49
“So then he took me back to Hart’s, and backed away when I would have hugged him, and said he was in a huge hurry to get to work on time. And he never sent me the selfie.”
The Colonel was mucking out stalls in his barn, and hadn’t said a word through her entire account of her weekend in Austin.
He leaned his pitchfork against the wall. “Talked to Memo Del Amo yesterday.”
She was momentarily thrown by the sudden subject change, and put her hands on her hips. “Okay.”
“He’s hurting for cash. Was really hoping your doctor friend was going to buy that cabin.”
She winced. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
“He wanted to know what changed Jesse’s mind.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That he should talk to you.”
He pushed the wheelbarrow of manure outside.
Clara followed slowly. Her dad was not the kind of person to blurt out a non sequitur. It fell to her to divine the deeper meaning to his words.
“You know, sometimes I wish you were a little chattier,” she remarked, as she stood watching him dump the manure on the pile. “You can be a real enigma. Do you want me to go talk to Memo? I don’t know anything that will help him. Should I apologize? Should I pay for the two nights we spent there?”
He didn’t answer, but she didn’t expect him to.
She followed him back into the barn. “Okay, I’ll go talk to Memo. But I don’t know what I’ll say.”
He forked some clean straw into the stall and began to spread it around.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll try to give him a check, not that he’ll take it. And I’ll take him some Modelo.”
Still he said nothing, and Clara began to feel irked. What more could she do? Call her brother the real estate guru and beg for his help? “Are you seriously suggesting that I should try to help him find a buyer? You’re crazy.” And she stomped out.
Clara climbed out of her old Mercedes and waved at the man in the porch rocker.
“Miss Clara Wilder,” he greeted her, rising. “What brings you out this way?”
She reached into her car and lifted out the picnic basket. “Brought you something.”
“Me? Or Claudia?” he asked suspiciously, coming down the steps.
“Well, that depends,” she said mysteriously. “Are you going to pick the left side of the picnic basket, or the right side?”
He looked down at the basket, which did indeed have two flaps.
“I have to pick?” he asked, intrigued.
“Yep.”
Memo made a great show of rubbing his chin and then bent down to try to see or smell a clue through the wicker.
Clara laughed. “You’re overthinking it.”
“It’s nothing dangerous, is it?”
“No! Here, this is for you.”
He glanced at the envelope but didn’t take it. “What’s that?”
“I looked up comps. Rental cabins. I want to pay you for the nights we stayed there.”
“No,” he said flatly.
“Please. I feel bad for leading you on about Jesse buying it. I gave him the hard sell, but I failed.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” he said, snatching the envelope and sticking it back into her purse. “I want the left side of the basket, please. No—not your left. My left.”
She opened it to reveal the chocolate cookies she had baked.
“Ooh,” he said with interest. “May I?”
“Help yourself. As I said, they’re for you. Poor Mrs. Del Amo, though…she won’t like the other side.”
“Why, what is it?” he asked with his mouth full. Then his eyes widened as the flavor hit him. “Cayenne pepper?”
“Mexican hot chocolate cookies.”
“Good,” he said, his eyes still wide. “Little bit spicy? Genius.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you make this kind because you think I’m Mexican or something?”
She knew he was teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen the statue of Romeo Del Amo in the park. Everyone knows y’all own this town.”
“Romeo built this town out of nothing,” he said with phony indignation, helping himself to another cookie.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Young people,” he huffed. “What’s in the other side of the basket?”
She lifted the lid to show him the frosty six-pack of his favorite beer.
He gasped dramatically. “For me?”
“Mm, hmm.”
He lifted one out and opened it with his teeth, making her shudder a little. “Come on up to the porch,” he invited, and traded her the open beer for the whole basket.
Grinning, she followed him up the steps and took the second rocker.
She stayed for dinner, both because they invited her and because she didn’t want to drive home with only the beer and a few chocolate cookies in her system.
Just before she’d left, Memo had asked to see the envelope in her purse. She’d taken it out, eager to give it to him.
But he didn’t take it. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t hide it in my house,” he explained, and shut her door for her.
When she reached the highway, she called Hart.
“This better be good,” he growled.
“Investment opportunity,” she said quickly, hoping those were the magic words that would keep him from hanging up.
“How much do you need?”
“Thirty thou—”
He hung up.
“Thirty thousand,” she sighed, to no one.
She tried calling back.
“Clara—” he began.
“Just hold on. I need real estate advice. Don’t hang up.”
“Is this about that stupid cabin?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“You aren’t trying to buy it, are you?”
“No, of course not. Memo said I could spruce it up a little. Strip the honey oak everywhere, and redo the siding, and a little staging? And then we can raise the price and we’ll both make a ton of money.”
“Assuming you can find a buyer.”
“Hart, he didn’t list it with an agent,” she said excitedly. “They were trying to sell it through word of mouth. No one from Austin or Dallas ever even saw it!”
Hart said nothing, which was a good sign.
“I figure with a little facelift and a wider reach we can raise the price by a hundred thousand, easy. And he said he’d split the difference with me, fifty-fifty.”
“You’ve never done a renovation before,” he pointed out. “I can guarantee it’s not that easy.”
A little flattery never hurt. “But I’ll have you advising me. And you could find a buyer in your sleep.”
“Was this your idea or Memo’s?”
“Both. It’s good, isn’t it? Admit it.”
He was silent for several seconds, and then he said, “I don’t like fifty-fifty when we’re assuming all the risk. I’m going to give Memo a call.”
This was just what she needed, Clara told herself. A daring and exhausting project to distract her from Jesse Flores.