“Aren’t you funny.”
“Oh, I’m a riot.” She flashed him a quick look over her shoulder as she paused to push up her glasses, looking quite pleased with herself. “I’ve got to run. I have a meeting with Stone, and I’m never late.”
“I did not offer to triple your salary.”
“Oh, yes, you most definitely did. You said, and I quote, ‘I’ll triple your salary if you stop talking.’”
Oh, Christ. He had said that. He quickly switched mental gears from figuring out how to get her back into his bed to getting her to forget the raise because Stone was going to kill him. “But you didn’t,” he said, just a little desperately. “You never stopped talking.”
She only smiled, flashing a little dimple on the right side.
Hell of a time to remember that once upon a time, before he’d f**ked up his life, he’d had a serious softness for dimples.
“How would you know if I did?” she asked. “You were snoring.”
And smart-asses. He had a soft spot for smart-asses too. Had he thought her a sweet little thing? Try feisty as hell.
Another personal favorite.
What was happening to him? He’d been having a great time feeling sorry for himself, wallowing. Plus, he’d spent his entire life being wary of people since all they’d ever wanted was a piece of him-past tense-and here he was, already forgetting to put up his guard. “I don’t snore.”
“Oh, yes, you do. Loudly. Like this-” Turning back to face him, she snorted air through her mouth, sounding like an elephant in heat as she backed down the path toward the main lodge.
“You’re making that up. I don’t snore, and you weren’t quiet. There was no way you could have held your tongue.” He pointed at her. “You, Goldilocks, are not a tongue holder.”
She laughed again, and he felt something tug deep in his gut as she sauntered off. And for a long moment he just stood there in the doorway of the icy morning, watching her go. Eventually, the cold got to him.
In no hurry to face his family, he headed back inside the cabin to the shower. As far as delaying tactics went, it felt like a good one. He hadn’t seen his brothers or Annie in close to a year. Hadn’t seen anyone who’d once mattered to him in all that time. But he’d hardly stepped out of the shower before he heard his front door open and Stone call out his name.
Showtime.
Cam opened the bathroom door and faced the music.
Stone stood there with Annie. She’d been only eighteen when she’d taken in an eight-year-old Cam as her own, but she owned the age-old maternal expression on her face, the one that said she didn’t know whether to hug him or kill him. Stone too. The both of them stood there staring at Cam as if they’d seen a ghost.
And to be fair, he certainly must look like one after all these months without a word. They had the same green eyes, which could be warm and laughing, or icy and slicing. Annie, short but mighty, stepped forward, hers definitely doing the latter. “Hey, Annie-”
Which was all he got out before Annie put two hands to his chest and pushed. “Don’t you hey me.”
Ever the middle child, and therefore the peacemaker, Stone pulled her back before she could push him again.
“Let me go. I’m not done with him yet.”
“Yes, you are.” Stone eyed Cam evenly. Eleven months older than Cam, he’d made it his life’s goal to be superior, bossy, and nosy as hell. He took one good long look at Cam and then just let out a breath. “You’re really back.”
“In the flesh.” Far more pummeled by looking into his brother’s face than from his aunt’s shove, Cam just soaked the sight of them in because damn, it was good to see these guys, the only people in his entire life who’d ever accepted him for who he was outside the celebrity.
And just like that, a whole bunch of messy, shitty emotions slapped into him, emotions he hadn’t wanted to face, emotions that gripped his throat like a vise. Still wearing only a towel, he carefully let out a breath. “For better or worse.”
Nothing in Stone’s face gave away his thoughts except his eyes, which seemed suspiciously bright, so maybe, possibly, he was every bit as moved as Cam. As the Wilders were all good at hiding their feelings, it was all but impossible to tell.
“Where’s T.J.?” Cam asked Stone, thinking their older brother would be the easiest to face simply because he’d always been the calm, level-headed one.
“Alaska. Halfway through a six-week ice climb.” Stone kept staring at him. “You might have called once or twice.”
They’d never been a demonstrative family, thanks to their father. Nope, William Wilder, a bronco champion, had had a long ego and a short fuse. At least he had up until his unceremonious death from a hoof to the back of his head from his prized bronco. Before that, he’d treated his youngest son-a bastard thanks to his wife’s inability to resist any ski bum-to pretty much the same treatment whenever he could.
That is, until Annie had taken Cam, even though she’d barely been legal herself. She’d done her best to parent him, though there’d been times when he’d needed more of a parole officer than a parent. For better or worse, they’d raised each other, and though he’d been an adult a good long time now, she still thought of him as hers.
“You could have contacted us,” Stone said. “A text, a fax. Sent a f**king letter…”
“But then I wouldn’t have been able to terrify your new employee in the dead of night. And undoubtedly piss off Annie for the inconvenience of having to ready another cabin.”