KYLE
When Sloan had mentioned ranch, he hadn’t pictured this.
This wasn’t a ranch.
This large, sprawling behemoth at the end of an enormous driveway was a luxury mansion on an acreage that included a pristine view of the Grand Tetons.
“You know more about Cheyenne’s ancestry than I know about my own. Is that what rich people do?” He brushed off his shoulder and mocked in a laughing tone, “I’m a Winnick of the trailer park just outside of Nashville. You know—the original trailers brought out by Davy Crockett himself.”
“Oh, shut it.” She glared at him as she hopped out of the car, crossing in the headlights to get to the call box.
Snow was falling faster than Kyle liked, and the sun was already low in the sky.
Pressure built in his chest.
He wouldn’t have cared, except he needed to be at Bozeman-Yellowstone International by four in the afternoon tomorrow, for a flight to Los Angeles.
The thought of sunny beaches and whale watching within a couple of days was a strange reality he still hadn’t wrapped his brain around. Especially considering Granny’s urn was still in the Jeep, waiting for him to finish what he’d originally intended to do today.
But cracking open that door and letting Sloan into his stress about any of that wasn’t something he was ready for.
And now that she had a new worry to focus on—Charlie, the name she’d given the dog in the back seat of his rental—interrupting her extremely chaotic presence to his life with something like his schedule seemed almost unfair.
The passenger door opened again, and Sloan slipped in as the front gate swung open. “Well, they’re thoroughly confused by my arrival, but they said come on in . So . . . this should be fun.”
“Can we even bring a dirty and abandoned mutt into their house?”
“Oh, they have a barn that’s right behind the house. They’re horse people.”
“Of course they are.”
“Speaking of dogs.” Kyle flicked his gaze at Charlie through the rearview mirror. He was asleep, though he didn’t look comfortable. “What’s our plan here with Charlie? Patch him up, and take him with us? Find a shelter?”
“A shelter?” Sloan’s jaw dropped. “No, he’s ours now.”
Ours.
The word cracked through the Jeep.
“Mine, I mean,” Sloan managed, redness creeping into her cheeks.
Ours?
Kyle’s mouth dried. She’d said it so easily, too. Like she’d yanked the groom off her wedding cake and shoved a little statue of him there instead.
Maybe not the best analogy. But still.
His heart stuttered. “You want to keep him?” he croaked out, before he let his thoughts spiral.
“No! I mean, yes. I . . . the dog. Yes, I want to keep the dog. Charlie.”
God, that question somehow made it all worse.
And, just like that, he felt choked. Like the oxygen had completely gone out of the Jeep.
Maybe this had been going too well. Too smoothly. Which was saying something, because he couldn’t think of a more disastrous last couple of days.
But he and Sloan had been getting along well.
He didn’t want to ruin that.
He also didn’t want . . . well, to somehow turn this into something it wasn’t. For either of them.
Think carefully.
“Before you get too attached . . . to Charlie,” he scraped out. “We should probably check to see if he’s microchipped—on the off chance he wasn’t abandoned and ran away or got loose.” He managed to meet her gaze. “He might already belong to someone.”
Motherfucking double entendre.
Everything he was saying somehow seemed to be not about Charlie.
And Sloan seemed to know it, too. Her eyes went wide. “Does he?”
“No.” He blinked hard. “I mean, I don’t know. I have no idea if he’s microchipped.”
Her lower lip trembled. “I just . . . I want to keep him, if I can.”
Kyle’s gaze locked outside the windshield.
Now who in the hell was she talking about?
Better not to think about it. They’d pulled up anyway, and a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a yellow shawl was coming down the front steps toward them, like the snow didn’t bother her one bit.
He killed the engine, but Sloan had already jumped out of the car.
Kyle sat there for a moment, blinking, staring at his hands.
This woman would be the death of him.
He glanced back at Charlie, who perked his head up, interested in where they’d stopped. “Don’t worry, you’re the one she’s looking to keep. At least, I think so.”
He pushed the door open and stepped out, already feeling far too awkward for meeting the mother of Cheyenne, Sloan’s friend, who would probably hear all about his long, sordid past with Sloan and then tell said mother.
Sloan seemed to have developed nerves of steel somewhere between the passenger seat and the front steps, though. “Tallulah,” she said in a tone that he didn’t quite recognize. “Let me introduce you to my friend Kyle. He did me the favor of driving me all the way here, isn’t that sweet?”
Tallulah gave him a sharp-eyed, measuring look, then smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Kyle,” she said politely, as though she hadn’t decided whether she fully trusted him.
“Well, come on in. I’m sure you have quite a story to tell, Sloan.
Cheyenne must’ve called five times since—” Tallulah frowned, gaze flicking back to Kyle.
“Well. It doesn’t matter. You’re safe, and you’re here, and that’s all that matters. ”
“Actually, before we come in.” Sloan glanced back at the Jeep. “Part of the reason we came here is because we came across an injured dog out on the highway. He looks like he’s been outside for a while and needs help. I know you have a vet—”
“Oh poor baby.” Tallulah’s demeanor changed immediately. “Take me straight to him.”
As Sloan led Tallulah toward the Jeep, Kyle stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling useless. He had to give Tallulah credit, though. She actually sounded genuine. And he’d never met a horse person who wasn’t also a dog person, so she probably was.
His phone rang. Liddy. Despite the cold, he moved a few paces away for some privacy, watching as Tallulah leaned into the back seat of the Jeep.
“Hello?”
“Kyle Winnick.” Liddy’s voice came in, hot and worried. “Tell me why I’m seeing your photograph on the news as a wanted kidnapper. ”
His stomach roiled. “What the fuck?”
“The news! The BBC is reporting that Sloan Carrington —ring any bells? Yes, that Sloan Carrington—went missing in Colorado a few days ago, and you’re wanted in connection with her disappearance. Not just a man who looks like you. YOU.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Apparently, she’s engaged to some hot-shot congressman. Now, where the hell are you?”
“Wyoming.”
“Good.” Liddy breathed out a sigh of relief.
“No wonder all your calls have been going to voicemail for the past hour. I’ve called like twenty times.
Wyoming is a little too close to Colorado for comfort, but we can work with that.
Quinn already has a plane on standby in Nashville to come get you, though. Is there an airport near you?”
Kyle’s pulse raced, his brain spinning.
Wanted for kidnapping?
How?
What?
He needed to call Davy and find out what had happened.
Why hadn’t Evan canceled the missing persons report?
“Kyle? Airport?” Liddy’s voice cut through the fog in his mind.
“I can’t,” he said.
“What? Why not? We need to get you lawyered up, sweetie.”
Oh, she’s not going to like this.
“I can’t,” he repeated. “Because I’m with Sloan.”
Dead silence.
So dead that he wondered if Liddy was still breathing.
“Okay,” she said at last, clearly processing. “With Sloan. With Sloan, as in she’s with you willingly? Or with Sloan, as in you kidnapped her? Oh my God, Kyle, did you kidnap her? You didn’t finally snap, did you? My God, I know you were going through a lot because of Granny, but—”
“No!” He rubbed his eyes. “Fuck, Liddy, you don’t actually think I’d kidnap someone, do you?”
“I mean, I don’t know.” Liddy was suddenly tearful. “I mean, no, I don’t think you’d kidnap anyone, but you’ve been a little out there lately, and I know you’re emotional and Sloan . . .” A sob cut her words off.
A muffled sound came through. “Kyle?” Callum’s warm English accent was a welcome change. “What’s going on, mate? Liddy’s over here carrying on about you kidnapping someone.”
“I didn’t kidnap anyone,” Kyle gritted through his teeth. He glanced back at the Jeep, hoping Tallulah hadn’t heard.
Tallulah and Sloan were carrying Charlie between the two of them, hurrying away from the Jeep toward the side of the house.
He followed at a distance. “Listen, Callum, here are the facts—as quick as possible. I didn’t kidnap anyone. I did help my ex-girlfriend Sloan escape from her douchebag of a fiancé, who was cheating on her, and I’m driving her home to Montana. If you need more details, call Davy.”
“Davy . . . as in Isla’s friend, Davy?”
“Yes.”
“What does she have to do with all this?”
“I really don’t have time for this,” Kyle said, face burning hot. “Just call her. She’ll explain all the relevant details. But don’t call her yet. Give me like a five-minute head start because I need to call her too.”
He hung up before Callum could protest.
Before he could throw the only one working phone between him and Sloan, he jammed it into his pocket.
As he did, a flood of notifications came in.
What the fuck is happening?
He lifted his phone. Voice messages from Elle. Mom and Dad. Quinn. Isla. Even Dean.
Holy shit.
“Hold it right there, buddy.”
A soft, metallic click made him freeze.
He looked up. A man stood several feet away, rifle in hand, pointed right at him.
Kyle’s gut dropped, his hands lifting slowly.
This must be Cheyenne’s dad.
The news. The missing persons report.
His mind raced.
And just as his brain started to put everything that was happening together, sirens wailed behind him.
Oh shit.