to jump when a guest so much as sneezed, they could have arranged any type of adventure Zoey could dream of, as long as the price was right. Which…well…it wasn’t.

Zoey was going deluxe with Moose Springs Adventurers, and that was that.

Now that she wasn’t drunk on a Growly Bear, incarcerated, or letting herself be stranded somewhere, Zoey was ready. She was pumped. She was driving down small, winding mountain roads, singing at the top of her lungs to the radio, and letting the wind whip through her hair and fill her nostrils with the scent of the Alaskan wild.

When a small sign poked out of the tree line, Zoey almost missed it. “So much for advertising,” she murmured, performing a careful three-point turn in the middle of the road. “Come on, tires. Stay out of the ditch.”

Ditch wasn’t the right word. Cliffside drop-off was more accurate.

Her first excursion was a guided horseback ride through the mountains, the brochure provided by Moose Springs Adventurers promising wildlife sightings of everything from deer to grizzly bears. Two and a half hours of tranquil hoofbeats, softly swishing manes and tails, and stunning terrain.

Zoey turned onto a rough, uneven lane with heavy, large-stone gravel difficult to drive over. The tires on her SUV slid, fighting for traction, so she slowed down to a crawl. At the end of a mile-long drive, Zoey turned a bend and inhaled a breath, eyes wide. The heavily forested road opened to a clearing, blanketed with rolling pastures, a small pond, and several barns dotting the landscape. There were even those big round bales of hay stacked along the side of the largest building where everyone was parking.

Only a few horses remained in the pastures, wandering around and nibbling on the short green grasses available to them. The rest were tied up beneath a long, open-sided barn, already saddled, their noses clipped to the gate and a row of round, beautiful horse butts swishing their tails to shoo away flies.

Zoey had made sure to leave early in case she had gotten lost, but she’d underestimated how long the line would be, how many liability release forms she would have to fill out, and how chaotic the group of riders would be as they raided a stack of protective riding helmets.

A harried employee took Zoey’s paperwork and marked down that she was indeed carrying a helmet beneath her arm, never once looking up to her face. “Caldwell, you’re stall sixteen. Go down to the end, far side.”

“Over there?” she asked, nervous and excited as she peered at the line of horses, the open barn now swarming with their soon-to-be riders.

“Huh?”

The helper was too busy, so Zoey edged aside to let the impatient group behind her—two adult women and a heavyset man—move up. “Never mind. I’ll find it.”

Stall sixteen wasn’t easy to find because the animal tied in that spot was trying his best to go unnoticed. Ears pinned and a sour, pinched expression on his velvety nose, he eyed her balefully as she approached. Zoey didn’t know a lot about riding, but as she stood next to the short, brightly patterned mount she’d been assigned, she could feel waves of resentment rolling off the animal.

If the universe had put polka dots on a barrel and made it look bitter about life, that was her horse.

“Hi,” she tried, hoping to start this temporary relationship on better footing.

The horse turned his head, staring at the pipe gate he was tied to instead, deliberately ignoring her.

A single guide moved from horse to horse, giving the same directions on how to go forward, stop, and turn to every rider. When the guide reached her, Zoey realized she was a teenager, not the tall handsome Alaskan cowboy she hoped would be part of this adventure.

“My name is Riley, and I’ll be your trail guide for the day. If you have any questions, just ask me.” The statement was delivered in a monotone, as if she’d repeated it so much, she didn’t hear her own words. “This is Mugs, your horse for the ride today. Appaloosas are known for their speckled coat patterns.”

With bored eyes, Riley droned a rehearsed spiel specific to every horse, adjusting the stirrup length for Zoey with the automatic actions of someone who had done this on twenty horses three times a day, all summer long. “Mugs here gets picked on a lot by the other horses because he’s so brightly patterned. It makes him cranky.”

“Oh no. I’d be cranky too.” Zoey’s heart went out to her mount. She reached out to pet his velvety nose, then squeaked when his ears flattened and his lips wrinkled.

Well, that wasn’t reassuring.

“Why do you call him Mugs?”

“His name’s Mugshot, because he always looks like he’s about to get sent to prison. Okay, picture time.” Riley stuffed the reins into Zoey’s hands. Stepping back, she pulled out her phone and in an equally bored voice said, “Say cheese.”

Waving the phone with the image beneath her nose, Zoey caught a glimpse of her startled eyes and Mugs’s flattened ears, his expression one of serious disgust.

“Stick your foot in the stirrup and use his mane, not the saddle horn, to pull yourself up. Horses don’t have nerve endings in their manes, but they do get sore backs.”

Was that true? The idea of pulling a poor animal’s hair while awkwardly climbing up its side sounded mean. With the grace of a sack of potatoes, Zoey did as directed. Mugs grunted dramatically, then swung his head toward her leg, massive square teeth bared. Yelping in alarm, Zoey jerked her heel up to her hip, looking to the guide for help.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, he’s just in a mood today. Shove your foot out when he does that. He won’t want to bite your shoe. I’m sticking you in the back. Normally, my other guide would take the last place, but she called in sick. Mugs knows these trails better than I do. Just kick him if he falls behind.”

“Won’t that hurt him?”

The tiny smirk broke through the boredom in her eyes. Smacking her hand down on Zoey’s tennis shoe, Riley said, “Not with these little nubs.”

Now, that wasn’t fair.

As Riley turned her back, Mugs swung his head again, aiming for Zoey’s shoe to prove her wrong. Riley moved on to the next horse and rider, a beautiful sorrel gelding, half dozing as he waited patiently.

“My name is Riley, and I’ll be your trail guide for the day. If you have any questions just ask. This is Patch. He’s—” As Riley started a new spiel about this horse, Patch nuzzled the other rider’s hand, tickling her with his long whiskers and wiggling lips. Zoey eyed him wistfully.

“You see them?” Zoey muttered to Mugs. “He doesn’t hate his rider.”