“The man’s a machine.”
I turn to see Ben just behind me in the hallway, smiling as usual. This morning, he’s wearing a pair of dark gray pants made of some kind of waterproof material, hiking boots replacing his usual expensive sneakers. A long-sleeved T-shirt in navy blue brings out his eyes, and I guess there are women who would appreciate how well it clings to his gym-toned torso, but I am definitely not one of them.
“He’s already replaced the floors in one of the third-floor bedrooms, and I hear we have a cement truck coming tomorrow?”
Ben has his hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels, and a muscle in Cam’s jaw ticks as he turns back to his work. “The terrace steps” is all he says, but Ben gives a hooting laugh.
“Shit, Camden. If I’d known you’d go this gung ho, I would’ve emailed you years ago.”
“I would’ve deleted it.”
He would have, I know. For the past decade, any communication with his family has gone straight in the trash, both virtual and real.
Ben chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, you would’ve. Still. Glad you’re here now, man.”
Cam doesn’t reply, but takes another swing at the half-destroyed toilet, and I feel it again, that tug of guilt low in my stomach.
“Mind if I steal your bride for the morning?” Ben asks, and Camden pauses, his knuckles white around the shaft of the sledgehammer.
I turn to Ben, surprised. “What for?”
He gives me a wink, one that I guess is meant to be charming, but just makes my skin crawl. “You’ve seen Ashby House, and it’s impressive, no doubt, this bathroom being an exception. But Ashby’s real worth is the land around it. Thought I’d give you a tour.”
I bite back a grimace. The land around Ashby is beautiful, I can’t argue that, but I like looking at it safely behind these walls. I’m not sure I actually want to go traipsing through the forest that once swallowed up “Baby Ruby.”
And it’s clear from Camden’s expression that he’s not too wild about that idea, either.
But I can’t think of any reason to object, and besides, I wouldn’t mind getting a better sense of what Camden, and therefore I, actually own.
“Works for me,” I say with a shrug. “Am I dressed for it?”
I’m wearing an old pair of jeans with a lightweight sweater and a pair of Converse sneakers, nothing too fancy, but also nothing too rugged, and Ben takes a little longer than I like looking me over.
“Yeah, we’re not gonna venture all that far,” he says, and then, looking past me, adds to Camden, “No farther than the falls. Does that sound okay?”
I almost scoff at that. Camden is not in charge of me, doesn’t get to say what I do or where I go, but when he doesn’t answer Ben right away, I feel my pulse kick up a beat.
We’re not in Colorado anymore. We’re no longer just a simple English teacher and his wife who works at the local tourist attraction. Here, Camden is a McTavish, the de facto owner of Ashby House, and maybe that means he could say no, and Ben would have to accept it. I would have to accept it.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
But in the end, Cam nods, swallowing hard as he meets my eyes. “Be careful,” he tells me, then steps forward, cuffing a hand around the nape of my neck and kissing my forehead. “And stay away from the edge.”
“Obviously,” I tell him, giving him a light shove, but he’s still watching Ben, his expression serious.
Something passes between them that I don’t quite understand, but then Ben is turning away, waving at me. “Let’s go, Mrs. McTavish!” he calls, and with one last lingering look at Cam, I follow.
* * *
THE AIR IS cool as we head out into the woods, autumn creeping up the mountain slowly but surely. It’s just a little past nine in the morning, and the sky is overcast, darker clouds gathering over the mountains in the distance. Below us, I can see a few yellowed leaves among the mist, and I shiver, shoving my hands deep into my pockets. Ben is just ahead of me, his stride confident, his chin lifted.
“So—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.
“Do you know how many people have died in these woods?”
I nearly stumble over an exposed root, but manage to right myself just in time, so that when Ben glances back over his shoulder, I’m sure-footed and casual.
“No, but I feel like you are absolutely about to tell me.”
A little of the glee bleeds out of his expression, which I appreciate.