So Wrong It Must Be Right

by Nicole Helm

  The sign next to the door that read MILE HIGH ADVENTURES was carved into a wood plank that matched the logs of the cabin.

  If it weren’t for the men who ran this company, she’d be crying with relief and excitement. She needed a job that would allow her to stay in Gracely, and this one would pay enough that she could still support her sister and nephew even with Cora’s dwindling waitress hours and low tips.

  Cora and Micah were doing so well, finally moving on from the abusive nightmare that had been Stephen. Lilly couldn’t uproot them, and she couldn’t leave them. They needed her, but her Denver-based PR company had refused to let her continue to work remotely when they’d merged with another company and only kept those employees willing to relocate to Denver.

  So here she was, about to agree to work for the kind of men she couldn’t stand. Rich, entitled, charming. The kind of men who’d hurt her mother, her sister, her nephew.

  Lilly forced herself to step forward. This was work, not romance, so it didn’t matter. She’d do her job, take their money, do her best to improve the light in which their business was seen in Gracely, and not let any of these rich and powerful men touch her.

  Shoulders back, she walked up the stairs of the porch. There was a sign on the door, hung from a nail and string. It read Come On In! in flowing script. She imagined if she flipped the sign there’d be some kind of WE’RE CLOSED phrase on the back.

  Impressive detail for a group of three burly mountain men who were, from what she could tell, hated by the town at large.

  Her stomach jittered, cramped. She really didn’t want to do this. She loved Gracely. Even with all its problems, it was charming and calming. She felt cozy and comfortable here. More than she’d ever felt in Denver, where she’d grown up.

  Working for Mile High would keep her here, but would it still be cozy and comfortable if the town looked at her with contempt? If they considered her tainted by association with these men she’d never heard a good word about?

  Well, as long as Cora and Micah still needed her, it didn’t matter. Couldn’t.

  She blew out a breath and lifted a steady hand. She opened the door. Will had instructed her to come on in, and the sign said the same.

  Upon stepping into an open area that seemed designed as both lobby and living room, she wasn’t surprised to find more wood, a crackling fire in the fireplace, warm and worn brown leather couches around the hearth. The walls were mostly bare, but there was a deer head over the mantel and a few framed graphics with quotes about going to the mountains and the wilderness.

  A grunt caused Lilly to jerk her attention to the big desk opposite the entryway. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected of the other employees of Mile High, but she’d assumed they’d all be like Will. Young, athletic, charming, and handsome.

  The man sitting behind the desk was none of those things. He was small and old with a white beard and a white ponytail. A bit of a Willie Nelson/Bad Santa-looking character in a stained Marine Corps sweatshirt.

  Not what she expected of a receptionist . . . anywhere.

  “Hello. My name is Lilly Preston. I’m supposed to be meeting Will Evans and his broth—”

  The man grunted again, a sound that was a gravelly huff and seemed to shake his entire small frame.

  What on earth was happening?

  “Ah, Lilly!” Will appeared from a hallway in the back. “Skeet, you’re not scaring off our newest employee, are you?”

  The man—Skeet, good lord—grunted again. Maybe he was their . . . grandfather or something.

  She returned her attention and polite business smile to Will and the man behind him. It wasn’t any stretch to realize this was Will’s brother, Brandon Evans. There were a lot of similarities: their height, the dark brown hair—though Brandon’s was short and Will’s was long enough to have a bit of a wave to it. They both had varying levels of beard, hazel eyes, and the kind of angular, masculine face one would definitely associate with men who climbed mountains and kayaked rivers for a living.

  There were some key differences—mainly, Will was smiling, all straight white teeth. Brandon’s mouth was formed in something a half inch away from a scowl.

  Well. She forced her smile to go wider and more pleasant. She wasn’t a novice at dealing with cranky or difficult men. About seventy-five percent of her career thus far had included dealing with obstinate and opinionated business owners. The Evans brothers might be different, but they weren’t unique.

  “You have an absolutely lovely office. I’m so impressed.”

  Will gestured her toward the couches around the fireplace. There were rugs over the hardwood floor, patterns of dark red and green and brown. It was no lie, she was impressed.

  “Have a seat, Lilly. I have a group to guide rock climbing shortly, so Brandon will conduct most of your orientation. We’ve got the necessary paperwork.” He placed a stack of papers on the roughhewn wood coffee table. It looked like it had probably come from Annie’s—the furniture shop in Gracely. Furnishing and decorating from local vendors would be smart.

  Smart, rich men with charming smiles and handsome scowls. It didn’t get much more dangerous than that, but Lilly never let her smile falter.

  “Once we’ve done that, Brandon will show you around, show you your desk, and you can ask any questions.”

  “Of course.” She leaned forward to take the paperwork, but Brandon’s hand all but slapped on top of the stack.

  “One thing first,” Brandon said.

  Will muttered something that sounded like an expletive.

  The stomach jittering/cramping combo was back, but she refused to let it show on her face. Nerves were normal, and the way she always dealt with them was to ignore them through the pleasantest smiles and friendliest chitchat she could manage until they went away.

  “I’m at your disposal, Mr. Evans,” she said, letting her hand fall away from the papers as she settled comfortably into the couch. At least she hoped she was exuding the appearance of comfort.

  His expression, which hadn’t been all that friendly or welcoming, darkened even further. “You will call me Brandon. You will call him Will. There are no misters here.”

  Ah, so he was one of those. Determined to be an everyman. She resisted an eye roll.

  He leaned forward, hazel eyes blazing into hers. “Do you believe in the legend, Ms. Preston?”

  “The . . . legend?” This was not what she’d expected. At all. She quickly glanced at the door in her periphery. Maybe she should bolt.

  “You’ve lived here how long? Surely you’ve heard the legend of Gracely.”

  “You mean . . .” She hesitated because she didn’t know where he was trying to lead her, and she didn’t like going into uncharted territory. But he seemed adamant, so she continued. “The one that says those who choose Gracely as their home will find the healing their heart desires?”

  “Is there another?”

  Lilly had to tense to keep the pleasant smile on her face. She didn’t like the way this Evans brother spoke to her. Like he was an interrogating detective. Like she’d done something wrong, when Will had been the one to convince her to take this job.

  Because working with the Evanses was going to put a big red X on her back in town, and she didn’t trust men like them with their centuries of good breeding and money.

  But she needed a job. She needed to stay in Gracely. So she had to ignore the way his tone put her back up and smile pleasantly and pretend he wasn’t being a giant asshat.

  “So, Ms. Preston.” Oh she hated the way he drawled her name. “The question is: Do you believe in the legend?”

  This was a test, a blatant one, and yet . . . she didn’t know the right answer. Would he ridicule her for believing in fairy tales if she said she believed the first settlers of Gracely were magically healed when they settled here and all the stories that had been built up into legend since? Would he take issue with her being cynical and hard if she said there was no way?

  The biggest probl
em was her answer existed somewhere in between the two. Half of her thought it was foolishness. Losing her job and having to take this one hardly seemed like good luck, but her sister and nephew had flourished here in the past year and, well, healing was possible. Magic? Maybe—maybe not. But possible.

  So, maybe it was best to focus on the good, the possibility. “Yes.” She met his penetrating hazel gaze, keeping her expression the picture-perfect blank slate of professional politeness.

  “And what do you think is the source of that legend? What makes it true?”

  “True?” She looked at Will, tried to catch his gaze, but he looked at the ceiling. She might not trust Will, but at least he was polite. Apparently also a giant coward.

  “Yes, if you believe Gracely can heal, what do you believe causes that ability?”

  She flicked her gaze back to his. It had never wavered. There was a fierceness to his expression that made her nervous. He was a big man. Tall, broad. Though he wore a thick sweater and heavy work pants and boots, it was fairly obvious that beneath all those layers was a man who could probably crush her with one arm.

  She suddenly felt very small and very vulnerable. Weak and at a disadvantage.

  Which was just the kind of thing she wouldn’t show them. Powerful men got off on causing fear and vulnerability. She’d seen her nephew’s father do that enough to have built a mask against it, and she’d worked with and for plenty of men who’d wanted to intimidate her for a variety of reasons.

  She could handle whatever this was. Chin up. Spine straight. A practiced down-the-nose look. “Do legends need a cause? A scientific explanation? Or are they simply . . . magic? Do I need to analyze why I believe in it, or can I simply believe it happened and continues to? And furthermore, what on earth does it have to do with my work here?”

  “If you’re going to work here,” he said, his voice low and . . . fierce to match his face, “you will need to understand what we believe about the legend. Because it has everything to do with why we built Mile High Adventures.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” she muttered before she could stop herself. Okay, maybe remote consulting had dulled some of her instincts if she let that slip out.

  “Oh, and what did you hear, Ms. Preston? That we’re the evil spawn of Satan setting out to crush Gracely even deeper into the earth? That we’re bringing in an influx of out-of-towners, not to help the businesses of Gracely, but to piss off the natives? Because if you think we don’t know what this town thinks of us, you don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “I know what the town thinks of you and I know why I’m here.” She took a deep breath, masked with a smile, of course. “I’m here because I think this is an excellent opportunity.” To sell my soul briefly so I can stay where I want. “I do believe in the legend, and I think it would be imperative you do too if you expect to sell the town on you being part of its salvation.”

  His eyes narrowed and she knew she was skating on thin ice. He was one of those control freaks who didn’t like to be told what to do, but unlike most of the men she’d worked with, he wasn’t placated by sweet smiles or politeness.

  She’d have to find a new tactic.

  “I believe, Ms. Preston”—that damn conceited drawl again—“in these mountains. In this air. I believe that if people choose to look, they can find themselves here. I believe in this town, and that it can be more than what it’s become. You’ll need to believe that too if you want to work here.”

  “We’ve already hired her, Brandon,” Will said, finally inserting something into the conversation. After letting this man act as though she were . . . unwelcome, unwanted.

  Typical.

  “You hired her.”

  “Did I walk into the middle of something, gentlemen? I can come back at another time when you’re ready to be in agreement.” She stood, picking up her bag and sliding it over her shoulder. She might be desperate, but she wasn’t going to sell half her soul and be treated poorly.

  This was not what she’d signed up for. She’d just as soon move back to Denver. It would kill her to leave Cora and Micah, but she had some pride she couldn’t swallow.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Preston.”

  When she raised an eyebrow at Brandon the Bastard, he pressed his lips together, then released a sigh. “If you would, please,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Ugh. Men.

  She took a seat. One more chance. He had one more chance.

  “I apologize if I’ve come off . . .”

  Will spoke up. “Harsh. Douchey. Asshole spectacular.”

  Brandon glared at his brother, who was grinning. She didn’t want to find it humorous. They were both being spectacular assholes as far as she was concerned, just in different ways.

  “This business, what it stands for, it’s everything to me, so I don’t take it lightly.”

  She met Brandon’s gaze. Just as she didn’t want to find him amusing, she didn’t want to soften, but she realized in that simple, gravely uttered sentence, that he wasn’t fierce so much as . . .

  Passionate.

  She met his gaze with that realization and her stomach did something other than the alternating jittery cramps. Her chest seemed to expand—something flipped, like when Cora drove them too fast down a mountain road.

  She couldn’t put her finger on that. The cause, what it was, and more, she didn’t think she wanted to. If she was going to survive working for the Evans brothers, it was probably best to keep her polite smile in place and ignore any and all feelings.

  Nicole Helm grew up with her nose in a book and a dream of becoming a writer. Nicole writes down-to-earth contemporary romance. From farmers to cowboys, Midwest to the West, she writes stories about people finding themselves and finding love in the process. When she’s not writing, she spends her time dreaming about someday owning a barn. She lives with her husband and two young sons in Missouri.