“Because I’m starting to,” North said, coming into the room. Her feet were bare, so she’d been silent. If she’d had on her heels, we wouldn’t have missed her approach.

Her brothers weren’t going to welcome me into the family anytime soon. I didn’t give a shit because I was into North, not them. I’d warm her bed and keep her safe, hear her secrets. Carry her burdens. I could do all that when they returned to their lives… elsewhere.

She wore a pair of yoga pants the color of an eggplant and a long-sleeved t-shirt that went below her perfect hips and ass. She was covered from neck to ankle but her soft curves were showcased. I was thankful for the counter to hide my hard on.

“I’m getting through Macon’s deals at the office. I had Julian put the Marshall at the top of the pile and I went through it earlier.” She stared at me with her shrewd blue eyes. She hadn’t found anything damning, either for me or the deal, in what she’d read. No way would she have let me touch her if she had. She’d had a shotgun in her hand for the second time and I wasn’t dead yet.

“And?” West asked.

North went to the warming drawer, which was directly beneath the double ovens. Taking a dishtowel that hung from the handle, she used it to lift the dish of enchiladas and set them on the butcher block.

“Marshall bought two thousand acres up near Provost. Macon’s buying it from him,” she said.

That was the basis of the deal. It was completely true, in two sentences.

“Why? What makes that parcel special?” South asked as North pulled plates from a cabinet. When she raised her arms to grab them, her shirt rode up and I got a good look at her ass in those snug pants. I’d had my hands on it just a little while ago and I was ready to peel them off her. With my teeth.

“Wainright Holdings purchases land seen as potentially vulnerable. We buy it to protect whatever’s there, endangered wildlife or threatened forests. Some we keep, some we donate to be kept wild for future generations.” She spoke as she worked collecting napkins and silverware, not looking at any of her brothers. It sounded like she was giving her brothers a sales pitch.

“That doesn’t sound like Macon,” West scoffed.

“Yeah,” South agreed, grabbing a spatula from a crock by the stove and began scooping enchiladas onto plates, forcing North to move out of the way.

“It sounds like me,” she said.

Her brothers turned to her.

She shrugged. “It’s what I handle at the office. It’s what’s important to me. What was important to Mom.”