Page 91 of The Sugar Maple Inn

“All right,” she said. “Keep your secrets. For now. But if you broke a good girl’s heart, you better fix it or stay in Cuba.”

“I didn’t—” He stopped. Raked a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“Everything with you and women is.”

They let the silence sit for a moment. Then he said quietly, “Erika found some old immigration records. Spencer family settled on Maple Island in the eighteen hundreds. It’s real. The connection. Dad was on to something.”

His mother sighed. “Yeah. Doesn’t surprise me. He used to mutter about a Spencer inheritance, something buried. Thought it might fix everything. He’d sit up late with maps and old journals.” She paused. “He was holding out hope. Right up until the day that last bill came in. I think that’s when it snapped. I think he tried to imagine the treasure with that journal entry, tried to believe in it one more time. But it wasn’t enough.” Her voice broke a little, then steadied. “Your dad was a good man, Reese. He just got…tired. The money problems got too much. He kept it quiet but…it was bad near the end. Lost jobs. Projects went under. Lotta pressure. So he gave up, like a man laying down a load he’d carried too long.” Reese shut his eyes. “Don’t be like him, Reese,” his mom said. “Don’t chase ghosts until they eat you up. Not everything that’s buried is meant to be dug up.”

“I’m not him.”

“No.” A beat. “Find what you need, son. But know when to stop looking.”

The line crackled. Then went quiet.

“Señor Spencer?”

A woman’s voice. Reese turned.

Beautiful. Dark eyes, darker hair in a practical braid, field pants, and a technical shirt. Early thirties. Camera bag over one shoulder.

“Lucía Ayala,” she said, extending a hand. “Wildlife photographer. Your foundation hired me to document this place? Obviously, I heard about the fire, thought I’d check in. See if you needed documentation for insurance claims.”

She moved past him, assessing the damage. The field pants fit well. Reese noticed this the way he noticed a nice view. Didn’t make him want to stop and stare like it usually would.

“I’ve covered forest fires before,” Lucía continued, pulling out a camera. “This kind of damage…it’s recoverable. The bones are good. You built this place to last.”

“That was the idea.”

She glanced at him. Something assessing in her look. “I read about you. The Untamed Tycoon. The Golden Wolf. The billionaire who actually gives a shit about animals.”

“Magazines exaggerate. The untamed and tycoon bits, anyway.”

“Do they?”

Reese didn’t answer. He was looking at his phone. Still nothing from Grace. Three texts since leaving Solace Springs twenty-four hours ago.

Made it to Cuba. Hope you’re okay. Call me when you can. x

Silence for several hours now.

“Señor Spencer?”

He looked up. Lucía was watching him.

“Sorry. What?”

“I asked if you wanted to grab dinner. Discuss the jaguar project.” Another smile, more invitation in it this time. “There’s a good place in town. Family-run. They do this fish dish that’ll change your life.”

She wasn’t being subtle. Reese could appreciate that, at least. No games. Just a beautiful woman making her interest clear. A week ago, he would’ve said yes. Would’ve definitely said yes. Beautiful wildlife photographer, good dinner, maybe more after. That was how these things usually went.

Now all he could think about was Grace in that tower. Grace covered in Monopoly pieces. Grace’s face as he’d walked away.

“Appreciate the offer,” Reese said. “But I need to keep my head down for now, ride this one out. My assistant can set up a meeting about the camera trap locations.”

Disappointment flickered across Lucía’s face, quickly masked. “Of course. I understand.” She left her card and made a graceful exit.

Reese stayed in the ruined building, staring at his phone.