The Rival

Birds squawked in the trees overhead, their movements causing more snow to rain down on them as they disturbed the branches.

“Marcus and I didn’t spend any time together growing up,” Devon explained as they left the trees behind and arrived on a plateau above the river. “Our mothers viewed one another as rivals, so Marcus and I did, too.”

“Yet you started a very successful business together.”

He looked sharply at her. “You’ve done your homework.”

Her cheeks heated; yes, she had dug through everything she could find about Salazar Media. Especially since Devon’s father had been a part owner. “You and Marcus are the first guests since I’ve been a trail guide. I figured it doesn’t hurt to know who I’m talking to.”

“I’m flattered,” he admitted. “I’m usually the one doing all the studying about new clients. I can’t remember the last time anyone tried to impress me.”

His gaze collided with hers and she felt the prickle of awareness all over her skin, even with the cold wind blowing off the mountains. Her mouth dried up as she debated how to respond. Thankfully, he had questions about their direction and the next two hours passed uneventfully enough.

She kept up a running patter about the sights, the history of the Bitterroot River, and the best spots for fly-fishing according to the locals she’d asked. They were far from the main ranch house when she spotted a creek side lean-to that one of the ranch hands had told her about. Built by one of the owners for a winter retreat, the lean-to was open on one side, with a picnic table tucked under the shelter.

“Are you ready for lunch?” she asked, shifting in the saddle to see Devon better. “There’s a good spot to make a fire by the water if you want one.”

She could see the fire ring between the lean-to and the creek, the spot sheltered from the wind.

“Sounds good.” He followed her down the snowy hill to the open hut with its bark and branch roof.

She settled the horses close to the water while Devon unpacked the food. She found a few promising sticks to build a fire, kicked away the excess snow, then got to work starting a blaze. By the time she turned around, Devon had flannel blankets on both benches, a clean linen over the table and two glasses of wine poured into stemless glasses. A centerpiece of bread, meats and cheeses was surrounded by fruit, nuts and even a small jar of honey.

With the fire snapping behind her, the flames giving the winter picnic a burnished glow, things had taken a turn for the romantic.

“Wow.” She darted her gaze to his, not sure what to say. “That definitely looks better than the turkey sandwiches I asked the staff chef to make us.”

He waved her closer. “I hope you don’t mind. But I like to combine work with pleasure whenever I can, and Montana is too beautiful not to savor.”

Her heartbeat jumped nervously as she neared him to slide onto one of the bench seats. She needed to be wary of this man’s idea of pleasure. She had too much at stake to lose focus now.

“Of course,” she tried to say in a normal tone, but her voice cracked like a twelve-year-old boy’s. She cleared her throat and tried again. “It’s a treat for me, too.”

“I’m glad.” He took the seat opposite her and waited while she removed her gloves and filled a plate for herself. “So how long have you worked here?”

She took a sip of her wine to steel herself for the inevitable questions and hoped she could change the topic fast.

“I just started last week. I’m having a hard time deciding on a career path since I finished college, so I’ve been testing out different jobs, trying to figure out what I want to do and where I’d like to live.” It was close enough to the truth.

She didn’t mention that she couldn’t properly get her life underway until she had the answers she needed about A. J. Sorensen’s book and where all the profits from it had gone.

“Really?” Devon stretched his long legs under the table, one knee bumping hers. “Where did you attend college?”

“Online.” That wasn’t true. She’d taken most of her classes on the UCLA campus—right up until her accident. “It was easier that way, since I enjoy moving around.”

“And where’s home?” he asked, dipping a corner of the fresh bread into the honey.

“My mother lives in Tahoe.” That was true. “I guess home is there.” Technically, Regina had only ever visited for a couple of days at a time.

Her mother had left Hollywood as soon as she could after the scandal broke, but Regina had remained in Los Angeles with her grandmother to finish high school. At the time, she couldn’t imagine living without her friends, but one by one her friends had all fallen away after the scandal. Even Terri, her best friend, had eventually disappeared from her life when Terri’s parents realized how dangerous it was for two teenage girls trying to flee tabloid reporters on their own.

Regina understood—especially after the late-night car wreck while trying to shake the paparazzi had almost killed her during her undergraduate years. But understanding why her friends had vanished didn’t make those years any less painful. She nibbled a square of smoked gouda and hoped she could change the subject soon.

“Well, I’m glad our paths crossed,” Devon said, lifting his glass. “Here’s to finding new friends in unexpected places.”

She felt her chest constrict, hating the lies but knowing she had no choice if she wanted to discover the truth about his father’s finances.

“To new friends.” Raising her glass, she clinked it gently against his.

Their eyes met as they drank. She glanced away fast, but not before she felt an undeniable spark between them. The thought he’d put into the meal, the curiosity he’d shown about her personally, the way he looked at her—all of it added up to frank male interest that would have been flattering if it hadn’t been so dangerous to her mission.

“What about you?” She reached for another topic of conversation to steer things away from herself. Away from the slow simmer of awareness in her veins. “Where’s home for you?”

“New York. I bought a place on Central Park West when I heard about a potential vacancy and jumped on it before the apartment went on the market.” Crunching into an apple slice, he pointed to a low-flying hawk circling nearby. “My family is in Connecticut. Except, of course, for Marcus out in Los Angeles.”

She tracked the bird while she thought about how to steer the conversation to find out more about his father. The hawk flew for long moments without flapping its wings, angling through the air in a graceful, soaring flight.

“Do you travel to a lot of different places for work?” She needed to be subtler than she’d been earlier. She might have admitted she’d read up on his family, but she didn’t want him to know how much.

“I was in India last week, meeting with an international client, but that’s rare.” He removed a sheaf of paperwork from his jacket and laid it on the table. She recognized a map of Mesa Falls Ranch with a few of the buildings marked on it. “Montana is new for me, too, and I appreciate the tour today.” He spun the map around so she could see it better, then pointed to a few pen markings. “I want to make sure we hit these places.”

She recognized two of the owners’ homes as well as a peak with renowned views of the valley. But her eye was drawn to the papers that had been behind the map—the ones now partially covered by his forearm. The top sheet appeared to be contact information for someone—part of a phone number and an email address that looked like it ended “…tigations.com.”

Mitigations? Litigations? Investigations?

“Of course.” Her brain worked double time to come up with other words even as she forced herself to make eye contact with him. “No problem.”

Crazy though it might seem, she couldn’t shake the feeling the information was related to his father’s estate. Or the book. Or something that might shed light on her quest. But how to steal a peek at it?

“Excellent.” He started to slide the map back into his stack, then paused. “Did you need this for reference?”

Her gaze flicked back to the sheaf on the table, where she caught the word “April.” Or was it a name?

“Sure.” She reached for the map, trying not to stare at the place where his elbow hid whatever came after “April.”

“That would be great.”

He hesitated before passing it to her. “Are you okay?”

She forced her attention back to his green eyes. “Of course. Why?”

Tucking the map into her jacket pocket, she watched him fold his documents and return them to his coat.

“You just seem a little distracted.” He studied her, and for a moment she feared he could see right through her. But then he clinked his glass to hers again. “Drink up, Regina. We should probably pack our things so we have time to see the rest of the ranch.”

Nodding, she finished her meal and wondered how to see those papers before they disappeared for good. One way or another, she needed a plan to separate Devon from his jacket as soon as possible.

Something seemed off about the lovely Mesa Falls Ranch trail guide.