The Billionaires: The Stepbrothers (Lover's Triangle 3)

While she collected the napkins and paper towel with suddenly trembling fingers because she’d unexpectedly let a wall down that she shouldn’t have, Sam stalked back in.

He abruptly said, “I’ll tell you whatever I can about the art theft, but the car accident is off-limits, Miss Drake. Absolutely not a topic of conversation.”

Anger and something much more evocative flashed in his cerulean eyes.

Pain.

It’s pain, Scarlet.

And maybe he saw it in her eyes, too.

With a nod, she told him, “I can respect that. And please, call me Scarlet.”

“Fine.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a coatrack in the corner by the tall glass panes and the window seating with drawers and cubbies built in underneath.

Scarlet removed her jacket as well, and he hung it with his. Not saying anything further.

A plethora of words welled in her throat, though. An apology. A condolence. And gratitude that he’d helped her out this evening.

If he hadn’t come along or taken that tow call, she might still be out there in the snow. Especially with the road outside of Lakeside closed. It wasn’t as though there were homesteads lining the countryside. The ranches were few and far between. And there probably wasn’t much cause for the locals to be out and about on a night like this, in stormy weather.

She shuddered at the thought of truly being stranded. Though she’d loaded up with provisions to placate Bayli—and because it was the smart thing to do—she had no idea how long the heater would have run. She’d kept the interior lights and the radio off in the event that might aid the battery life, but really, she could have been an icicle by the time someone found her. If not for Sam.

He eventually spoke again, telling her, “You should stand over by the fire. I’ll start dinner.”

“Let me help.”

He eyed her curiously. Or maybe suspiciously. She couldn’t quite decipher all of his expressions. There were myriad ones that ran deep.

“All right,” he said. “I need the portabellas sliced and we’ll do up some baked potatoes.” He gestured toward a basket on the island filled with vegetables. All fresh from some sort of greenhouse farmers’ market, she was sure. “There’s a box of disposable gloves under the sink to protect that bandage from getting wet.”

“Good thinking.”

Sam reached for a stainless-steel colander overhead and gave it to her for cleaning the ’shrooms and potatoes. He asked, “You’re not opposed to venison tenderloin roast, are you?”

“I’ve never had venison. But I’ll try anything once. I’m a bit of an adventure freak.”

“I figured as much, since you were driving across Montana in the winter.”

She loaded up the colander and took it to the sink. “That was born of necessity.”

“Why don’t you talk to me about that?” He preheated the oven and set out a broiler pan.

Scarlet said, “The insurance company that paid out the claim on the art collection hired me to basically do a final-attempt investigation to confirm nothing was overlooked in the initial examination of the case. It’s a good-faith procedure for their stakeholders, to demonstrate no stone was left unturned and justify the check they cut.”

“That’s a fancy, nonoffensive way of saying they want to make damn sure my family didn’t rip ’em off.”

“Why, yes, it is.” She smiled and batted her lashes.

“Hmph.” He actually cracked a grin. Not much of one, but it was more than she’d gotten out of him thus far.

“So I have Michael’s alibi,” she said as she rinsed the mushrooms. “I’d like to hear yours.”

“I already gave it.”

“I’m aware of that, though I haven’t yet read the statement. Sometimes it helps for me to hear these things in person.”

“Then you came a long way for nothing, Scarlet Drake. Because I don’t have a hell of a lot to tell you.” He yanked on one of the handles on the refrigerator door and retrieved a slab of bacon and the roast, wrapped in butcher paper. She dried the baby bellas on a paper towel.