Chapter 2 #3
“A fair point,” Holden allows. To Griffin, he explains, “Arrangements like the one Jim made with our family are common here. They’re called prescriptive easements.
Jim still owned the land but allowed us to use the road.
It’s the same way the Parsons let hikers cross their pasture to get to the Falls.
” Holden gives him his I’m everyone’s pal smile.
“It’s not official, but it’s been done that way so long, there’s an expectation that it’ll continue. ”
Griffin frowns thoughtfully, but then Milo speaks up.
“Think carefully, Griff,” he declares. “Your uncle made some shady, half-legal verbal agreement? Fine. But that ended when he died. If you keep letting this guy use the road, it’s like you’re entering into an agreement.
What happens when you want to sell so you can buy a new place somewhere?
Everyone knows easements decrease property value. ”
Holden forces a chuckle, trying to keep things light. “Hang on now. There’s no need to make this into a big legal issue—”
“You’re his brother. Of course you’d say that,” Milo scoffs.
Holden lets out a disbelieving laugh. “But I’m also the sheriff—”
Milo purses his lips and lets his silence speak several skeptical volumes.
For a second, Holden looks like a puppy who’s been smacked with a newspaper. I might enjoy the novelty of it if my business wasn’t on the line.
“Milo’s right,” Griffin finally says, giving Holden an apologetic shrug.
“I appreciate your time, Sheriff Axford. I’m grateful you came out here.
And I’m sorry to disappoint you guys,” he tells my crew, “but until I’ve had a chance to explore the legal ramifications and make sure I’m not being taken advantage of, I can’t afford to have this person using my road. ” He waves a hand in my direction.
This person?
Taken advantage of?
“This might be your land, but everything beyond that tree is mine. My family’s forest. You can’t just march in here waving a tennis racket and deny me access to it.”
“And you can’t bully me into an agreement when I haven’t had time to research it.” Griffin twirls the racket like a cheerleader baton, then gives it a little flourish. “Legally, this land is mine, and I’m going to protect it.”
Protect it? From me?
The comment stabs me in the chest.
I have three shit-stirring brothers, a smart-assed sister, a cousin who lives to tease me, and a billion neighbors who won’t mind their business, but I still can’t think of a time I’ve been this fucking provoked. Not since I was a teenager.
Something inside me snaps, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed the damn tennis racket out of his hand and hurled it toward the sky.
The satisfaction is fleeting. Even as it’s spinning through the air, I’m thinking, Beckett, you immature asshole, what have you done?
But then the racket spins through the air in a perfect arc… and lodges in the crook of a pine tree twenty feet off the ground.
For a second, we all stare in stunned silence.
Holden groans.
Milo gasps.
My guys wince.
And Griffin makes a noise like the whistle on a teakettle. “You absolute—! That racket was an heirloom!” His chest heaves, lips parted and face flushed as he gets up in my face.
“Oh yeah? Are you the nephew of Lord fucking Wimbledon now too?” I shout.
“You better get off my property,” he yells back, “or I will… I will… I will sue the pants off you!”
“I’d say the same,” I growl, “but you don’t have any pants!”
Milo and Holden step between us at the same time, Milo murmuring something to Griffin and nudging him toward the treehouse, while Holden grabs my arm and frog-marches me down the driveway to my truck like he forgets I’ve got several years and fifty pounds on him.
“What the hell was that?” he demands once we’re out of earshot.
I heave a breath. “I lost my temper.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“But can you blame me?” I pace a tight circle in the leaf-and-pine-needle strewn gravel between my truck and Holden’s SUV and throw out a hand toward the treehouse as Griffin disappears through the door, the flannel edge of my shirt skimming the backs of his thighs.
I suck in a breath and try to focus. “The nerve of that guy. Typical fucking tourist. Last year, one of them smacked into my truck in the parking lot at Chapel Island. Just yesterday, one nearly ran me off the road when I was heading to the office. And now, this asshole’s destroying my business—”
“Except he’s not a tourist, and he isn’t the only one at fault here.” Holden watches me pace. “Don’t you remember anything Mom used to say about catching more flies with honey?”
“Who the fuck wants to catch flies?” I demand. “I want to do my damn job. I have contracts to fill. I need to be clearing brush in the Far Tract right now so we can start staging next week. Axford Lumber can’t compete if—”
“Beckett.” Holden’s voice sharpens. “If Griffin’s telling the truth, and I think he is, you’re shit out of luck when it comes to accessing the Far Tract unless you take him to court and get a formal judgment or he changes his mind.”
Hearing the truth laid out so baldly throws a wet blanket over the fire burning in my chest, and I bend over, bracing my hands on my thighs.
I cannot believe one pale, pretty city boy with a pair of sexy legs has so comprehensively fucked up my life.
My brother puts a hand on my shoulder. “Take some time to cool off, and then talk to him. For all we know, he’ll be reasonable when he has a chance to get his feet under himself.”
“I don’t have time,” I mutter. “I have contracts waiting—”
“Well, you’re going to have to find a way.
A legal way.” Holden’s eyes, brown like our mom’s, watch me steadily.
“Do not bring your crew back out here unless you have his agreement, or I’ll have to arrest you.
” He flashes a grin. “And if that happens, I promise you, I’ll print your mug shot on a T-shirt and wear it every fucking day for the rest of my life. Understand?”
I straighten and glare at him. “You have donut crumbs on your uniform,” I say in lieu of an actual answer.
He glances down at his shirt, dusts himself off, then lifts an eyebrow. “Jealous? Because Mom outdid herself for Dad’s birthday breakfast this year.” He licks his lips like he’s savoring the sweet honey glaze. “She did something with pumpkin spice flavoring that was amazing.”
“Petty fucker,” I mutter.
“Learned it from my big brother,” he shoots back. Then he adds more gently, “We missed you. Eliza and Luis were talking wedding stuff. Ames brought some kind of baked oatmeal thing because it’s supposed to be good for Dad’s heart. Even True showed up.” Holden laughs. “Carved dad another bird.”
“Yeah?” I push a hand through my hair. The adrenaline’s leaving my system, and I feel like I’ve finished a ten-mile run. “Dad must have a whole flock of them by now.”
“Well, the man spends his whole life birdwatching and doing crosswords since he retired,” Holden points out. “And True claims he can’t carve a crossword, so…”
That actually pulls a laugh out of me, but then I think about our dad, who used to be all about brawn and constant motion, larger than life, and the laugh dies.
Our father does have one other hobby, but I’m not sure how even a talented woodworker like True could represent “making comments about how Beckett’s running the family business” in a wood carving.
“He asked for you,” Holden adds after a pause.
I lean my ass against the door of my truck and squint up at him. “Who, Dad?”
“Mm. Well, more like Mom fretted about you not being there, and Dad said you were too busy with work to make time for family and to leave you be.”
That stings more than I want it to.
“I would’ve come,” I tell Holden. “But I really did have to work. Sullivan’s breathing down our necks.
You know he underbid me on the Timberline project by fifteen percent?
He can’t even be making a profit at those rates!
And he’s leaning hard into this whole eco-consciousness schtick, when I don’t see how he could be producing as much lumber as he seems to be if he’s truly doing it sustainably. ”
Holden shrugs. “Maybe his operation’s bigger than you realize. He’s sure buying up plenty of land.”
“Yeah, including the plot he bought from Dad on the other side of the Far Tract,” I say bitterly.
“But Dad told Derek from the beginning that he couldn’t get a permit to harvest timber on that land because of the water table.
So if he’s this green warrior who’s trying to save the planet, tell me why he’s been trying off and on to pull a logging permit for that plot anyway when he knows it’ll never go through. ”
I can’t help thinking that if Dad had bothered telling anyone—namely me—that he was planning to sell off land in the first place, all of this could have been avoided.
But here we are.
My hands clench into fists, and Holden notices.
“See now, I was thinking you didn’t come to breakfast because you and Dad are having a months-long pissing contest,” he says conversationally.
I force my hands to relax. “We’re not. At least I’m not.
Dad and I have different opinions about how to run the business.
He still believes in loyalty credit and handshake deals, but that’s what got us into trouble.
” I thrust a thumb over my shoulder toward Jim’s—fuck, Griffin’s—road.
“Hell, it’s still getting us into trouble.
You should see our P&L from last quarter. ”
“Criminal justice, bro,” he reminds me, tapping his chest. “Profit shit is not my wheelhouse.”
I snort. My B.S. in Forestry hadn’t prepared me for this stuff either. Dad always held the reins tight on the front end of the business. Opening QuickBooks after his heart attack last year had been an eye-opening education.
Holden’s expression softens. “You want some advice?”
I roll my eyes. I swear, if I spent any more time around my siblings, my eyes would stay permanently glued to the heavens. “Do I have a choice, Sheriff Axford, sir?”
He knuckles my biceps, hard, and I yelp. “Ow! Fucker.”
Holden shakes his head. “When you’re in a hole, Beckett… stop fucking digging.”
I blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, sac up and face the fact you’ve handled things poorly, then fix them.”
“Which things?”
It’s a serious question, but Holden snorts like I’m being funny on purpose.
“Making nice costs you nothing and will save you a fuck-ton of heartburn and headaches down the line. So pour on some honey and catch some damn flies. Give the guy a chance to cool off, then talk to him. Maybe throw in an apology if you’re feeling wild. ”
I squint. “Still not sure if you’re talking about Griffin or Dad.”
Holden smirks and pats my shoulder again before heading to his SUV. “Figure it out, bro.”
The most annoying thing about my brother—and there are many, many things—is that he’s so often right, especially when it comes to reading people. So after I reassign my crew to jobs back at the mill, I make a mental note to try to talk to the guy.
To… Griffin.
But not until I’ve cooled down. Not until I can do it with some strategy and a little less aggression.
Because if Griffin Mercer holds the key to my land, I can’t afford to keep pissing him off.
Even if part of me really, really wants to.