Page 3 of Sinful Sharing

The kitchen door creaks, stealing my attention. Jude steps inside, a tool belt hanging low on his hips and a cordless drill dangling from one hand.

“Got him settled in,” he announces.

I grunt, going back to stirring.

“I could give him a tour later tonight.”

Another grunt. I’m only surprised he took so long to offer.

Jude comes up beside me, sticking his face in my pan. I brush him aside. He reaches for a fork and swipes a chunk of my onions. I shoot him a glare and he chuckles while swallowing. “If you need me, I’ll be at cabin five. I’m going to finish the roof before we lose daylight.”

“Mm.”

“You planning on using actual words today?”

“I just did.”

He snorts. “Put my dinner in the warmer.”

“Don’t fall through the damn roof,” I warn him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or the second. The damn daredevil seems to be made of steel.

“No promises.” With a grin, he goes out the back. I let out a slow breath as the screen door slaps shut behind him.

This morning, I woke up in a pretty decent mood—well, decent by my standards. My brief encounter with Taylor shot my positive mood to hell. The kid reminds me too much of Lucas. Self-absorbed. Entitled. The kind of man who thinks the world exists to serve him. And maybe I’m being unfair, but first impressions are hard to shake, especially when he wears the face of the man who ruined my life.

Twenty-four years.

That’s how long it’s been since Lucas and I spoke. Twenty-four years since my stepbrother sat in my office upstairs and lied right to my face. It took one decision. One betrayal. He walked away richer while I spent the next two decades trying to rebuild what he’d destroyed.

Silver Sage Retreat never fully recovered. Hell, neither did I.

And I’m still surprised that his wife called me last week. The woman hadn’t spoken to me in over two decades, yet somehow she found my number. She’d asked if their son could stay here. My first answer had been no.

Then she’d told me about Lucas.

The fact that my stepbrother is sitting in prison for embezzlement doesn’t surprise me one bit. People like Lucas always believe they’re too smart to get caught. Eventually, they do. I must admit, the news tugged on my heartstrings a little, not because of Lucas, but because of what Natasha went through. I couldn’t imagine raising a kid by myself, and she did it on her own for ten years.

Was that enough to persuade me to get involved? No.

But then she’d offered money. A shitload of it.

Enough to renovate the ranch, replace aging equipment, and keep Silver Sage breathing for another two years. All I had to do was keep an eye on Taylor for three months, and the money would be mine. The offer sounded simple and easy. Yet, I hate myself a little for accepting.

The onions are beginning to brown. I add a splash of beef broth, then turn the fire down. I wipe my hands on a nearby towel. Reaching for my phone lying beside the coffeemaker, I dial Natasha’s number. I’ve already made three attempts to reach out since Taylor arrived, and her silence makes me uneasy. The phone rings until voicemail picks up. I try again. As I’m about to hang up, the line opens.

“Roman?”

Her voice comes through the chaotic sounds of ringing phones and people talking over each other. “Hold on,” she says, and I grab some veggies from the fridge while I wait for her to find somewhere quiet.

A door soon shuts, and she expels a heavy breath. “Sorry about that.”

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” I remark.

“Oh, God. You have no idea,” she huffs.

“I probably don’t.” I’m swamped with work from sunup to sundown, but I can’t imagine handling everything on her plate. Balancing her career as a district attorney while running for Congress can’t be easy. I don’t envy her.

It’s still strange hearing her voice again. She sounds nothing like the perky woman who stood beside Lucas at their wedding. Her tone is flat and stripped of energy. “I wanted to let you know that Taylor arrived,” I say.