Tate (Mountain Men 3)

She doesn’t respond at first, then says in a little voice, “You mean to… the writer of the books?”

“Right. To you.”

“I’m not—”

“Shut it.”

I’m so angry I want to pull this car over, haul her over my lap, and whip her arse until she cries. I need her to bloody listen.

“I was ordered to find the writer.”

She’s quiet, the only sound the engine as we climb further uphill.

“I was told to find the writer so we could end them.”

She doesn’t respond, fuming at the road ahead of us.

“Do you know what that means?”

“If I were the writer of the Clan Chronicles, I’d fucking know what that meant, wouldn’t I?”

I don’t respond at first.

“Which one am I?”

“What?”

“Which fucking brother am I?”

I want to know. Has she kept us in the proper birth order? Is the eldest my late brother Tavish, with his shaved head and blazing blue eyes? The second eldest Leith, muscled and powerful, a natural leader and protector of all? The third would be me, then… the one she describes as “the gentle giant.”

I’ll fucking show her how wrong she is.

I try a different angle. “Alright, then. Let’s pretend for a moment that you aren’t the writer. That you’re telling the truth, that it’s someone else. But you know the person, don’t you?”

She doesn’t respond at first, then says softly, “And what if I do?”

“I’ll have to question you to get the answers I need.”

“Why do you feel so threatened by romance novels?”

“I’ve told you that already.”

Silence. Then, “And what answers do you need?”

“Who the fucking writer is.”

“And when you find out, what will you do to them?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

We’re minutes away from home now, and the snow’s begun to fall in thick swaths. The wipers on the car move back and forth at a breakneck speed.

Back.

Forth.

Back.

Forth.

We watch them, as if this is the most fascinating thing in the world.

“We’ll go back to the main house first. Check in. We won’t say a word about the books, do you understand me?”

She nods silently, and her lower lip trembles. I almost feel bad for her.

Almost.

“Then when we’re done eating dinner, you’ll come back to my place with me. I’ll tell them I promised I’d keep an eye on you.”

“The girls will think we’re hooking up.”

“Let them think that.”

She opens her mouth to protest. “Why the hell would I let them think that?”

Sudden need flares in me, and I grip her knee punishingly. She flinches.

“Because maybe, love, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

She furrows her brow adorably as the large lodge comes into view.

“I should’ve known,” I mutter to myself. “You’re the only one that even knows how to bloody get here. Did you tell someone else?”

“Of course not.”

Was that an admission?

“What if the girls ask questions?” she asks.

I pull to a stop right outside the main house. “You’re a writer,” I tell her, because I haven’t bloody let her get away with that lie. “Make something up.” I shut off the car. “Stay there until I come and get you.”

She’s so angry, which makes no sense. I’m not the one that wrote the fucking books and tricked the whole bloody Clan.

Maybe she doesn’t like that I found her out. Maybe she doesn’t like that the ruse is up.

She sure as hell won’t like what has to happen next.

She’s a good girl, though, and at least this once she does as she’s told. She waits for me, sitting there pertly, her hands flat on her legs.

I crook a finger at her. “C’mere.”

She slides out of the car and takes my hand but doesn’t meet my eyes. I slide her hand through my arm and we walk, with my hand covering hers, toward the main house. I speak in a low voice. I don’t want anyone to hear what I’m about to say.

“I can’t tell anyone what I’ve found out today.”

“You haven’t found out bloody anything.”

“I fucking have and you know it.”

Again, silent fuming.

“So we’ll go up there and be cordial. I’m angry about what you’ve done, but not so angry that I’m about to turn you over to my brothers. They’ll show no mercy.”

“Is this your version of good cop/bad cop?”

“No, love. This is my version of bad cop and criminal.”

Love.

Oh, God.

A brisk breeze picks up as we reach the main entrance, and she shivers. I throw a protective arm around her shoulders. I want everyone to believe we’re getting romantic, that I have feelings for her. It will make what I have to do so much easier.

So this makes it look legit, like she’s really sidling up to me and I’m into her. I want my father, especially, to know this.

When we reach the door, I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck and bring my mouth to her ear.

“You’re in so much fucking trouble when I get you alone. The only mercy I’ll show at all is not to do what my brothers expect me to. You’ve gotten way too free around here, Fran. You’ll behave yourself in here. Am I understood?”