Chapter 3
Sunday
I place my mug on the coffee table and settle down on Casey’s armchair, retying my fluffy ponytail before leaning forward and opening my laptop.
I tentatively open my email app and tap warily on the message at the top.
Then I sit back in the chair, exhaling shakily over what I’m being offered.
When I decided to sell Cash’s Bar, it hadn’t crossed my mind that other businesses in Nashville would want to hire me. So when I received a huge job offer before stepping one cowgirl boot out of Tennessee, I was almost too stunned to speak.
A job, at another bar, doing exactly what I’ve been doing for over a decade.
Managing, networking, building connections with the biggest country music stars.
All of that, for the highest salary I’ve ever seen.
I told them that I was too busy to consider it at this moment in time but after a couple of days out of the city I can’t help but peek at the details they’ve sent over. The role that they’d like me to take up, and the huge sum of money that they’re happy to pay me.
And that isn’t even including the ridiculous bonuses listed underneath.
Plus, they’ve outlined the ways that Cash’s Bar inspired their desire for an overhaul, going for classic, cosy and country, instead of who can be the rowdiest bar on Broadway.
And, honestly, I’m totally touched – because the whole point of Cash’s Bar was to share a personal message. To share a lifestyle with likeminded people in the hopes of making my tiny corner of the world a better place.
So to see the influence that I’ve had on a multi-million-dollar country bar, especially when it’s in testament to the love of my mom and my step-dad? It makes my heart swell for a moment, the offer too incredible to ignore.
If only Cash could have seen the impact of his favourite Nashville hideaway now.
I scroll down to the bottom of the email, seeing the deadline by which they’d like an answer.
They’ve been generous with their time-scale, but that in itself is pretty alarming – because it shows me that they aren’t expecting the press’s interest to die down.
In fact, my ‘relationship’ with Riley is undoubtedly half the reason why they’re being so generous, hoping that I’ll come back to Nashville and flood their bar with media attention.
I swallow down my nerves and sign out of my emails for now.
One thing at a time , I remind myself. I don’t need to make any big decisions yet.
Then I slide my eyes over to the piece of paper beside my MacBook, and I pull Casey’s bank statement into my lap.
And my jaw freaking drops the second that I see my brother’s outgoings.
When Casey deploys, he has me check his accounts super briefly, and that’s solely to make sure that all of his finances are secure.
So after four months away from home I thought that it was time for my little check-in, and I almost tripped over my cowgirl boots when I saw the payment he’d made before his latest mission.
What in the hell did you spend six figures on, Casey?
Half of me wants to just call his ass and demand a straight-up answer, but Casey has never been secretive in the past so I have no idea why he’d start being like that now.
I chew nervously on my lower lip.
Unless he’s in some kind of trouble.
If I had to use one word to describe Casey, it would one-billion percent be ‘selfless’, which immediately makes me think that whatever he’s gotten himself into is to help someone else.
I pull my fluffy baby blue robe tighter around my body, hiding my pyjama shirt and shorts as I mull over what I should do.
I glance back down at the bank statement and a little crease appears on my brow when I notice the name of the person that Casey’s money was paid to.
Why on earth do I recognise that name…?
I stare at it for a few long moments before flicking my eyes to the emerald pines, tall and towering beyond Casey’s back porch, ready for the imminent snowfall.
And then it finally clicks.
It’s not the name of a person.
It’s the name of a place.
A place that’s been here forever in Phoenix Falls town square.
And I have no freaking idea what Casey would want to do with it.
I reread the name a thousand times before I finally drop the statement to the floor and begin tentatively sipping my steaming hot cocoa.
Why the heck would Casey buy a bar ?
I glance around Casey’s rustic living room, looking for more clues about what he was secretly up to before he left for deployment all those months ago.
I slide my eyes to the mail by his door and get to my feet, padding quietly across the rug.
I lean down and collect the rest of the envelopes, my intrigue growing as I check the names of the senders.
I turn one of the envelopes over, even more confused than I was ten seconds ago.
Real-estate mail? Why would Casey want to receive information about houses that are up for sale in Phoenix Falls?
There’s no way that he’d sell his man-cave and, even if he did, that would only be if he was moving into Haven’s craftsman permanently.
I blink down at the mail in my hand and suddenly another thought pops into my mind.
Because there might be one other reason why Casey would be getting involved in new ventures.
If he was finally thinking about leaving the Army.
I drop the mail to the mat and blink unseeingly at the warm fireplace.
If Casey was thinking about retiring from the military, there’s only one reason why he wouldn’t tell me. And that’s if he wasn’t one-hundred percent sure about his decision yet.
Or, even more heart-wrenchingly, he might be feeling guilty about the idea of leaving, even though he’s been serving for almost two decades of his life.
He’s spent more time in the Army than out of it, and maybe he thinks it’s time to come home for good.
And maybe I can help him.
I can use my Nashville-expertise to check out the bar that Casey’s bought and help him turn it into something beautiful, so that it’s ready for when he gets home.
So that his new life is already patiently waiting for him.
A grand gesture that says ‘I’m here for you’ without even needing to say the words.
I bite my lip to hide my smile. A secret mission of my own.
I give my ponytail a little swish, invigorated by the idea of helping my selfless older brother, and I pad over to the kitchen so that I can grab some food from the grocery haul I did yesterday. Without the keys to Casey’s truck I had to catch a cab into town, but there’s no way that I’ll be making that a regular thing when I know his keys are probably right in front of me.
I lift the produce from the brown paper bag, followed by the bear spray that I picked up at the hardware store.
Then I twist my lips in contemplation as I set the cannister on the counter.
I mean, it’s unlikely that I’ll be driving so far into the mountains that I’ll actually see a bear, but Casey would rumble my ear off if I told him that I went to the trails without taking precautions.
Although I’ll need to get a car first.
Which reminds me.
I glance out of the front window and tilt my head to the side as I look affectionately at Casey’s Ford truck.
Like, seriously. How hard can it be?
Seeing as the car keys aren’t in his bedroom, I know for sure that he’s hidden them in here. The kitchen, an organised space, that he uses all the time. A place he’s in so frequently that he’d find them again without even looking.
While simultaneously being somewhere that I would never think to look.
My gaze flicks up to the cabinet above the stove – the one cabinet that I peeked inside and had absolutely zero interest in.
I open the wooden door and peep up at the giant tub of protein powder.
And a small smile tugs at my lips as I stand up on my tip-toes, carefully hauling the enormous container down from the top shelf. I rebalance and squeal a little as it almost topples me over.
Then I settle it on the counter and twist off the lid.
The one place where Casey looks every day, and the one place where I wouldn’t look, literally ever.
There, sitting on the powder, are the keys to Casey’s truck.
A dimple pops in my cheek and I reach into the cupboard for his little scooper, ready to carefully retrieve the keys from the inside of the tub.
Until the sound of tires skidding up the sidewalk suddenly rumbles through the cabin.
A large vehicle pulling to a stop, followed by a car door slamming beyond the porch.
I turn around to face the front yard and see that the driver has already dismounted, so I push the protein powder to the side and head tentatively out of the kitchen. I pull my robe a little tighter and tuck a loose curl behind my ear.
But I only get halfway to the front door when the whole thing crashes open.
And then my heart stops in my chest.
Because Jason Coleson is staring back at me.