Chapter 7
aria
“Tell me exactly how things stand,” I request.
Amos gives me a measured look, as if he’s deciding whether to tell me I should run or saddle up and fight.
We’re in Blackwood Prime, which I found out from Nadine, who gave me a ride here, is Maverick Kincaid’s place.
It’s polished, heavy with money, and smells like garlic butter and charred ribeye. I’m not unfamiliar with places like this, after all, I work in the wine industry in Napa. But it is interesting to see it in Wildflower Canyon.
When I was growing up, the fanciest place in town was the Horseshoe Diner, where you could get a bourbon and milkshake for ten dollars.
I wonder if the diner is still around.
Amos insisted on meeting here and taking me out to dinner. According to him, it was quiet enough, and the food didn’t taste like horse feed. Winning features for any restaurant, and where I’m going to find out the debacle that is Longhorn Ranch.
Our server comes by.
I order a Napa Valley red. I mean, Amos is paying, so why the hell not? And a ribeye to go with it. Amos asks the server to double the order and adds some sides.
Grilled artichoke? Mashed potatoes with truffles?
My, my, Wildflower Canyon has come a long way, indeed.
Amos makes small talk until our wine is served. My question about Longhorn’s finances hangs between us. He knows it. I know it. Our wine probably knows it, too.
It feels like when you’re at the doctor’s and he’s screwing around to avoid telling you that your condition is terminal.
“Amos?” I query after we clink our glasses of wine and toast to absolutely nothing.
“I knew your daddy near forty years,” my father’s accountant says, his voice is rough with dust and age. “Wasn’t always easy, but he was honest. Stubborn, sure. Proud. He made bad calls, but he didn’t lie. That counted for somethin’.”
I tilt my head and raise both my eyebrows. “Get to the meat, cowboy.”
He chuckles and then becomes serious. “The debt is…there’s no good way of sayin’ this, Aria.”
“Then say it like it is. I don’t need anythin’ sugarcoated.”
I catch how I’ve started droppin’ my Gs. Took about twenty-four hours, and now I’m talkin’ like a cowgirl.
What’s that saying—you can take the girl outta the ranch…?
Amos regards me thoughtfully. “Rami took out a second mortgage.”
“Why?”
Amos sets his wine glass down and leans forward. “Hudson was takin’ money off the top. Rami found out last year. Tried to fix it quietly—paid off some people he shouldn’t’ve had to pay. Bad men. Men who don’t take IOUs. Celine begged him not to go to the cops.”
My stomach goes tight.
“The worst part is that she knew he was stealin’ and said nothin’,” Amos snaps, disgust in his tone. “And she kept coverin’ for him. Girl’s got a taste for spendin’. Designer shit. Spa days in Aspen. One time, she had Hudson wire ten grand to some boutique for a single piece of jewelry.”
I feel eyes on me, and it doesn’t take much more than a glance to know who’s perusing me. The man with the blue-blue eyes, who is purported to be good friends with my sister.
He obviously is successful—what with Kincaid Farms being one of the biggest operations in the canyon, his name on that overpriced steakhouse, and his reputation polished like his damn boots.
He probably collects women the way some men collect belt buckles—flashy, well-shaped, and disposable.
I shouldn’t care. And yet, my jaw tightens. Not because I want him. Absolutely not! Just because I hate being so predictable.
Focus, Aria! You came back to fight for Longhorn, not to get tangled up in a man like Maverick Kincaid.
“That the only reason he took out a second mortgage?”
“Big part. Then things got tight with the drought. He had to lay off people so he could afford hay and vet bills. He sold the cattle for less than it was worth ‘cause he couldn’t manage it.”
I feel sick as he continues.
“But they still have the apartment in Aspen?” That place was worth a shit ton of money.
Amos gives an exaggerated eye roll. “Celine and Hudson want to keep up appearances.”
A shallow inhale is all I’m able to manage before I choke out, “While they bleed the ranch dry.”
“Yeah.”
The server comes with our food, and in all honesty, I’ve lost my appetite. The way it sounds, selling Longhorn might be our only option.
We eat quietly, caught up in our thoughts.
“Tell me about Maverick Kincaid’s interest in Longhorn.”
Amos sets down his fork. Takes a sip of his wine. “He’s good at what he does. Smart businessman. Good rancher. Excellent at playing politics. He’s buying smaller ranches, so they’re not bought up by developers who want to build a fucking casino or some shit.”
“How altruistic of him,” I retort sarcastically.
Amos smirks. “He’s also interested in growing Kincaid Farms. He’s making a shit ton of money, and he intends to make more. He wants Longhorn for the farm and orchard. And the land, of course.”
I close my eyes and take a long, steady breath.
Even though I know I’ll need to go through the books myself to get the full picture, the outlook already feels bleak.
I open my eyes, accepting the truth of the clusterfuck the ranch is right now.
“Celine wants to sell.” It’s not a question.
Amos bobs his head in agreement. “She and Hudson are broke. They’re hollowed out. If Longhorn sells, they walk away clean with cash. And…so do you, Aria.”
I tip my chin in acknowledgment. The pressure behind my eyes is building. A migraine is coming.
“What if I don’t want to sell?”
He looks surprised for a very long and, honestly, insulting time. “Rami thought that you wouldn’t stay here.”
“This is my home.”
“Yeah, but”—Amos pauses, purses his lip—“you didn’t come back for a decade.”
“He asked me not to.”
“He wanted you to, though. Just didn’t know how to ask,” he says sadly. “Your father had more ego than a bull in a buckin’ chute.”
I huff out a laugh. “Mean, loud, and just waiting to blow the gate off its hinges?”
“Yeah.” His eyes softened with sympathy. “Look, I don’t know you very well. But I do know Celine, and I know Hudson. They’ll fight you tooth and nail.”
“It’s just a thought…And, I don’t know if Papa’s will is going to pull the rug out from under my feet.”
He looks confused for a moment, and then, as what I said registers, shakes his head vigorously. “He’d never do that. He thought very highly of you.”
I glance at him, my disbelief evident.
“He always knew you could take care of yourself. He worried about Celine.”
I don’t want to get into this with Amos, so I changed the subject. “How can I keep the ranch? What will it take? We’re just talking survival for now.”
Amos hesitates before responding. “You’ve gotta do three things. Keep the lights on. Get cattle ready for auction. Make the farm and orchard pull more than pity income.”
“Any advice on how I can make this happen?”
Now, Amos looks downright uncomfortable. “Aria, it’s…I don’t know if it’s worth it. Look, the estate clocks in around sixteen, sixteen point five million. The estate tax itself is goin’ to be a tough climb.”
I start doing the numbers in my head.
Colorado doesn’t have any state inheritance or estate tax, but the feds want their cut, and they don’t care that most of it is dirt and fences.
If Longhorn is valued at, say, around sixteen million, about thirteen point six million of it will be exempt under Federal tax law, which will still leave the taxable portion to be over two million dollars.
The tax bill could easily be, depending on deductions and structure, around a million.
My appetite completely vanishes at that thought.
How the fuck will I pay that?
I don’t have that kind of money. Longhorn has little liquidity, as most of the wealth is tied up in land and equipment.
I push my plate with the half-eaten steak away.
“It’s worth it to me,” I breathe.
I’m freaking the fuck out, and nausea is coating my insides.
Oh, yes, I’m about two steps away from a migraine, and my pills are all the way at the house.
Amos leans back, studies me, as if he’s assessing my intentions and me.
He’s right when he says that he doesn’t know me. The girl who left a decade ago is not the woman I am today. Pain, betrayal, and abandonment shaped me—but so did friendship and love, my found family in Napa.
As if coming to a decision that I’m worthy of his advice, he says, “You need to work smart. Consider a partnership—maybe with Kincaid Farms. His hay and apples move fast. The man knows how to market.”
“Why would he partner with me?” I muse aloud. “When letting me sink gives him Longhorn.”
Amos’s eyes glint with awareness. “Just like I don’t know you, you don’t know Mav.” He tips his chin toward the other side of the dining room, where I know the man we’re talking about is eating his dinner. “That’s not who he is. Won’t ever undercut you.”
“You’re right, I don’t know Maverick Kincaid. But from what little interaction I’ve had with him, he doesn’t seem like a very good judge of character.”
Amos arches an eyebrow.
“He seems to be close friends with Celine.”
Amos groans. “He doesn’t see the books as I do. And your sister is a master manipulator.”
“Well, at least you know.” I can’t keep the hurt and sarcasm out of my voice. Those who know let Celine get away with whatever she does, like Papa, and those who don’t, like Maverick, look at me like I’m the villain in her fairytale.
“Mav is also a master manipulator,” Amos continues. “You see the man he’s sitting with?”
“Senator Otis Jessup.”
“And his wife.”
So, that’s the blonde in the red sweater dress. I look their way and once again see Mrs. Jessup touch Maverick’s arm, her fingers lingering just a moment too long.
It makes my chest tighten.
The sensation catches me off guard—sharp, fast, and stupid.
Why do I care? I barely know the man, and everything I do know tells me I shouldn’t want to.
But something twists in my gut when I see that woman lean in again, tossing her hair like she’s auditioning for a shampoo commercial.
I tear my eyes away.
“So, he sleeps around. I already got that. He sleeping with Celine, too?” I keep my tone light.
I don’t like how this man is affecting me. I don’t like him. It’s obvious that he doesn’t like me.
Amos watches me for a beat. “Mav is a single man, he can sleep with whomever he wants.”
I don’t want to discuss the morality of Maverick Kincaid sleeping with married women with Amos, so I smile faintly. “Anyone else I can partner with?”
“For the cattle, maybe Wilder Ranch. But for the farm, Mav is the big dog out here.”
I run the numbers in my head, that’s starting to whine with pain.
We’d be better off auctioning the cattle ourselves—cut out the middlemen, take the risk, hope the buyers show up hungry.
But the farm is different. For that, I’d need Maverick.
Still, harvest isn’t until fall. There’s time. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
We go over numbers next—debt load, projected yield, whether we can get hay on deferred payment. Amos has ideas. They’re good. And I don’t feel talked down to.
“Look, I understand you care, but you’re not a rancher, Aria and—”
“Amos, do you know what I do in Napa?”
He’s taken aback by my cutting him off. He shakes his head.
“I manage vineyard operations at Knight’s Tale Winery.
All of them. Eight hundred acres of premium cab sav, cab franc, merlot, and petit verdot.
I oversee irrigation, soil health, pruning schedules, pest management, and harvest logistics.
I know what each varietal needs and when it needs it.
I work with the winemaker, not for him. He makes the wine, but he can’t do a damn thing without healthy grapes, which is my job. ”
Amos’s brow lifts slightly, but I’m not done.
“As a teenager, I won a few championship buckles. And I know we don’t have horses anymore—”
“He sold most of them when…Hudson had his problems,” Amos fills in.
I hate that it happened. I hate that I wasn’t here to stop it from happening.
“I’ve branded calves, doctored pinkeye, pulled breech births, and herded cattle through two-foot snow with wind slicing my face open. Don’t tell me I don’t know ranching. It’s in my blood.”
I pause, let him digest that.
“I didn’t come back here to play dress-up. I came here to protect my legacy.”
A flicker of respect passes through his eyes. “Okay, Aria. I get it.”
“Then, you’ll support me?”
I’m not foolish. I need help—all of it. Hell, I’ll even have to go hat in hand to Maverick.
That’s gonna suck. I’m going to have to fight off Celine and Hudson.
They’re still thinking I’m here for the funeral and the reading of the will, after which I’ll go back to Napa.
When they find out that’s not the case….
He studies me. “Rami told me you had some balls on you, but he didn’t think you loved the land.”
“He knew,” I say, grief, suddenly insurmountable, settling inside me.
My migraine starts to make my head throb.
“Land’s worth fighting for. I understand that. I’ll help you,” Amos says simply.