Prologue
“Are you sure I can’t show you something in the District? Perhaps Georgetown or a brownstone in Arlington would better suit you. Your commute from way out here will be a bear.”
I stare out the window from one of the top-floor bedrooms, wondering what I’ll do with all this square footage.
Shit. I wonder what I’ll do staying put for more than a few days at a time.
Looking over the snow-covered mountains, or what they consider mountains in Virginia, I think about space and privacy. I need both now more than ever.
She moves closer, her spiked heels clicking on the aged wood echoes through the empty room. “With your loan approval, you can afford a lovely penthouse overlooking the Potomac. Do you boat?”
Fuck. Do I look like I boat? I wish she’d shut up. I’m sick of her talking. My loan approval is a fake, because at this point, it’s none of her business I’m paying cash.
“Mr. Vega?” she calls for me and I have to exhale to keep my patience.
Ignoring her, I deliberate on the only drawback to the property. I wanted three hundred and sixty acres so I don’t have a neighbor. “You said this is two hundred and seventy acres. Who shares the section of land?”
It’s her turn to exhale, her voice going bored.
“A vineyard. I looked into it when you insisted on viewing this property. It’s changed hands four times in the last nine years.
Apparently, everyone thinks they can make wine.
The new owner has seen some success. There’s no need for anxiety.
The building and land are on the National Register because of its history and the age of the original structure.
I believe it dates back to the sixteen hundreds.
Properties such as these are hardly ever broken up.
If you insist on the country life, your neighbor shouldn’t be of concern. ”
I’ll run that background myself.
Turning to her, I cross my arms. “You said the outbuildings have heat and water?”
She sighs, realizing she isn’t going to sell me a penthouse in Georgetown. Not that her commission on this place won’t be a mint.
“Yes. The previous owner was a mechanic specializing in large farm equipment. There’s heat for the winter and air for summer months,” she utters, flipping her jeweled hand toward the window.
We won’t need much heat and absolutely no air in the summer. It’s part of the program—they have to learn to live in the conditions.
I nod, looking back out over the countryside thinking this could be it. I’m ready for something different, ready to retire from the life I’ve lived the last ten years, even if it means I have to train my replacements.
“I need to make a phone call and look at the outbuildings.” I turn back to her and raise an eyebrow, glancing down at her feet. “You want to trudge through the snow with me, or should I meet you back at the cars?”
Her look turns resigned, her voice bland when she replies, “Take your time. I’ll draw up the paperwork.”
I reach for my phone and start for the door mumbling, “Perfect.”
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, my call has barely rung once when Asa answers, a smile in his voice. “Vega. What’d ya think of Stacey?”
“Fuck you, old man,” I growl as I head out the front door to round the house.
“Me?” he feigns. “That was Stacey’s job. You didn’t like my welcome home gift?”
“Don’t know if I’m home. It’s been a long time.” I crunch through the snow in my combat boots.
“You’re home, boy. Don’t question that,” his voice turns serious.
I make my way through the barren woods that’ll be perfect when it’s thick with growth, toward the largest outbuilding. There’re three, but I only need to make one comfortable or Grady’ll be a thorn in my side.
“I need a favor,” I say, my breath visible in the cold.
“Thought I was doing you a favor by sending Stacey,” he grumbles.
I ignore him. “If these buildings check out, I’m making an offer today. Ready to get this shit done.”
“Fine, what now?” he complains.
“I need a background check on the owner next door. It’s a vineyard on a quarter section, adjacent to this property. I need it in an hour.”
“Done. I’ll hit you back.” He’s all business and abruptly disconnects.
As I make my way up the so-called mountain, I stop when I come into view of the neighboring property. The vines are bare like everything else, but there aren’t any houses or buildings in view.
I turn and look back to my new house, thinking this is good. No direct sight—I can make use of the far side of the property for privacy. As long as the owner’s background comes back clean—this is it.
A new chapter. A new start. And fuckin’ finally, just maybe, a life.