Chapter 24 #3
“It’s solid,” I said, shifting gears in my head.
“Penny’s planning was airtight. Once Browne executed the addendum, everything ran smoothly.
No hidden liabilities. Investments are stable.
Land’s clear. A couple of small accounts we’ll need to monitor for residual activity, but nothing to report otherwise.
” I smiled absently, remembering Milly’s attempt at organizing.
Colored tabs. Color-coded highlighters and corresponding color-coded pens. It was a mess.
Reaper huffed a laugh. Harris’s mouth twitched.
“And you?” Harris asked.
“Me what?” I said.
“The estate’s stable.” He tapped the arm of his chair. “Where does that leave you?”
I looked down at my hands. Calluses from fence repairs and barn work sat on top of older scars from a life that involved sand and a crash ending. They didn’t match this office. They didn’t match my suit.
“Technically? I come back. I’ll slide into the Turner audit. Help you untangle some trust disaster. I’ll pretend I didn’t spend the last seven months calculating risk instead of hedge funds.”
“And non-technically?” Reaper asked. His tone was mild; his eyes were knowing.
Non-technically, I thought of Milly again. The way she’d said home. The way her shoulders had stiffened when I told her I wasn’t staying. The way she’d kissed me that last time like she was memorizing it.
“Non-technically,” I said, “it leaves me somewhere over Wyoming. Unsure.”
Reaper leaned back, chair creaking. “You want the work,” he said. “That hasn’t changed.”
“No,” I agreed. “I like the work. Estate audits, asset recovery, cleaning up old-money chaos. It adds up. Things balance.” I blew out a breath, unsure if I wanted the constant revolving door of clients I never saw again. Unsure if I wanted the day-to-day behind a desk, or rush-hour traffic.
“Montana spoiled you,” Reaper said.
“Yep,” I agreed. “And one very determined rancher.”
Harris studied me for a long moment. He was born into old money, the accounts we usually audited. He’d walked away from law because he didn’t have the stomach to tear lives and families apart. He knew a lot about going against family expectations.
“When you left,” he said slowly, “you told us Everwood was a year-long assignment. Clear endpoint. You were very sure you’d be back. You asked us not to hire a permanent replacement.”
“I know,” I said.
“But are you really back?” he asked.
The question hit hard. Was I really back? I’d only been back a few days and already I missed Milly, the town, and me. I missed who I was when I was there.
Physically, I was sitting in their office, breathing their recycled air, listening to Denver traffic through double-pane glass. But mentally, I was checking the north fence line, wondering if Mason remembered the weak post in the southwest corner, listening for Milly’s laugh from the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” I said, looking at my hands. From the corner of my eye, I saw Reaper and Harris exchange looks.
Reaper blew out a breath. “You are one stubborn man. It took you long enough.”
He and Harris let out a knowing grunt.
“Before Everwood, you would’ve leaned into duty, told us you were fine, and signed up for a triple caseload just to prove it,” he said.
Harris nodded. “Penny’s client has made her decision,” he said. “But will you make yours? Look, from a strictly business standpoint: we don’t need you here physically.”
Reaper cut in. “And from a non-business standpoint, the part where I act like a friend instead of just your CO and boss…” He gave me a look. “I’m not entirely sure R and H has what you’re looking for.”
“Kind of arrogant to assume you know what I’m looking for,” I said.
Reaper chuckled. “The fact that you stopped having the crash dream every night once you got there told me enough.”
My jaw flexed. “You don’t know that.”
“You stopped calling me at three a.m.,” he said quietly. “That’s fact.”
The room fell silent.
“Look, I’m not trying to push you out,” Harris went on.
“If you want your old desk, it’s yours. If you want to pick up the Turner account, we’ll slot you in.
But I’ve sat across from enough widows, trustees, and scared heirs to know that look.
This isn’t your world anymore. Your world is sitting on the porch of some small town in the middle of nowhere, on a ranch, with a redhead. ”
He gestured vaguely north. “If I’m not mistaken, you left something more important than two old men and a stapler up there.”
The keys dug into my palm. I’d taken them out without thinking. “She slid her keys in my pocket the day I left,” I muttered when Harris eyed them.
“End of the day,” Reaper said, “it’s simple math: Can you work from Everwood?”
“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “Estate management and accounting are mostly numbers and calls.”
“I’m going to miss you around here,” Reaper joked, but his eyes said he really would. “Sure. Harris needs someone to make fun of his ties every now and again, but you can do that in video calls.”
He spread his hands. “So take the hint, sailor, and get lost.”
I stared at the two of them. These were men who valued duty, chain of command, and the clear lines on a contract. Hearing them say go felt like someone had cut my moorings.
“What about my work here?” I asked, because habits die slowly.
“We shift you to remote consult. Case-by-case. We’ll send files; you send invoices. You can build your little Montana empire and still balance the books.”
Reaper nodded. “We’re not firing you, Austin. We’re simply redeploying you.” He laughed at his own joke. “Where you won’t slowly fossilize under fluorescent lights like Harris and I.”
He eyed me. “Also, if you stay here, you’re going to be miserable, and I’ll have to listen to it. I’m too old for that.”
Something like a laugh punched out of me. I knew what they were doing.
“You’re sure about this?” I asked. “Both of you?”
“As your employer?” Harris said. “Yes. As your friend?” He held my gaze. “I’m not losing you, just extending the friendship lines a little further.”
Reaper jabbed a finger at me. “And as your former CO, I am telling you to go.”
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. “Yes, sir,” I muttered.
He grinned. “There he is. Now pack up and move out. There’s a woman up there who’s missing her keys. That’s an invitation if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Pretty sure this was always Penny’s plan,” I said.
“Then don’t anger her ghost,” Reaper replied. “She signed your checks, remember.”
I stood. “Keep me on the books,” I said. “Remote. Whatever. And Harris,” I pointed at his tie, “really? Yellow?” His paisley yellow-and-lavender tie screamed single and trying too hard.
Reaper tipped an invisible cap. “Send pictures of the barn.”
“And the clinic,” Harris added. “I want to see it.”
I shook both their hands. Old habits, old respect. Then I stepped out of the office.
The elevator doors slid open. I caught my reflection in the brushed metal: same face, same scars, same eyes. Different man.
By the time I hit the street, the decision was made.
I was going home.
Closing down a life is less dramatic than movies make it.
There’s no slow-motion montage. No sweeping orchestral score. Just an ad for free stuff, a potted plant, a duffel bag, and an empty apartment.
I locked the door behind me and didn’t look back.
Denver International was bigger and louder than our little county airport. People flowed around me with rolling suitcases, earbuds, and expensive coats. It was easy to disappear here. I used to like that.
At the gate, I texted Reaper: Thanks, old friend.
He replied with a thumbs-up.
Mason was impossible to miss at the small Montana baggage claim. Not because of his height, though he had that, or his flannel, which was uniform for Montana, but because there were only fifteen people waiting for arrivals at the airport.
“What took you so long?” he asked, crushing me in a hug that smelled like sawdust. “Mill—” He caught himself, corrected. “The ranch missed you.”
“Right,” I said. “The ranch.”
He grinned. “Come on. Truck’s this way.” We walked to the truck.
“How is she?” I asked as we pulled onto the highway.
“Keeping herself busy,” he said. “Clinic prep. Opened last week.”
“And… the rest?” I asked.
He glanced at me, then back at the road.
I nodded. The truck’s heater wheezed, working hard.
We drove in companionable silence for a while. The city gave way to open road. The road wrapped around the mountains. Everwood’s valley waited on the other side, white and familiar in my mind even before we crested the last hill. Then there it was.
The valley spread out like a postcard. Patches of snow, broken fences, and bare trees drawing lines against the sky. Everwood off to the left, with its handful of lights and small-town charm.
And among the trees, the ranch.
When we neared the house, driving straight through town, smoke from the chimney wafted through the trees in a lazy fog.
Mason turned down the familiar road. The gate was locked, but thanks to Milly, I had the keys.
“I’ll take it from here.” I got out, grabbed my bag from the back, and took the plant I’d brought on the plane.
Mason nodded. “Call me when you’re ready to go back to the inn. Janet has you under a pseudonym. Just to be sure.”
“Thanks, man.” I opened the gate, closed it behind me, and started my walk.
As I drew closer, little details came into focus: a couple of feed buckets stacked near the barn, a shovel propped by the porch. Almost exactly as I’d left it.
I stepped onto the porch. For a moment, the only sound was the horses huffing in the pasture. Somewhere, a goat bleated, and a dog barked twice.
I held my breath and knocked. With my bag on my shoulder and the plant in my hand, I prayed she still loved me.