Page 11 of Auctioned to the Devil

“I have pepper spray.”

“For people?”

“Yes.”

I rub my jaw.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t a nothing face.”

“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing out here.”

Her expression hardens. “I spent every summer here until I was eighteen.”

“That was twelve years ago.”

“You’ve been asking around about me?”

“No.”

She folds her arms.

I don’t bother explaining that Sally can deliver an entire biography before a man finishes his first cup of coffee.

Emily looks toward the lodge again. “I know this place needs work.”

“It needs more than work.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask for your assessment.”

“You planning to stay here?”

“Eventually.”

“No.”

She turns slowly. “No?”

“Not until somebody fixes the foundation, checks the chimney, replaces the porch supports, and looks at the wiring.”

“Anything else, Dad?”

My jaw locks. Something about the word hits an old place I don’t let people near.

She sees the change and her expression shifts.

Then I turn away. “Your life.”

“Exactly.”

I start toward the trail.

“Wait.”

I keep walking.