Page 11

Four

Staff meetings were the most boring things ever. What did Weston care about problems with the housekeeping staff? Blocked-up toilets in the campground washrooms? How the glamping project was coming along?

Grandfather — Weston still had trouble thinking of Walter Sullivan that way — was in Montana for a few days but would be returning to Chicago soon. Sweet River’s atmosphere was more relaxed with the old man gone.

Weston eyed Tate at the head of the table. Maybe not more laidback. Tate seemed to be born to head things up and boss everyone around, even though he’d been his parents’ second-born. How could Wally have had a more take-charge personality? Weston would never know, since the eldest Sullivan cousin and his wife had died before the Klines had reconnected with the family.

“Weston?”

He blinked his attention back to the CEO. Had Tate asked him a question? Weston leaned onto the table. “Would you repeat that, please?”

“Paisley?” Tate gestured to the woman.

Weston’s gut sank. Even worse, he’d managed to block whatever Paisley had said, and it concerned him?

“We have a homeschool group coming week after next, and they’ve requested an overnight trail ride.”

His head was shaking before he’d registered her words.

Paisley’s eyes drilled into his. “It will be Tuesday through Friday. Darrell can handle the regular rides while we’re gone.”

Four days? That was worse than overnight. Alarm bells clanged as his skin grew clammy. “What?”

“Excellent thinking, Paisley,” Tate stated. “Right, Weston? You have a lot of experience in back-country camping. There’s no one better than you to lead a group like this.”

“I…” He glanced from Tate to Paisley and back to Tate. How could he get out of it? But maybe Paisley wasn’t planning on going. Maybe she was just setting him up.

Which was worse? Because a mixed group required more than one leader, and that meant at least one male and one female. She wouldn’t send another woman and stay back herself. Not after she’d challenged him last week and basically announced she’d catch him, one way or the other.

And now she was baiting her trap, dragging Tate into implementing it, and drawing the net so there’d be no escape.

“I can send food you’ll just need to reheat or assemble,” Mom said from across the table.

He hadn’t even gotten as far as logistics yet. All his turmoil had been about Paisley.

“How many kids are we talking?” Trust Graham to look for numbers.

Paisley consulted her notes. As though she needed to. Doubtless she had everything in them memorized. “The final count isn’t in. Eight so far, and I’ve capped it at twice that. Four adults can handle whatever comes up.”

Four adults? She meant herself, Weston, and who else? He raised his eyebrows in query.

She lifted her chin slightly and stared back. “The homeschool group will send two chaperones as well. They are still deciding which of them will volunteer and who will stay here at base camp with the rest of the kids.”

“Ages?” Mom asked.

“Nine to twelve.”

If these twerps were anything like he and Jude had been as tweens, this was going to be a very interesting few days. Wait. That was like admitting he was going along with Paisley’s scheme. Did he have a choice? “I vote Darrell goes instead of me. I’m needed at the stable.”

Tate shook his head. “I think it has to be you, cuz. Darrell’s great with the horses, but he doesn’t have the back-country experience you do.”

Why did he even bother arguing? This had all been decided before they’d broached the subject with him. “Whatever,” he muttered.

“So, you agree?” Tate skewered him with a look.

“I guess so.” Yeah, Weston sounded like a whiny kid just like the ones they’d be shepherding, but he couldn’t be bothered trying to sound polite about being manipulated. This was all on Paisley. It seemed she’d do anything at all to pin him down.

Maybe he should let her catch him. It wouldn’t take long for her to realize she’d made a mistake. Right now, all she could see was the glory of the chase, but when she knew the real Weston, she’d back off and find some other dude.