Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
A freaking surveyor.
“Get off my land.”
I cross my arms to hold myself together. My whole body is throbbing with anger, threatening to blow the top off of my head like a volcano.
The slender man shifts uncomfortably, kicking the dirt beneath his shoes. “Ma’am, I was just hired to complete the survey.”
“Off my land. I didn’t hire you.”
He drops his hands on his hips and looks around.
My eyes go wide as I realize something. “Wait, did the bank send you?”
Lips pressed tight, he tugs off his hat. “I’m not allowed to say who my client is. There’s a confidentiality agreement.”
I’m walking a thin line here. If the bank did this, it could be related to the loan. If not… then something is seriously wrong.
“Come on, can’t you tell me anything?”
He clamps his lips tighter and shakes his head.
Even if it’s the bank, I am not letting this happen without my consent.
“Off!” I shove a finger toward his truck. “Get in your truck and leave, or I’m calling the police and having you arrested for trespassing.”
He grumbles something about women.
I hold up my phone with my finger hovering over the buttons. “Three. Two…”
Thank god, he leaves.
Dust rises in the wake as he tears off toward the main road. I stare for a long time.
A sick feeling rolls through me. Someone hired a surveyor to assess my land. My farm.
Fuming, I stomp to my truck and drive to the house. I’m still hot around the collar when I jerk open my closet.
Damn, I must be setting a record—wearing a dress two days in a row. Not just two days, but three dresses counting last night.
I glance at the pile of silk on the floor. The strap broke when Walt shoved me onto the floor. The frayed end is lying against the wood.
I really liked that dress.
But after last night… nope.
I’ll never be able to look at it and not think of Sylvester bullying me and the explosion.
With a hiss, I grab it up and toss it in the wastebasket.
My phone rings. Screeching, I fist my hair. “What now?”
Dread lands in my stomach like a ten pound rock.
“Oh god. Can’t I get a freaking break?”
As drop onto the bed, I hit Accept. “Yes, father.”
Barf.
“Marianna. Meet me at Bueno Sol in half an hour. We need to talk.”
“I’m busy.”
“Clear your schedule.”
Click.
Argh!
I punch my pillow. This has to stop. I’m really going to let him have it today.
Forty-five minutes later, I stride across into the restaurant patio.
My eyes struggle to adjust even though the building is half open-air. For a beat, I’m disoriented. But the tile is smooth below the leather sole of my sandals as I move into the familiar space.
I could probably navigate with my eyes closed because I’ve been haunting Bueno Sol my entire life. The place smells the same—delicious.
It pretty much looks the same as it did when I was a child. It’s back in fashion again with people who love vintage memorabilia.
I brush my hair over my shoulder as I approach the bar. “Hello, Peter.”
Knowing my usual drink order, he’s already got a glistening cup full of ice water on the bar for me by the time I cross from the door to his usual perch. His domain is the narrow strip of real estate in front of the brightly colored whisky and tequila bottles.
“Good day, Marianna.”
I normally love to chat with Peter, but with everything that’s going on today, my mood is one notch above bitch. But of all people, Peter doesn’t deserve my crap attitude.
“It’s nice to see you.” There’s a little shake in my voice. I’m still vibrating with adrenaline.
I seem to be running on fight or flight fumes a lot lately. I’ve had enough stress, without all the drama yesterday.
Giving myself a mental shake, I try to avoid looking around for Walt.
As I sip from the bamboo straw, feeling a smidge sorry for myself, Peter glances at the clock.
The wrinkles in his face deepen “He’s been waiting a while.”
“Good.” I draw in another mouthful of cold water, praying it puts out some of the angry fire in my gut. “He can wait a bit longer. I want to visit with you.”
With a tsk of his tongue he frowns at me from behind the bar. “Child, you’re pushing your luck.”
My smirk comes quickly. “Haven’t I always?”
He knows it’s true. The hard line of his mouth transforms into a curl and he chuckles softly. “That’s why you were your grandfather’s favorite.”
Ouch.
I should have expected a remark like that. But inside my chest there’s a sharp sting. It clutters my breathing for a few seconds.
I tease him back. “Peter, I was his only grandchild.”
The soft gray color of his eyes gets cloudy. “You were the apple of his eye.”
My smile is both painful and watery. Every time my grandfather is mentioned, it’s like being impaled by a sword. Still after all these months.
Will it ever hurt less?
I sip again and drop my gaze to the bar’s shiny surface so Peter can’t see my own emotions glistening on my lashes.
His warm, familiar voice offers a bit of relief. “How are you doing?”
I blink away the moisture and shrug, forcing myself to breathe slowly. “I’m doing fine.”
Fine. Not really, but I’m holding it together. Most days.
The nights…now those are a different story.
Peter’s only waitress, Rissa Mendez, hustles up to the bar. When she sees that Peter and I are visiting, she tosses a flashing smile my way and hurries behind the bar to fix the drink order herself.
She’s filling a shot glass when she calls over her shoulder, “Mar-mar, look at your dress. How lovely.”
Rissa always uses my childhood nickname, even though I’m twenty-four. Funny how it still makes my heart warm.
“Thanks, Rissa. I had to come to town for a meeting at the bank, otherwise I’d be in work clothes.”
She chuckles and fills another glass. “I was confused. Didn’t think you got dressed up for coming in here, especially to see him.”
Rissa is not talking about Peter.
I snort. “You know me well.”
Flipping her gaze past me to the back of the restaurant, she lifts her chin. “He’s in the back dining room, and be warned, he’s in rare form.”
The refreshing well water in my glass takes on a bitter taste. “Imagine that. I’d have been surprised if you reported otherwise.”
She shakes her head, holding up a bottle of tequila with a very familiar logo on the front. “Want a shot before you go over there?”
“It doesn’t help. I’ve tried.”
“Poor girl.” She tsks and heads off across the restaurant with her black skirt snapping around her shapely sixty-year-old legs.
Peter isn’t the only one who loves Rissa, but while he loves her because she’s the queen of waitressing, all his buddies love her because she’s a babe. The woman pours a mean drink, looks great, and knows how to flirt with the best of them.
No wonder she’s always got a fancy car. She probably kills it in tips.
Peter snaps a clean white bar towel in the air and dries a cup from the dish rack. “Heard the bank alarm yesterday, guess that means the place got hit again.”
Shaking my head, I swirl the ice around in my almost empty cup. “I know all about it. I was inside waiting to see the president when it happened.”
His bushy gray brows notch down. The cup thunks on the bar and his hands splay on the surface. All misty fondness is gone from his eyes and now they look like two flinty stones. “Did they hurt you?”
“ They never hurt anyone. The teller should just keep a bag ready to go. It would be a lot less traumatic if they could just use the drive through to hold the place up.”
His head slowly swings back and forth as his mouth sets into a grim line. We stare at each other for a few seconds. I’m about to comment on what we both know when a bellowed, “Marianna!” ricochets off the walls.
My whole body cringes. Dammit.
I am sick of people yelling my name!
I knew this one was coming, but my skin contracts like shrink-wrap anyway.
How I’d love to ignore that demand and walk out the door, only there’d be hell to pay. And right now I’m doing damage control where I can. The heap of other problems in my life aren’t so easy to mitigate.
Peter’s neck reddens under the collar of his linen tropical-print shirt as I sigh heavily and set my empty glass on the surface of the glossy wooden bar.
We look at each other. The angry expression Peter’s wearing concerns me. I don’t want my trouble bleeding over into his life.
I reach for his broad hand, squeezing the scarred knuckles. “Promise me you won’t get involved. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Plus, Elsa needs you to be able to take care of her. By the way, tell her hello for me.”
His nostrils flare and his hands flex on the bar as I step back and adjust my purse on my shoulder. It’s not heavy today, although I wonder if I should have thrown a big rock in there just in case.
Given my luck and all.
Poor Walt. A twinge of guilt makes me crinkle my nose. Wrong place, wrong time. The last thing I expected was to run into someone when I tore out of the bank. I wasn’t thinking right.
A flutter spirals inside my stomach as I remember colliding with his broad, rock-hard chest. I’ve never touched a man like him…
Wow .
I clear my throat as my cheeks begin to heat.
Peter’s watching me like a hawk.
I fan my face and pathetically say, “Hot in here, today.”
His right eyebrow quirks up. Wearing a questioning expression, Peter nevertheless changes the subject and saves me. “Elsa wants you to come over for dinner.”
Ugh. Um…
Awkward is a place I frequently live now.
“I’ll try. Soon. Promise.”
The heat in my face grows, this time for a whole different reason. Peter and his wife, Elsa, are dear to me. They probably know I’ve been avoiding them. But I’m just not ready to spend an evening talking about things that hurt.
I offer him a quick smile that I know probably looks more sad than happy. “I really do want to see you both, but I’m sure you know I’m pretty busy, work is kind of crazy right now. So many things going on. I’m busier than a bee in springtime.”
He taps his fingers on the bar. “I’m very worried about you.”
Truthfully, it feels good to have his concern, but also scares me. Peter doesn’t need to be caught up in my gigantic cesspool of drama. It would kill me if something bad happened to him.
“Please, don’t worry about me. I know how to deal with this . Tell Elsa I’ll be in touch as soon as I have time.”
Before Peter has time to remark, I hurry away toward the main seating area. As much as I like the place, right now I’d rather be digging a hole for a fence post with a spoon. A plastic spoon.
Rissa breezes past me, going the other way at her usual gate—full-speed ahead. “Good luck, hun. You must tell me where you got that dress next time I see you. Let me know if you need backup, I’ve got a mean throwing arm.”
She waves her serving tray as she continues zooming on, heading toward another table with a pair of tourists in bright colored T-shirts.
The vision of Rissa winging her sticker-decorated serving tray like a superhero shield is great. But my mood is too dark now. Gone is the flutter in my stomach Walt caused.
Too bad I’m not a different girl. Someone that could get excited about bumping into the tourist again.
Stiffening my spine, I head toward the private dining room in the back corner. I need to get this done so I can get back to work.