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Amusement flickers in his eyes. “Didn’t think a land surveyor would know of a thirteenth-century Japanese philosopher?”

I smile. “How’s the rodeo project coming along?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Is that really what you want to talk about?”

“I have a feeling your knowledge of philosophers might outpace mine.”

Oh God, I’m flirting with him.

A hint of a smile touches his mouth. “The rodeo project is going fine. We’re doing assessment work. It’ll take a few weeks.”

Of course. He’s only passing through. A small, unwelcome flicker of disappointment runs through me. “And after?”

“Depends on where my next contract comes from.”

I nod and take a sip of my Americano.

“You’re a water rights lawyer, from what I understand.”

“From what you understand,” I echo. “You’ve been asking about me.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Small town. Feig talks. I listen.” A beat. “It’s a habit.”

I hold his gaze. “The listening?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Depends on what you do with what you hear.”

He finishes his coffee and sets the cup down.

My fifteen minutes are up—and so, apparently, is whatever time he’s given me. Irrational as it is, a flicker of disappointment I can’t quite justify courses through me. He hasn’t said or done anything to earn it.

“I should go.” I push back my chair.

He stands when I do, which is an old-fashioned thing to do. It charms me more than it should. “I’ll let you get to it.”

I pick up my cup. “The rodeo project…it’ll be good for the town, if it comes together.”

“That’s what people keep telling me.”

“It’s true.” I pause at the door. “Don’t let Feig oversell the timeline. He’s optimistic.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, easy and unguarded. “I noticed that.”

I step out into the cold and walk back to my office. I sit down at my desk and look at Clara Whitman’s file spread out in front of me.

The deposition. The motion. The five things I need to finish before five.

I should get to it.

But I give myself a minute to settle, because as uneventful as that conversation with Mason was, it left something behind—something I don’t entirely mind.

CHAPTER 5

mason

As I drive to Aspen, the roads are clear, the sky is doing something theatrical with the light, and I spend most of it trying not to think about Taya Morningstar, which means I spend most of it doing exactly that.