Page 12 of Auctioned to the Devil

“Caleb.”

That stops me. I look over my shoulder. She’s standing beside the lodge with her hands tucked into her jacket pockets.

“How do you know so much about this place?”

“I knew Frank.”

Her face softens immediately. “My grandfather?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew him well?”

“Well enough.”

She waits for more.

She’s not getting it.

“What did he say about me?”

“He talked about you often.”

Her smile appears before she can hide it and something in my chest pulls tight.

“He loved this mountain,” she says.

“He did.”

“I want to keep what he built.”

“Then keep it.”

“Richard Sloan seems pretty determined to make sure I don’t.”

That gets my attention. “What does Sloan want?”

“The property. He’s made three offers already.”

“How’d he know you inherited it?”

“I assume property records.”

“Maybe.”

She studies me. “You don’t like him.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Why?”

I look toward the tree line.

There’s an old access road beyond it. Sloan’s been buying parcels along the eastern ridge for months, paying too much for land that shouldn’t be worth half what he’s offering.

“Don’t sign anything.”

She laughs softly. “There you go ordering me around again.”