9. Kryptonite in Converse
KRYPTONITE IN CONVERSE
Dean
Icouldn’t stop thinking of the kiss. It had implanted itself in my DNA and I wasn’t able to extract it. It burrowed under my skin like a splinter I couldn’t dig out.
The more I actively tried not to think about it, the more my brain obsessed over it. I’d never had an issue blocking things out, focusing, and having mental discipline. Somehow one kiss, that probably lasted less than a minute, had rewired my brain.
It wasn’t just how good the kiss was, although it was the best kiss I’d ever had.
It was the way it made me forget everything.
For those precious moments, I wasn’t worried about anything, stressed, irritated, or anxious.
It quieted my brain while making my entire being feel more alive than I ever had, and I quickly realized I could easily get addicted to that rush.
That’s why I’d ended it so abruptly. I worried it was like a hit of the most addictive drug. It scared me.
Even now, days later, I hadn’t gone more than a few minutes without thinking about it.
Felicity seemed to think that we’d gotten…
whatever was going on, out of our systems, or at least that’s what she’d said.
The truth was, that kiss only made me want her, think about her, crave her more, which I hadn’t thought was possible.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it, but the area code was local, and I had a sixth sense for when a call was going to be more trouble than it was worth, so I picked up on the third ring.
“Lockhart,” I answered.
A pause followed, just long enough to make me wonder if the call had dropped. Then a booming voice came over the speaker. “Dean, Raymond Blackburn here.”
The name hit with the familiar, sour taste of old rivalry.
Blackburn was a third-generation lawyer, ran the most successful legal practice in the county, and had spent his entire career putting together deals for the same ranchers who drank away their problems at the local bar.
His son Raymond Junior, R.J., was in my grade all through school, a smug little bastard who specialized in starting shit, stirring up trouble, and then walking away and watching the entire thing burn, acting as an innocent bystander.
“Afternoon, Mr. Blackburn.” I fell back on the icy professionalism that seemed appropriate. “What can I do for you?”
He cleared his throat, a gravelly sound underscored by decades of unfiltered Camels. “I’m handling Walter Foster’s estate.”
My first impulse was to ask if he needed to speak to Felicity, but I kept my mouth shut.
“There’s a minor matter involving a parcel of land adjacent to your north property line,” he said.
“It seems Walter purchased it from Chuck Senior. Things are still getting settled as I’m still sifting through everything, his last will and testament was a joke.
For now, I’m confident in telling you that the deceased left the property, and all associated rights, to his granddaughter, Felicity.
You’ve been using it as a grazing easement for some time, yes? ”
“Since before I was born,” I replied. I had no clue it wasn’t our property. I shifted in my chair, irritation building behind my eyes. “Okay, so how do we move forward? Is there paperwork to sign or…”
“Well now, that will be up to Miss Felicity,” Blackburn explained. “I called her this morning and haven’t heard back.”
How had I missed something so big it not only affected my life, but also the lives of my family? I’d done a forensic audit of the ranch when I came on as CFO. How had this slipped through the cracks?
“Why has this never come to light before?” I asked.
“Right, well, this deal was made in the seventies with your grandfather. People made deals based on honor with a handshake.”
“This was a handshake deal?”
“No, no, no, nothing like that. No, this was made on a cocktail napkin.”
“A cocktail napkin,” I repeated without an ounce of humor.
Still, I found myself waiting for the punchline, but none came.
“Yes, sir, but it was signed, dated, and notarized.”
“So what do we need to do? Are there papers I need to sign? How do I go about buying her out?”
“Well now, hold your horses right there. Felicity needs to decide what she wants to do. It might be a little more complicated than throwing some money at her to get her to sign off on her and her son’s rightful inheritance.”
Blackburn was making it sound like I was trying to screw Felicity out of something when this was the first I was hearing about it. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. My only concern was rectifying the situation, not adding more fuel to the fire.
“I still have some work to do. His affairs were by no means in order. Once I have a full picture, I can speak to my client and come back to you with a proposal. Until then, I’ll continue to keep both Miss Foster and you Lockharts, abreast of the situation.”
“Okay, but what—”
He hung up on me before I was able to finish my sentence. I stared at the phone and knew there was only one person to speak to about this. Despite Blackburn assuring me he would handle this, and to wait until he had all the information, there was no way I was going to sit on this information.
Loose ends and I were mortal enemies. I was proactive, rip the Band-Aid off. If something was messy, I cleaned it up. I didn’t sit around and think that it was magically going to resolve itself.
I’d never understood people who procrastinated or buried their heads in the sand, pretending whatever issue it was didn’t exist. I’d go crazy.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not that I’d gotten much rest since our very ill-advised kiss.
The past few nights had been sheet-twisting events.
I don’t think I’d slept for more than an hour or two each night.
My plan to face that issue had been simple, stay away from Felicity Foster. Put as much space and time between us as possible since she was the kryptonite to my self-control. This went against that deal I’d made with myself, but I didn’t have a choice.
I pulled up the instant messenger on SaddlePoint and typed out a quick message asking her to stop by and see me at her earliest convenience.
Once I pressed send, I waited, wondering what this could mean to the business.
I ran through every possible repercussion.
Mainly the financial hit the ranch would take.
Twenty minutes later, not that I was counting, Felicity entered my office.
I’d been down a spreadsheet rabbit hole, so I didn’t hear her approach.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “You wanted to see me.”
I looked up and saw her face, and the same phenomenon I’d experienced the first time I laid eyes on her came flooding back.
For a moment, I could only stare. Felicity Foster never just entered a room; she entered your bloodstream and set up camp, infiltrating every higher cognitive function.
She was dressed in casual clothes today, she wore slacks, Chucks, and a t-shirt that looked like it had belonged to three different people before her.
Her hair was up in a sloppy bun, and a pen mark smudged her face.
And yet she was so heartbreakingly, unfairly beautiful, it was an act of violence against the laws of physics.
A light surrounded her, as if the universe had selected a single human to receive maximum lumens and assigned it to Valentine Bay.
She met my eyes, and I felt the same painful squeezing in my chest I’d experienced on her porch, only now it was amplified by the tight quarters of the office, the way her scent—floral, lemon, and something unclassifiable—displaced all the oxygen in the room.
My mouth went dry, my hands nearly fumbled the pen I’d been holding.
She was an angel walking on earth.
“Hey,” she repeated, softer this time, and it sent a shiver right down my spine.
I snapped out of the spell she always managed to cast on me and gestured vaguely to the visitor chair. “Close the door, please?”
She did, then settled herself in the seat, crossing one leg over the other and tucking her hands under her thigh like she was bracing for bad news. The move did something devastating to the neckline of her shirt, and I had to forcibly redirect my gaze to my computer screen.
“I feel like I just got called into the principal’s office.
Not that I would know what that feels like.
I stayed out of trouble as a kid. The most I ever had to do was stay after school for detention because I talked too much in class.
” As soon as those words came out of her mouth, a realization dawned on her.
“Not unlike what I’m doing right now. Sorry, what did you need? ”
She was fucking adorable. But that was not relevant, nor was it appropriate for me to be thinking.
I pushed back my chair and stood. Walked around the desk and stopped beside her chair, then leaned down, bracing one hand on the desk.
She froze. Completely. Her lips parted, and something in my chest pulled tight.
For one dangerous second, I forgot about the ink.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth.
Well, fuck.
I could kiss her. The thought arrived fully formed and spectacularly unhelpful. All I had to do was close the last few inches between us. I wanted to know if she’d make that little breathless sound again. I wanted to know if her lips were as soft as I remembered.
Her chin tipped up. Like she thought I was going to. Like maybe she wanted me to.
My pulse kicked hard.
Instead, I lifted my hand and dragged my thumb slowly over her cheek.
Her breath caught.
“There.” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
Her eyes opened. “There what?”
I held up my thumb, the faint blue smear of ink staining the pad.
“You had pen on your face.”
“Oh.”
One word.
So much disappointment packed into one tiny syllable that I nearly smiled.
Nearly.
Because I was still leaning over her. My hand was still hovering beside her face. And she was still looking at my mouth.
I rubbed my thumb against my forefinger. “What did you think I was doing?”
Her gaze snapped to mine.
“Nothing.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
“Uh-huh.”
She licked her lips nervously, and suddenly, wiping off that damn ink felt like the stupidest decision I’d made all day.
I cleared my throat as I walked back around to the desk.
“There’s a situation with the north side boundary property line,” I relayed, and instantly regretted how cold and transactional it sounded.
I tried again. “I got a call from Raymond Blackburn, the attorney handling Walter’s affairs.
Apparently, he discovered some historical paperwork, and it affects grazing rights on a parcel we’ve been using for decades.
He is still gathering information and plans on speaking to you once he has all the facts, but I didn’t want to wait.
I wanted you to be aware of what was going on. ”
“Okay.” I could see the confusion in her stare. “So, what does that mean exactly?”
I hesitated. “I was hoping you’d be willing to let us continue using it until the legality is sorted out. If you decide you want to sell it, we’ll pay above market rate. If you’d rather lease, I can draw up an agreement.”
“What agreement did my uncle have with the ranch?”
“As far as I know, none. It seems like he bought it and then just allowed us to continue to use it. I couldn’t find any monthly payments being made to him.”
She shrugged. “I don’t see any reason to change the arrangements.”
“The land belongs to you,” I repeated.
She thought about it for a second, and then her eyes lit up. “What if I had a third option?”
I braced for it, expecting some wild, unpredictable condition.
“I want your workshop,” she said, and, at my baffled blink, clarified, “The outbuilding next to the equipment shed and the piles of scrap lumber you’re always hoarding behind it.”
I’d run so many possible scenarios in my head, but this was nowhere on the list. “You want…us to sell you the barn?”
“No.” Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No, no. Not sell, borrow. There are a ton of things that I need to fix or replace at the house, and my bank account has made me a DIYer.”
I’d gotten my general contractor’s license because I didn’t want to get ripped off by trades when they came out to the ranch to do repairs, renovations, or new builds.
I’d renovated my own home on the south end of the ranch, and renovated Dylan and Damon’s as well, who both also lived on the property. Renovations were no joke.
“Have you renovated a house before?”
She shook her head and a small grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “No, but I have YouTube. You can learn to do anything on YouTube.”
As I stared at her, it occurred to me that the idea of Felicity wielding a reciprocating saw was as terrifying as it was arousing.
“You realize you could make a small fortune in lease agreements and buyout offers, then you’d be able to hire people to do that work.”
Her nose scrunched in the cutest way, as if the idea literally stank. “I’m not going to go back on a deal my uncle made. I didn’t know Walter that well, but I do know he was a man of his word. I’m going to honor that.”
I had not anticipated that. I’d braced for a negotiation, a protracted battle of wills, or at the very least some financial hit to the ranch. Instead, she was being…accommodating. Generous. It left me off-balance, as if there were a step missing on the staircase.
“Okay, on one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I noticed a flush rise up on her cheeks. “What’s that?”
“That I can help with the repairs. If you’re going to use the workshop, I want to be there to oversee.”
“Oversee?” she repeated.
“I’ll supervise any project involving power tools, heavy lifting, or lumber.”
She considered this with a suspicious squint. “You sound like you’ve already drafted the safety protocols.”
“I have them saved as a template,” I stated flatly.
She laughed, and the sweet sound sent goosebumps down my forearms.
Challenge twinkled in her eyes as she narrowed them. “What if I say no?”
“It’s non-negotiable.”
“Are you afraid I’ll burn the barn down, or is this just control issues?”
“It’s not about control, I like to think of it as risk management.”
“That sounds like something someone would say right before they micromanage your entire existence.”
I knew she was joking, but if I could do that, I felt like the world would run a lot smoother.