Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Ledger
Malerick’s apartment is as pristine as it is soulless—much like the man himself. It’s the kind of place that feels like a furniture showroom, as if someone walked in and said, “I’ll take everything exactly as it is.” The leather couch is spotless, the coffee table looks like it’s never seen a cup of coffee, and the walls are decorated with generic black-and-white skyline prints. Everything is clean, precise, and impersonal. Just like my brother.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think this place was staged—just a hollow setup so Malerick can pretend he lives here, when really, he’s just a ghost who left Birchwood in the dead of night. That’s his MO. Ever since he joined the Bureau, he’s been vanishing for months at a time—silent, efficient, like staying in one place might kill him.
Which makes him becoming the sheriff of this small town . . . Well, too fucking weird.
Why would a guy who despises this place with every ounce of his soul—assuming he even has one—come back to play sheriff? Birchwood must’ve collectively lost its mind.
And yet, here he is. At his desk. Sleeves rolled up, looking way too official for someone who used to duct-tape me to chairs as a kid. There’s something that doesn’t click about Galeana, my brother, and the whole inheritance. When I walked in five minutes ago with news he clearly wasn’t expecting, I could swear I saw his left eye twitch.
“She has to what?” he demanded, turning to face me, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.
“She has to get married,” I repeated slowly, stretching the words out for maximum irritation. I dropped onto his perfect couch and immediately propped my dirty boots on the spotless coffee table because I’m petty like that. “It’s part of the inheritance clause. If Galeana doesn’t get married, she loses everything.”
Malerick scrubbed a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, and I caught a suspiciously disgruntled, “This town gets weirder every damn day.”
Since I’m bored to tears, I decide to break the silence and ask, “Can I go now? I did what you asked.”
“You didn’t do shit. There’s no groom or prospects from what I understand,” he growls, fingers flying over his keyboard with the kind of focus that makes me wonder if he’s actually investigating something—or just stress-scrolling through his social media. “I need to figure out how long she has to marry before?—”
“And you’re gonna figure that out?” I cut in, smirking. “What’s your new sheriff superpower? Meddling in people’s lives and ruining their day?”
“Shut up,” he bites back, typing harder like that’ll show me. “Who the hell writes something like that into a will? Marry or lose it all?”
“Dante Doherty,” I answer with a mock solemnity. “Apparently, he thought a woman couldn’t be stable without a husband in the picture. You know, classic misogynistic control freak behavior.”
Mal snorts, the keyboard clicking beneath his fingertips. “No wonder he and Mom never saw eye to eye. Remember those town hall meetings? He nearly had a coronary every time she dared to vote on something.”
“I don’t remember the meetings, but it sounds about right.” I shrug. “Honestly? The guy sounds like an epic asshole.”
“That too,” Mal mutters.
Then, abruptly, his typing stops. His gaze sharpens on the screen, and his jaw tightens.
“What now?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter, but keeping my boots defiantly planted on his table.
His chair creaks as he swivels to face me fully. “Galeana has less than two weeks, Ledger. Two weeks to find a husband and get married, or she forfeits everything. It’ll go to the Stinsons.”
Okay, so a lot of things are beginning to make sense. “I don’t think she knows she’s running out of time. Or that Stinson’s in town to get his creepy hands on her business.”
“Run that by me again?” His tone has that dangerous edge, like he’s regrouping for war.
I shrug, all nonchalance. “As per your request, I accidentally”—I add air quotes, because why not—“ran into her at The Honey Drop this morning. Erick Stinson was there. Flirting.”
“Erick Stinson?” Mal repeats, and there’s enough disdain dripping from his voice to fill a landfill. “What the fuck is wrong with that man? She’s his cousin.”
“You tell me,” I mutter, not bothering to mention that for some reason, Galeana assumed I was her cousin trying to take her inheritance. That explains why she looked at me like I wanted to take everything she owned—I was the enemy.
Mal spins back toward the computer, his face serious. “So let’s recap. She has less than two weeks to not only find a husband but also get married. And suddenly, Erick Stinson is sniffing around Maple Haven, and you—” He stops, narrowing his eyes at me like he’s about to ruin my day. “You like her, right?”
My stomach drops. Here we go. “Where are you going with this, Mal?” I ask, though I already have a sinking feeling I know exactly where he’s going.
He steeples his fingers and tilts his head, his expression unreadable but annoyingly self-assured. “You have to marry her.”
I blink. Once. Twice. Then I bark out a laugh so loud it startles me. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Mal shrugs, unbothered, the picture of calm. “It’s logical.”
“No. It’s insane,” I snap, pushing off the couch to pace the room. My hands go straight to my hair because if I don’t do something with them, I might actually throttle him. “I’m not marrying anyone, least of all a woman who—” I cut myself off, gritting my teeth.
Who left me in Italy with no name, no number, and a bruised ego. I can’t say that. He has no idea that Galeana and I have a past. Short, but unforgettable. So unforgettable that I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind since then. I constantly think about the what-ifs and . . . damn, she really made an impression on me, didn’t she?
Now that she’s here, and I finally know her name . . . well, I have no idea what to do. I’m not one to date or pursue women—not that he needs to know any of that. So instead, I just say flatly, “Who barely knows me and hates my guts.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Mal says, rolling his eyes with all the superiority of an older brother who thinks he’s the smartest guy in every room. “If she hated you, she wouldn’t let you anywhere near her.”
“That’s your big logic? She doesn’t hate me enough?” I glare at him, incredulous. “How the fuck did they let you in the bureau if you can’t even think straight?”
Mal leans back in his chair, fighting a smirk. “It’s a business arrangement, Ledger. Sign some papers, save her inheritance, and walk away. Easy.”
“Nothing about Galeana Monroe is easy,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
Because Mal’s wrong. It wouldn’t just be business. Not with her. Not when she’s too damn pretty, too smart, too . . . everything I can’t shake since Italy. Her wide, hazel eyes still haunt me, all fire and mischief, like she’d dare me to do something reckless and love every second of watching me lose control. And that mouth? Don’t get me started on the things I imagined her mouth doing before she ghosted me.
And worse? Mal’s not wrong.
If Erick Stinson really is sniffing around Maple Haven, it’s not because he’s suddenly in the mood for syrup samples. He’s not here to help his family’s candy store. Nope, he’s playing dirty, and he’s not the kind of guy to flirt without an angle. Galeana doesn’t stand a chance against him on her own.
I stop pacing, my fists clenching at my sides as I stare at Mal. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs again, completely unbothered. “But you’ll do it.”
I glare at him, my pulse hammering in my temples.
“No,” I respond. “As in N. O.”
“I never ask for anything, but this is important, Ledger,” he says. “You can’t let Maple Haven go to Stinson. This town depends on two things, the maple business and Old Birchwood Timber.”
“I’ll take care of our company. Isn’t that enough?” I say, frustration clear in my voice.
“Nope. Trust me when I say this is the only way to save . . . the town,” he replies, and I still don’t understand what exactly we’re trying to save here.
“We should sell Old Birchwood Timber and get the hell out of here, Mal. Let the town burn down,” I say, wanting to go for a run, the tension building inside me.
“You can’t be that heartless,” he says evenly. “Mom would want us to help her—to help the town.” Mal watches me for a long moment, his expression impossible to read. Finally, he says, “You know I’m right.”
“No,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “What I know is that I came here to help you guys deal with Mom’s estate. Not to marry the woman who rear-ended my SUV and insulted me every chance she got.”
“Us? The company is ours. And you have nothing to do.” Then, Mal shrugs again. “You know what, I don’t give a fuck about you. Suit yourself. Just remember that if you don’t marry her, someone else will. I can ask Hop or Keir to do it.” Then he smirks. “Atlas could do it. You know, take your place—again.”
Those words hit me harder than they should. I don’t want to think about someone else stepping in—someone like Stinson or my fucking brothers. And not fucking Atlas.
I rake a hand through my hair, glaring at nothing in particular. “This is your fault,” I mutter.
Mal’s eyebrows lift. “My fault?”
“You put the idea in my head.”
He smirks, spinning his chair back toward the computer. “You’re welcome.”
I growl something unintelligible, grabbing my keys off the coffee table. “I’m leaving.”
“Where are you going?” Mal calls after me.
“To clear my head,” I snap, already halfway to the door.
As I step outside and slam the door behind me, my thoughts are a mess of Galeana Monroe, maple syrup empires, and Malerick’s ridiculous suggestion.
Marry her? Not a fucking chance.
But as I climb into my SUV and grip the steering wheel, the memory of Galeana’s fiery glare at the coffee shop comes back to me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, starting the engine.
Because Mal’s right about one thing. If someone’s going to marry her, it won’t be anyone else but me.