Outside the window, I heard the rustle of leaves, the soft ripple of wind. No traffic, no horns, no jackhammers. Trey fetched his jacket, but instead of putting it on, he draped it over his arm.
“Suit not to your liking?” I said.
Trey frowned in distaste. “The sleeves are cut too high. And it doesn’t hang properly.”
I laughed. “You’ve gotten spoiled, boyfriend.”
“I have not. I’ve simply developed certain…preferences.”
“Which is the very definition of spoiled.”
He didn’t argue. Our hour was up. Time to send him back to his room at the station and hunker down in my own. Trey didn’t move to leave, though. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me in the dark.
I got to my knees and kissed him lightly. “Are you sure you have to—”
“Did you hear that?”
I listened. And then I heard it too. Definitely footsteps, definitely on my patio. Trey stood in one fluid motion, his hand dipping toward the holster that was not there as he moved toward the patio door. I scrambled for the drawer, letting the sheet fall away as I pulled out my gun.
Trey assessed the situation, then toed the door open. A loud bray echoed through the room, and he jumped back so quickly he smashed his elbow into the wall.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “What is…why is…that?”
The donkey nosed its way into the room and shook its shaggy head, sending dust motes and hay everywhere.
Chapter Forty-five
“That,” I said, “is a donkey.”
Trey gaped at it. “What is it doing here?”
“I have no clue.”
I wrestled the tee shirt on, tried to remember where I’d left my jeans. The donkey sneezed. It was delicate and well-groomed, like something from a manger scene, with heavily lashed eyes, pert ears, and a slightly dazed manner. It bumped its forehead against the bedpost, and I reached over and scratched between its ears.
Trey had moved as far away from the animal as he could. “What do we do with it?”
“We get somebody to put it back. And before you ask, no, donkey wrangling is not my thing.”
Trey absorbed this information. He still wasn’t budging. The donkey got bored with me and shook my hand free. Then it ambled off toward the patio.
I spotted my jeans at the foot of the bed and wriggled into them. “Come on.”
Trey still hadn’t found his shoes, but he reluctantly followed me onto the patio. We watched as the donkey trotted toward a patch of sunflowers. Trey started to say something, but I held my finger over my lips. Listen. He cocked his head, caught what I had—other animal sounds in the night. Two goats also munched on the sunflowers. In the distance, I heard disgruntled chicken noises, flapping and clucking.
I stared. “What in the—”
A scream startled me, and I whirled around. Portia stood swaying at the edge of the clearing, her entire body wrapped around one of the more muscle-bound tech crew.
She pointed past me. “Was that a cow?”
“A donkey. What are you doing out here?”
She tucked the bottle of liquor behind her back. There were grass stains on her knees and her blouse was buttoned haphazardly.
“Nothing,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”
“Trying to figure out why there’s a donkey on the loose.”
“Oh.” She switched her examination to Trey. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”
Trey started to say something, couldn’t find anything, so he shut his mouth. He folded his arms and turned to me. I sighed and stepped forward.
“Why aren’t you in your room?”
Portia shrugged. “I got lost. This guy found me.” She laughed and leaned against him, her hand flat against his chest. “I take back everything I said about the South. You grow big, good men here.”
The guy had the sense to be embarrassed and worried. Trey had one eye on the two of them and one eye on the periphery. I couldn’t tell if he was most concerned about Quint, random bad guys, or more livestock erupting onto the scene.
“Did you see anyone or anything unusual while you were out?” I said.
Portia collected herself. “Like what?”
“Like perhaps somebody skulking around the barn?”
“We weren’t anywhere near the barn. We were coming back from the lake.” She smiled up at the guy. “Right?”
He nodded obediently. “Right.”
Other cottage lights started flickering on, doors opening, curious heads peeking out. The goats and the donkey made contented munching sounds.
Trey finally composed himself. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Ray. Now if you’ll please go back to your quarters until we—”
“No.”
Trey looked perplexed. “No?”
“No. As in you don’t get to tell me what to do. None of you do.” She threw her head back and raised her voice. “You hear me, Quint Talbot! I am through pretending our marriage is worth saving! I don’t care what the investors think!”
She wobbled as she spoke, and her paramour of the moment caught her arm to steady her. Trey dropped his shoulders, hands loose and open. His expression was calm. I got a little shiver. Uh oh.
“Ms. Ray,” he said. “I need you to return to your cabin. If you do not want to return to your cabin for whatever reason…” He sent a sharp look at the tech. “Then I need you to return to any cabin, and stay there. Do you understand?”
“I—”
“Do you understand?”
His voice echoed against the edge of the forest. Command presence. Working, once again, like a charm. Portia stopped talking. She kept one hand on the liquor bottle, her other arm wrapped around the guy. He seemed to be the only thing keeping her up. Trey pointed toward the cabins, and she sauntered in
