Chapter Thirteen

“Operation B.D. is a go.” Wes pushed back from his desk and waggled his phone at Shane with Colt’s text displayed on the screen. “Time to decorate.”

Shane chuckled at the covert name Colt had given the plan, Operation B.D., aka barn decorating, so his soon-to-be fiancé wouldn’t catch on and spoil the surprise.

Tonight was the night. While Mason would be busy with the fundraiser, Wes and Shane would have time to get the barn ready without worry of him catching them or seeing it before Colt brought him there.

Shane put his borrowed guitar down and rose from the sofa. He rubbed his hands together. He’d been looking forward to this since the moment Colt had asked for help. Something warm and light rose in Wes’s chest at the thought of how enthusiastic and involved Shane was in the happiness of his brother and, after tonight, brother-in-law. Shane fit on the ranch with his family in a way Wes could never have predicted. And that was a dangerous place to let his mind wander to.

“We’re going to make it so magical.” Shane met Wes in the middle of the office, his beaming smile genuine and infectious, and somehow the light in the room grew brighter.

Wes hooked a finger in the waistband of Shane’s jeans and tugged him closer for a kiss. Quick and familiar, and somehow as intimate as the kisses they shared when tangled up in the sheets in the throes of passion. A wave of delight coursed through him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Shane said when he pulled back. “But what was that for?”

Wes shrugged, his cheeks heating. “Just felt like it.”

He felt like it a lot. All-the-time-every-damn-day a lot. He should worry about how attached he was becoming to Shane, but Shane was like a ball of string. As soon as Wes started to unravel him, he couldn’t stop.

Wes knew that this thing between them had an expiration date. He knew it in his mind, but his heart didn’t care. He also knew he was going to be in a world of hurt when this job was over, and Shane went back to his life—a life that had no room for a cowboy who preferred the company of his horses and dogs to people. So, he pushed the thoughts away, tucked them into his mental lockbox for consideration another day, and grinned at the sometimes obnoxious but always enchanting rock star who had lodged himself snuggly behind Wes’s breastbone.

Wes stepped back, needing to put a little space between them as much as wanted to lean in closer. Otherwise, they’d never get the barn decorated.

“Come on.” He clasped Shane’s hand in his. “Let’s help make this the best proposal ever.”

An hour later Wes stood back, shoulder to shoulder with Shane, admiring their work. They’d hung warm white string lights from the rafter beams, so they zigzagged above the laneway in big lazy swoops. They’d plucked the petals from seven dozen red and white roses that Shane had insisted they buy and scattered them all over the floor. At first, Wes had been horrified by the de-petaling of the pricy flowers, but he couldn’t deny the perfection of the finished effect. Flameless candles in glass mason jars sat in front of each stall door, adding to the romantic ambiance.

“We did good,” Wes said, imagining the look on Mason’s face when Colt led him in here later. Too bad he and Shane wouldn’t get to see it.

“ Pfft .” Shane turned his head toward him and grinned. Candlelight flickered in the hazel depths of his eyes. “Like there was ever any question.”

The moment stretched. An image of himself on bended knee before Shane flashed in his mind unbidden. Heat rose on the back of Wes’s neck. He cleared his throat and looked away. That was nothing more than fantasy .

“We should have gotten doves,” Shane said, his voice sounded gruff and scratchy, and a little thrill danced inside Wes that Shane had been just as affected.

Wes chuffed—something between a cough and a laugh. “Not a chance.” He checked his watch. They needed to get going. “Did you set up the music?”

Shane nodded and held his hand out, palm up. “Give me your phone.”

Wes furrowed his eyebrows. “No internet.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “To test the Bluetooth. You confiscated my phone, remember?”

“I didn’t confiscate it.” Wes bristled. Not really. He’d turned it off and stashed it in his office drawer to prevent Shane from going online or checking his email. Wes had disabled the location services first, and scanned for any spy or malware that could track him. “It’s for your safety that you don’t even turn it on.”

“Uh-huh.” Shane made a gimmie motion with his fingers. “Phone.”

Wes sighed, but pulled his cell from his pocket, and unlocked it before handing it over. The wicked glint sparking in his eyes went right to Wes’s gut.

“Thank you,” Shane said sweetly as he tapped a few keys.

Soft strains of an acoustic guitar filled the barn, followed by a soulful high-tenor voice singing about forever not being enough.

“Who’s this?”

“Train,” Shane replied without looking up. “Marry Me.”

Yes .

Wes frowned but his heartbeat remained steady in his chest. Why didn’t that knee-jerk thought freak him out?

He took advantage of Shane’s distraction with the phone to admire him—the fall of his dark hair that felt like silk sliding through Wes’s fingers. The full, peach-pink lips that kissed him with a reverence that made Wes’s toes curl. That lean, firm body that molded to his like Shane had been made only for him. He closed his eyes and bit back a groan.

So very much trouble .

“We better get going before Mason wonders where we are. ”

“I’m sure he’ll be too busy to notice if we’re there or not,” Shane countered, fortunately not picking up on the rough edge in Wes’s voice.

Wes snorted. “Believe me. Mason would notice.” He bent to gather up an armful of decoration packaging they’d piled up near the doors. “Let’s get all this into the truck.”

The cool blast of fall air hitting his heated skin when he stepped outside was exactly what he needed just then, as effective as a cold shower. Casual fooling around with Shane was one thing, but imagining a future with the man was a whole other herd of horses he’d never corral.

He leaned against the box of his truck for a few minutes to collect himself. He couldn’t let his fantasies run away with him. That way only lay heartbreak.

Shane was still enthralled with Wes’s phone when he walked back into the barn.

“You better not be online,” he barked, his voice harder than he’d intended.

Shane didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge Wes had spoken to him, his attention fully engrossed on the device in his hand.

Wes couldn’t see Shane’s expression behind the curtain of his long bangs, but he could clearly see the tension in his body. Could feel the waves of anger rolling off him.

A chill scraped down his spine.

Shane looked up. His eyes blazing as he turned the phone for Wes to see. A text notification banner splashed across the face of the phone. Even though Wes couldn’t read the message from the few feet between them, he knew who’d sent it. He just prayed it didn’t say the worst.

“What the fuck is this?!”

Shane threw the phone at him. It bounced off Wes’s chest and fell to the ground before Shane spun on his biker-booted heels and stormed out of the barn.

Wes’s shoulders slumped as he looked at his phone, face down in a cushion of silky red and white rose petals.

“ Fuck .”

The barn door banged against the wooden siding hard enough to shake the foundation, but Shane didn’t give a shit. His insides felt like they were boiling, pumping lava-hot blood through his veins, and any second, the top of his head would blow off from the pressure.

He stopped beside Wes’s truck, not sure which direction to go. Chest heaving as he inhaled fear and exhaled fury. His ears ringing as though he’d just played a full show without earplugs.

He hadn’t meant to read the text that had popped up on Wes’s phone, but the damn thing had been in his hand. How could he not? The preview banner was right there on the display screen.

The message was from Isaac, which meant it involved Shane. So, of course, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Surely, Wes would understand.

Except as he’d read the preview, the words hadn’t made sense. He saw them. Knew what each one was. But putting them together in a single short sentence had been like trying to decipher hieroglyphics. When the jumbled words finally settled into place, he’d stood there frozen. Still unable to make the connection.

Sonia checks out. She didn’t send that last threat , Isaac had texted. Still trying to track down Doug —the preview cut off there. Shane couldn’t bring himself to open the full message.

What threat? And what the hell made them think that Sonia or Doug could be his stalker in the first place?

“Oh my god,” he breathed.

Could he have been working with someone who was that unhinged all these years? Who was a murderer ?

He patted his pockets until he felt a familiar thin, rectangular package in his back jeans pocket. He ripped the wrapping off and shoved the stick of gum into his mouth. Why hadn’t Wes told him? It wasn’t like Shane was made of glass and couldn’t handle the truth.

But you told him not to unless necessary. And don’t forget the stress chewing gum thing .

He froze mid-chew.

Shut up , he barked at the internal voice. His gum addiction was just a tool to help him focus and prepare for shows. He didn’t need it to keep from panicking, though if he was being honest with himself, the chewing action helped. But still. He could stop any time he wanted .

Right , the mental voice dared him. Stop now then , the mocking tone sounded vaguely like Hugh, the cowboy he’d crushed on as a kid who had changed the course of his life.

Shane spit the gum back into its wrapping and shoved it into his pocket with more force than necessary. Like he had a point to prove. He clenched his jaw, molars grinding as his breathing picked up speed. He had this. Nothing to worry about.

He jumped when the barn door creaked open behind him and Wes stepped out, his footfalls soft and hesitant. Shane held his breath as Wes stopped beside him. A weird thing happened when Wes’s powerful shape filled Shane’s peripheral vision: his pulse steadied. Shane released a deep breath and with it, his worry lessened. Even though he was pissed at Wes, and afraid of what had prompted him to suspect Sonia and Doug, just Wes’s mere presence had a way of easing him. How had he not noticed that before?

Now that the edges of his anger had softened, the rest of the world reached his senses. Music drifted on the cool breeze from the fundraiser, already in full force. The din of the crowd played in harmony with the band. Laughter rose and fell. A horse whinnied in the distance.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He cringed at the tremor in his voice. He was stronger than that, for fuck’s sake.

He didn’t turn to look at Wes, but from the corner of his eye, saw him lower his head.

“I’m sorry,” Wes said, his tone contrite. “I needed to be certain before I told you. The email your stalker sent this morning . . . I tracked the IP to an area that corresponded with Sonia and Doug’s home addresses.”

Shane jerked, spinning to face Wes as a wave of fear speared through him. “What?”

Wes tossed the handful of packaging he’d brought outside with him into the back of the truck and raised his hands. “That right there is why I didn’t tell you yet. There was no point in worrying you if there turned out to be nothing to worry about.”

Shane understood, but it still irked that Wes hadn’t shared what was happening. “Now that there’s not, were you planning to tell me? ”

“Isaac hasn’t cleared Doug yet,” Wes said, his gaze sliding away.

“No, then,” Shane surmised.

“I might have. I don’t know, but what would be the point now? It’s moot.”

“The point ,” Shane bit out, blood running hot again, “is that this is my life. I have a right to know if I’m in danger.”

“Yes, you do. But you’re not in danger here,” Wes argued, his deep rumbling voice remaining even. “That’s why you have me. That’s why I brought you to the ranch.”

Wes had a point there. But it still rankled. Shane crossed his arms and widened his stance.

“What did that last email say?” he demanded.

“I told you the stalker isn’t happy that they don’t know where you are,” Wes countered, his tone unyielding. “It was who sent the email that I was protecting you from. What would you have done if I’d told you we suspected Sonia? Or Doug?”

“Nothing,” Shane snapped. Wes’s mouth flattened and Shane flapped his arms. Wes was right. “Okay, fine. I’d have lost it.”

“And the point of that would be . . .?” Wes nudged.

“I’d know,” Shane argued, because he needed to argue.

The narrow-eyed gaze Wes leveled on Shane was so intense that he had to fight not to fidget. The chime of an incoming text pierced the air like a siren, putting an end to their standoff. Wes snatched his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and frowned at the screen.

“We have to get to the fundraiser.” His fingers flew over the screen before he pocketed the device. “Mason is looking for us.”

Wes took three long and determined strides before glaring over his shoulder at Shane.

“Let’s go.”

Shane narrowed his eyes and growled. “I’m only doing this for Mason. Because I like him .”

He was being childish, but whatever.

Wes shook his head and started walking again. Shane followed him but refused to walk beside him. They rounded the back of the dining hall and stepped into a whole other world.

Tables and patio chairs surrounded a homemade dance floor on three sides, capped at the far end by a flatbed trailer outfitted to create a stage—a stage Shane had helped build. Soft white string lights hung over the area, secured to tall poles that had been erected on either side of the seating areas. Their bulbs bounced merrily on the breeze, flickering above the crowd of supporters who chatted over flutes of champagne and bottles of beer. To ward off the early fall chill were half a dozen heat lamps, glowing deep red. If Shane didn’t know any better, he’d think the setup was for a wedding reception rather than a fundraiser.

Beyond the tables and stage was a large, white event tent with two side walls. Inside the tent were fundraiser auction items for the ranch, along with information about the plight of the American mustang that Shane hadn’t known before coming to the ranch. Appalled by the mistreatment and abuse of a federally protected icon, he’d made a mental note to discuss what he could do with his accountant when he got back to his regular life.

A weird tightness gripped his chest at that thought. He’d only been on the ranch for a week, but somehow it already felt as though this was his regular life.

He ran a hand through his hair as he eyed the local husband-and-wife musical duo on stage, who were singing a country music cover that Shane recognized but couldn’t name, and a tendril of envy snaked through him. The flatbed was a far cry from the stages Shane was accustomed to, but he’d never cared how small or big a stage was as long as he was on it. Longing tugged in his gut.

He’d wanted to perform too, but Wes had vehemently opposed that idea. It was enough that he would be there in a crowd where anyone could recognize him. Even if they didn’t, someone could share a video on social media and unwittingly reveal Shane’s location to the world. Shane had agreed, but he hadn’t been happy about it. Still wasn’t. He missed the stage. Missed the thrill of performing and the energy his fans fed him.

“I’ll just let Colt know the barn is ready,” Wes said as he scanned the attendees with a furrow in his brow and a downward tip to his mouth. His steely stare landed on Shane. “Stay here.”

Shane saluted him with a snarl.

Wes studied him for a few seconds before something flashed through his eyes that Shane couldn’t name. But the feeling of guilt that the look evoked, as though he’d disappointed Wes, didn’t settle well with him.

With a sigh, Wes turned to look for his older brother. Shane walked over to the open bar, sorely tempted to order something strong that would take a bite out of his mood, but thankfully, the bar had non-alcoholic options. He ordered a glass of ginger ale. On ice.

With a tip of his head, he took his drink and found an open table where he could covertly watch Wes. Wes stopped at the bar on the other side and grabbed a beer before weaving his way toward Colt. After chatting for a minute, Wes frowned at something Colt said before Colt scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on Shane. Shane scowled.

Shane watched as Mason approached, sidling up to Colt, who had eyes only for him. Another ping of longing gripped Shane. What would it be like to have someone look at him like that? To have Wes look at him like Shane meant the world to him? He knew Wes wanted him. That much was clear in the way his pupils flared when he pulled Shane’s clothes off at the end of the night. In the way he kissed Shane and worshipped his body, making him writhe and scream for more. But that was slaking a need—lust. Shane wanted more—

Oh no .

He was doing it again. Falling for a cowboy who was going to kick him to the curb.

Mason said something, and Wes’s frown deepened. Now he looked pissed. He shook his head and stalked away. When he made his way back to the table, Shane stood and said, “I’m leaving.”

He didn’t want to stay there, sitting at a table with Wes, wanting all the things he couldn’t have, wanting a life that wasn’t his. That and he was still annoyed about Wes and Isaac suspecting Sonia and Doug, even though he knew why.

“Where the hell are you going?” Wes demanded.

“Home.” Shane couldn’t have said, in that moment, if he’d meant Wes’s house—which was a whole other thing he’d not think about later—or his condo in Malibu. He turned and started walking.

“You’re walking a mile in the dark by yourself?” There was an annoying undertone of amusement in Wes’s voice .

Shane looked toward the direction of the house but couldn’t see anything beyond the lights of the fundraiser.

Full dark cloaked the land. Like shadowless monsters lurking in every corner kind of full dark. He didn’t even have his cell phone to use the flashlight app. Not only wouldn’t he be able to see his own two feet in front of him, but the miles of untamed wilderness that encompassed the ranch teemed with wildlife. Some of that wildlife was dangerous. His mind conjured up bears and wolves and mountain lions, ripping him to shreds. Wouldn’t that be a headline for the tabloids: Famous Rock Star Dies Violently by Wolf Pack .

He huffed. “Fine. Can we go?”

Fortunately, Wes didn’t argue. He gestured toward the courtyard, where his truck was parked. Shane flattened his mouth and glared at Wes as he passed him, but Wes met his gaze unaffected, which only ticked Shane off more.

The drive back was deafeningly silent, the atmosphere thick with tension, and Shane couldn’t get out of the truck fast enough. He opened the door before Wes had come to a complete stop. His boots crunched on the loose rock loud enough to echo as he stormed across the yard and into the house. He paced in the entry, waiting for Wes to come inside, wanting to fight, to rail against Wes more for not telling him about his stalker suspects.

He did that for your own good, and you know it . At your own request .

Trouble was, he knew that. He just didn’t want to admit Wes was right. He’d have been a ball of stress for who knew how long. And for what? Nothing. Just like Wes had said, because he was right. But Shane didn’t know what to do with the conflicting energy roiling through his body. He didn’t want to be on the ranch anymore, but he didn’t want to leave either. He loved having sex with Wes, but he wanted more with him—wanted a life with him. And that was the biggest kicker. He didn’t want to want Wes that much. Nothing more would come of them— could come of them. Not when their lives were so different.

And where the hell was Wes?

He looked through the glazed glass door and saw Wes’s feet stretched out in front of him, his long legs crossed at the ankles, as he sat in a chair on the veranda. The corner of the front entrance hid the rest of his body.

Is he seriously just chillin’ out on the front deck ?

Fine. Whatever.

Shane stormed deeper into the house, into Wes’s office, and began rifling through his desk drawers. A spear of guilt cut through his mind at digging through Wes’s personal space, but his phone was in there somewhere. Wes would be mad, but he could just get the hell over it.

Relief at the sight of his phone pushed everything else away. Including his common sense. He shouldn’t turn it on. He knew he shouldn’t turn it on. But the part of his brain that kept him from doing unwise things disconnected.

He powered up the device—just to see what was happening with the band. That was all. He’d call Daryl, who had a knack for always making Shane laugh. Surely, that would be okay. Thankfully, there was twenty-nine percent battery life left. His phone pinged immediately with missed texts and emails and phone calls, and he quickly silenced it so Wes wouldn’t come storming in. He stood still, holding his breath, ears straining for boots stomping into the house. The only sound was the steady tick of the massive clock that hung on the wall above Wes’s desk.

Shane’s shoulders lowered as he exhaled. He flipped the phone over in his hands a few times as he stared at the big clock, the seconds-hand mesmerizing.

“Shane! I’m so glad you called!”

Shane jerked, fumbling with his phone. Shit . He’d managed to “butt dial” Jonas, whose voice rang loud and clear from the device.

“Jonas. Hey.” A sense of relief he hadn’t expected at hearing a familiar voice settled into him. His earlier annoyance with Wes forgotten, he lowered himself to the faux leather chair.

“Are you back?”

“No, I’m still with Wes.”

“So, I take it they haven’t found your stalker yet,” Jonas said it as a statement rather than a question, but it was obvious. Shane was still off the grid.

“No, but if you can believe it, they thought it was either Sonia or Doug. Well, it might still be Doug. ”

“Doug or . . . Sonia ?” There was a long pause. “ Your Sonia? How is that even possible?”

“Right?” Shane chuckled half-heartedly. “Can you imagine?”

“Not even,” Jonas agreed. “But they cleared her, of course.”

“Like there was any question.” But there had been. And even though Wes and Isaac cleared her, a tickle of distrust danced under the surface of Shane’s skin. Was there someone else in his employ, someone close to him, who could be his stalker? Could it be Doug? Or Jonas, even?

He scoffed at the thought. No. Jonas was too in love with Jared to jeopardize his marriage. Too polished and poised to get dirty by killing Alex. Too busy with the band to have the time. No. No way Jonas could be his stalker.

“Keep me posted about Doug,” Jonas said.

“I will.”

“Listen,” Jonas said, his voice shifting into manager mode. “Massett shut down his firm, effective immediately. A family matter.”

“Massett?” Shane ran a mental list of his contacts and came up blank.

“Your entertainment lawyer? Edgar Massett?”

“Oh, right.” Shane had only met Edgar once, when he’d retained Massett & Co., but he couldn’t for the life of him picture what Edgar looked like. “So, you’re looking for a new lawyer for us?”

“Looked and found,” Jonas said. “The problem is that I need a wet signature from you to officially hire the new firm. As soon as possible because we have some endorsement contracts that need to be reviewed. I need you in Los Angeles this week.”

“What? No!” The words were out before Shane realized he’d even opened his mouth. Deep in his gut he wasn’t ready to leave yet. Didn’t want to lose his new-found feeling of belonging so soon. “I mean, I need to lie low. Because, you know. Killer stalker. Can’t it wait until I’m back next week?”

“Not unless you want to let these endorsements go, which I wouldn’t recommend,” Jonas said, the regret in his voice clear. “They’re time sensitive, and thanks to Massett dropping the ball, we’re coming up on the deadline. But if you can’t come to me, I can come to you. I can be on a plane to wherever tomorrow. ”

Shane didn’t like the idea of Jonas coming to the ranch, but he liked the idea of leaving less.

“Uhm. Okay . . .” He bit his lip and glanced toward the door, listening for any movement in the house. Wes was still outside. “I’ll have to ask Wes first.”

“Sure, sure. I get it,” Jonas said. “I need to know right away.”

“I’ll talk to him after we hang up and call you back.”

“Good. Now that business is out of the way, what have you been doing wherever you are?” Jonas queried, his tone once again light. “Are you behaving yourself around Wes? Is he taking good care of you?”

Oh yes, he’s taking incredible care of me . Shane grinned at that. Jonas would lose it if he told his manager that Wes was seeing to all his needs, and that he was spectacular at it.

“Yes,” he said instead. “I’ve been writing new material, too, and I think it might be some of my best work yet. By the time I leave here, I’ll probably have an entire album’s worth of songs and ideas.”

“Really?” Jonas’s voice perked up a notch and Shane could just imagine him rubbing his manicured hands together. “Sounds like a little time away from everything has helped inspire your muse.”

It was so much more than being away from his rock star life. He didn’t know what it was, or maybe he did. The reason was all around him twenty-four-seven. Inspiration was in the quiet, hopeful glow of the rising sun, bringing in a new day. In the snorts and whinnies and thundering hooves of majestic, ethereal wild mustangs. The courage and fight for a better life in a beaten down horse. The burble of the Laramie River and the wind song of quaking aspens. The warmth of cool gray-blue eyes that regarded him with desire and want. In the way Wes played his body like a—

He shifted in the chair and cleared his throat.

“I think it’s something about the air here,” he began, hoping Jonas didn’t pick up on the gruff in his voice, “that has my creativity supercharged in a way it hasn’t been for a long time.”

“I’m so glad it’s working in your favor,” Jonas said. “I can’t wait to hear the new music.”

“You will soon,” Shane said. “So, how’s the rest of the band? Everyone okay? ”

“You will not believe this,” Jonas said in a conspiratorial tone. “River is seeing someone.”

“No!” Shane leaned back in Wes’s chair. Damn thing was comfortable. “Tell me everything.”

They spent a few more minutes catching up, Jonas spilling the tea on River and their new beau, and Daryl’s latest partying escapades that made the tabloids—and how said tabloids were speculating on where Shane Castle was. Rehab was one theory, which never ceased to annoy Shane. He’d been sober for years, but they never forgot that one time way back in his early career where he’d made a fool of himself, smashed out of his mind, at an award show after-party.

Shane disconnected after promising Jonas he’d talk to Wes tonight and powered down his phone without checking any of the messages or calls.

“Shit,” he muttered as he looked at the opened drawers of Wes’s desk. He’d made a mess of them in the hunt for his phone. He straightened everything up, hopefully back to its original state, or at least close enough that Wes wouldn’t notice.

Satisfied he wasn’t about to be busted for breaking and entering—though he was going to have to fess up about talking to Jonas—he headed for the front door. He took a breath to collect himself before stepping out onto the veranda. He leaned against the railing, looking out into the vast darkness for a few minutes. Wes didn’t say anything, no doubt waiting for Shane to break the ice between them. Ten minutes ago, he’d have said Wes was the one who needed to breach the divide and make amends, but Wes was rightly going to be pissed at him after Shane told him about Jonas.

“I still can’t get used to how dark it is at night out here,” Shane finally started with, since Wes had more patience than a Buddhist monk.

“Yeah,” Wes said, his voice quiet in the low light. “That’s what happens without all those city lights.”

Shane snorted and turned to face Wes. “So . . .”

Wes looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I might have spoken to Jonas.” Shane ran a hand behind his neck and squeezed .

Wes narrowed his eyes. His voice measured when he asked, “Might have or did?”

“Uh . . . Did?” Shane hedged. He held his hands up. “But it was an accident.”

Shane rushed through recounting his conversation with Jonas as Wes’s frown deepened with each word. When Shane finished, Wes dragged his hands down his face and groaned. The growly sound thick with frustration.

“What part of ‘no one can know where you are’ did you miss?”

“It’s just Jonas,” Shane argued. “It’s not like he can do anything here with you and all your brothers. And if he was my stalker, announcing his arrival would be a pretty ballsy move.”

Wes glared at him for so long and so intently that Shane had to shove his hands into his jeans pockets to avoid fidgeting.

“Jonas only ,” Wes emphasized, pausing until Shane nodded before continuing. “No one can know he’s coming here. Not even Jared. He books his flight himself. No one books it for him. He flies commercial to Denver, then private charter from there.”

“Thank you,” Shane said, relaxing a little now that Wes had agreed. “I’ll make sure he sticks to the plan.”

“For the record, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Wes shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “There will be rules he’ll have to follow.”

Shane nodded, realizing he’d learned something new about himself: he didn’t like making Wes angry. He reached out.

“Let’s have make-up sex so we don’t go to bed mad.”

Wes raised an eyebrow, a grin threatened before he pursed his mouth into a flat line. “We have to make up first.”

“Semantics.”