I’m going to strangle Easton.
With my bare hands.
But I can’t really blame him.
Lucy’s hair is in curls today. Long, soft, buttery curls that I know take a lot of work. I know this because one time I touched my sister’s hair when it was curled and she nearly hauled off and smacked me, then gave me a lecture on how many minutes it took to get it like that.
I want to wrap one of Lucy’s long curls around a finger and tug. Or bring it to my lips and test its softness.
She’s wearing a pair of black pants that hug her ass. And a long-sleeved blouse-thing in a color that only women know the name of. It isn’t pink and it isn’t brown. It probably has a name like taupe or mauve. It has slightly puffy sleeves that are buttoned at the wrists, and a high neck with a big button right where her pulse would beat hardest in her throat. Right where I’d dip my tongue and taste her.
It’s ten times sexier than if she were wearing a low-cut blouse, because all I can think about is that big white button and how much I want to unbutton it. Or, better yet, rip it open.
There is no sign of the woman who let her makeup run down her face, who knelt in muddy water to save ducklings, or who accepted an invitation for drinks from a stranger. This woman is self-contained, professional, practiced. She uses her hands to gesture as she speaks, but the gestures are restrained. Deliberate. I get the feeling she doesn’t do or say anything she hasn’t planned ahead of time.
I want to undo her.
“…convince people that these trips are about something amazing that could happen to you. Something unexpected. Something new and delightful.”
“So we’re selling the trips differently, but we’re not changing the trips themselves,” Clark says, with a note of relief that I’m pretty sure we all feel.
Lucy bites her lip. “Well. That’s part of what we’re going to take a look at. Because branding, to be effective, has to pervade everything you do. It has to be part of the promise and part of what you deliver. Or it won’t work.”
Everyone slumps in their seats then, except my mother, who beams at Lucy like she painted the sky blue.
“What are we talking about here?” Brody demands. “Am I going to host bachelorette parties instead of fishing charters?”
“Brody,” Barb says sharply.
“Because that’s bullshit.”
He’s only saying what we’re all thinking. And it needs to be said. I pick up the refrain. “For fifty years this business has been all about the real outdoors,” I tell her. “The land. Caring for it, responsibly enjoying it, understanding how to work with it—what you can take from it without stripping it bare. How to leave no trace. How to find peace and quiet. How to test yourself against nature. I think what Brody’s asking is, how much are we going to have to sell our souls, here?”
Lucy’s eyes meet mine, soft and blue and curious. I feel like she might have actually heard me, which isn’t at all what I expected from a city girl. Then she turns back toward the rest of the team, and I miss her attention. Look at me that way again.
“I like to tell clients that good branding is about figuring out where the market meets your strengths.”
And my heart sinks because, after all, it’s just a line. She doesn’t really get it. Of course she doesn’t. How could someone like her understand what Rush Creek and the land around us mean to people like me and my brothers? How could someone who likes to be anonymous, to go for days without running into anyone she knows, understand how much this business and this family matter to me?
“You haven’t answered the question,” Brody says. “How much compromise does that mean?”
He’s angry, and I don’t blame him.
Kane puts a hand on Brody’s arm. “Let’s hear her out, Bro, huh?” he asks.
That’s Kane for you. He’s the peacemaker.
Lucy says, “Let me ask you something. If you knew you would lose the business, but you could keep it exactly as it was, would you do that?”
Brody slowly shakes his head.
“If you know you could shutter the business and open a wedding venue, would you do that?”
“Hell no.”
“Well. We’re trying to split that difference. We’re trying to figure out how you get to keep the business and not have to change everything about how you run it. What I’m hoping,” she says, “is that as much as the season will permit, I can get a chance to experience all of your trips so we can talk about how to rebrand in a way that works for you and the market.”
“Absolutely,” Easton says easily, the duke of charm. “I can get you on a raft as soon as the weather warms up a few degrees. Which it’s supposed to do next week. Is that soon enough?”
That bastard. He’s like a shark with chum. Fresh blood in the water and he can’t help himself.
“You can’t wear those shoes on one of my trips,” Clark says. He’s staring at her spike heels and slim, pale ankles, visible below the high hem of her pants.
“I’ll wear whatever I need to wear to be safe,” Lucy reassures him.
I don’t let myself stare at the way her silky top clings to her just-right curves. But that leaves me staring at her wide, soft, glossy mouth. Nothing Lucy wears would be safe.
Clark gives a tight, hard, nod. “There’s a survival trip coming up that’s not fully booked.”
I don’t want Lucy alone with Clark in the woods any more than I want her alone on a raft with Easton. Clark’s not a manwhore like Easton. In fact, I’m not sure what he’s been doing for female companionship since his wife died a year ago, but it definitely isn’t anything like Easton’s sex-o-rama. But Clark is—
Let’s just say I saw how Lucy’s eyes flared when I told her when and where to meet me. I heard and felt her response when I went in for the kiss.
I think Lucy might appreciate Clark’s strong, silent forest warrior routine a little too much, and Clark needs action even worse than I do.
I don’t trust either Easton or Clark not to sell out for the sake of a pretty girl.
This is rapidly starting to feel like it’s getting away from me. All of it.
And then Brody says, “I can get you on my boat ASAP. It’s good timing. The summer bookings are starting to come in, but I don’t have anything this weekend.”
Damn it. Not him, too. Given how much Brody hates being told what to do, I was sure he’d be the last holdout. But maybe doing what Lucy asks doesn’t chap his ass like following my instructions.
“Perfect!” Lucy says, like they’re volunteering their services purely out of the goodness of their hearts and not because she’s smoking hot and a breath of fresh air in a stale meat market.
“I’m going.”
They all turn to look at me. Lots of raised eyebrows.
“If there’s a consultant going on our trips, gathering information, making decisions about the future of the business, I’m going to be there.”
My brothers grumble. I’m pretty sure I hear Easton mutter, “Control freak.” But I’m not going to defend this decision. I promised my father I would take care of this family and this company.
And they don’t fight me on it. They know me well enough to know I won’t back down.