The Rival

He couldn’t miss the steely gleam in her eyes when she nodded.

“I’ll be ready.” Bracing her shoulders, she headed into the wind.

Devon followed and escorted her toward the main lodge. He’d have time to do his homework on Regina tonight, even if that meant asking his private investigator to do some digging on her. And when it was time for his date with the mysterious trail guide?

He’d be ready, too.

She was dating the enemy.

An hour after she’d made the deal with Devon, Regina couldn’t decide if she was grateful for her quick thinking that had made her tell him she was attracted to him. Because she sure had put herself between a rock and a…very hard place. Memories of that kiss still scorched her insides if she let her thoughts linger on it too long.

Back in the comfort of her own quarters that night, she tried to focus on what she’d learned from her gamble instead of the dicey situation she’d put herself in. With a pillow propped behind her back as she worked in bed, she recorded everything she remembered from her quick glance through Devon’s papers, entering the information on her laptop.

The women’s bunkhouse accommodations were snug but comfortable, especially since half of the beds were still vacant. But then, the guest ranch portion of Mesa Falls was all new, with the service positions still being filled. She’d chosen a top bunk in the corner, and between the location and the curtains she could draw closed across the open side of the bed, her work on the laptop was private enough.

One of the other women she roomed with had come in briefly to shower before heading out for the night, and another had gone to sleep early. In the common room where there were a few couches and a television, a couple of older ladies who worked in the kitchens were reading. Someone had flipped on Christmas country tunes in that room, the occasional twang of a fiddle or a steel guitar filtering back to the bunk area. Regina didn’t think anyone would disturb her for the rest of the evening with her curtain closed. She had her phone charging next to a bottle of water in a canvas cupholder that dangled from the top rail against the wall.

Regina searched online for the name she recalled from Devon’s papers: April Stephens. She was a private investigator. She hadn’t recalled the contact information other than that the woman was based in Denver. Regina found her easily and read her bio on a website for an agency specializing in forensic accounting and tracking down hidden assets.

Why did Devon have her card? And whose assets did he need to trace? Delving further into the website, she found links to articles about tracking missing persons. Apparently the two investigative specialties often went hand in hand since tracing missing money often led to missing people.

For the first time, Regina felt a twinge of guilt about invading Devon’s privacy. She’d been so convinced he was profiting from the story about her family, but what if he wasn’t? What if she was being as careless sifting through his personal business as his father had been with her family’s secrets?

The scent of popcorn from the common room pulled her out of her thoughts, making her remember she hadn’t eaten since the picnic she’d shared with Devon. Her stomach rumbled.

The other papers she’d glimpsed in Devon’s coat were return plane tickets and a printed schedule for an East Coast wedding. A quick scan online confirmed the woman getting married was Devon’s mother, Katherine “Kate” Radcliffe. Regina had read about Kate briefly in her earlier investigation into the Salazar family, but since the woman had never been a Salazar and didn’t stay with Alonzo for long, Regina hadn’t devoted much time to learning about the Radcliffes.

She dug deeper now, clicking through article after article online to discover all she could about Philip Radcliffe, the aging patriarch who oversaw a global pharmaceutical company. It was possible his wealth had helped Devon fund Salazar Media, and not Alonzo Salazar’s ill-gotten gains. But an interview with the billionaire in a business publication suggested otherwise. In it, Philip talked about the need for “the Radcliffe fortune to remain in Radcliffe hands” for future generations.

That sounded like a deliberate slight to his grandson with a different last name, and the author of the article had speculated as much.

Fingers hovering over her keyboard, Regina found herself empathizing—at least a small amount—with Devon. She recalled how it felt to be dismissed based on lack of birthright.

While she mulled over the new twists, the sound of footsteps in the bunkhouse made her click off her screen right before a shadow loomed on the drawn curtain around her bed.

“Hon, you still awake?” It was a woman’s voice, warm and kind.

Regina pushed aside the lined cotton fabric to see Millie, one of the new line cooks, holding a bowl of popcorn. Millie seemed close to retirement age, but she had an energetic vibe and fully embraced ranch life. Her long blond braid rested on the shoulder of a red thermal shirt that read Santa, I Tried.

“Just doing some research before bed,” Regina replied, pointing to the closed laptop.

“We made a second batch of popcorn, so I thought I’d see if you wanted a bowl.” Millie winked as she extended a red plastic dish decorated with green horseshoes and Christmas trees, with a paper napkin underneath. “It’s got extra butter.”

Touched by the gesture, Regina smiled, her mouth watering. “That’s so kind of you to think of me. Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.” Millie was already backing away, her voice quiet as she passed another bunk where one of the room attendants was sacked out cold.

Millie disappeared into the common room, leaving Regina with the popcorn and a surprise dose of holiday spirit she hadn’t been expecting. It was strange that she felt sort of at home at Mesa Falls Ranch, given that she’d only come here to learn more about the Salazar heirs. But it had been a long time since she’d been able to work with horses; the man she’d thought was her father had confiscated her beloved Arabian when the book scandal broke. She’d missed that equine companionship almost as much as she’d missed her father figure. More, perhaps, since the horse hadn’t discarded her the way her dad had.