Chapter 3 #2
She nods at me and gives Iverson a quick hug. “I’m glad you left Jamison at home.”
“I’m not stopping her from doing anything,” he says lightly. “She doesn’t trust her hormones in a situation like this.”
“Good, she told you.” A nervous laugh leaves her. “It’s certainly unprecedented, but William has his reasons.”
His reasons usually have dollar signs, and I’ve never been more upset with the man. Why would he make his daughter do this? As for Campbell, she’s an adult. Why would she go along with it?
My comments about her jobless state from last night drift through my mind. Does she feel like she doesn’t have a choice? Moreover, can she plan an event without being late or missing one of the hundred small details that go into it?
Christine leads us through the sitting area where social hour often takes place, past the entrance to the small bar, and to a concealed door behind a bookshelf. The meeting room.
Inside, William’s waiting at the head of the table. His bushy white mustache is the first thing anyone notices about him. He’s usually boisterous, greeting guests and making them laugh and smile. Today, he’s grim. His mustache practically droops.
He glances from me to Iverson. “I take it you know what we’re meeting about?”
“I do.” Iverson doesn’t take a seat, and neither do I.
“You can’t let this happen,” I add.
“I’d like to wait for Campbell to get here before you guys level me with your righteous opinions.” He checks his watch and huffs out a breath.
We’re early, but Campbell isn’t.
Christine sits, waving for us to take a chair.
I finally pull a seat out, and she gives me a grateful smile.
I’m not here to create drama, and Christine was always nice to the ranch employees.
She accepted Iverson into the family with no hesitation.
She even hugs him like our mom never did.
So, yeah. I can sit my ass down when she asks me to.
Iverson relents too. We’re not turning our back on our convictions. But we are willing to hear the rest of the story.
“How’s the herd?” William asks us, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. Campbell continues to be a no-show as we chat about calving season. Haven’s taking over for us, watching for any new calves or mamas having birthing trouble.
Lane and Cruz Foster are working the tours and tasting room at the distillery. They’re the other partial owners. Myles Foster controls the most shares. He’s the founder and CEO, but his brothers are taking more responsibility with the whole company and not just the Huckleberry Springs’ site.
Five minutes after the scheduled time tick by, we’re still chatting, but Christine is discreetly tapping into her phone.
Another five minutes later, Campbell breezes into the room on a cloud of huckleberry blossoms and sunshine. Her chestnut hair is gathered in a clip at the back of her head, but lighter strands fan out around her face. Her cheeks have a fresh blush, but the tip of her nose isn’t red.
The dress from last night is gone. She’s in jeans—these most definitely have dust on them—and a hoodie with the Hawthorne brand across the front, an H over a squiggle. William claims that’s to represent the Stillwater River, but the inside joke is that it’s really a dollar sign.
“Sorry,” she says, out of breath. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
William pointedly looks at his watch again.
She sits across from us and avoids my gaze, but she doesn’t offer any excuses. I have to respect that. Unless she was rescuing puppies or solving the answer to world peace, it’d sound irresponsible.
“I’ll just come right out with it,” William says. “Stanford and January want their wedding at the ranch, and since Campbell’s our new event planner, she’ll be planning the wedding.”
Campbell’s gaze is on the wood grains swirling through the tabletop.
When she doesn’t say anything, William continues. “I know everyone thinks we shouldn’t allow it.”
“No shit.” I clamp my teeth together. I didn’t mean to have an outburst like that, but what dad would put his daughter through planning her ex’s wedding to the cousin he cheated on her with?
William shoots me a scowl. “I’m not happy with my brother for pushing it either. Stanford, the dumbass, should have more sense, and well, we all know January doesn’t.”
Campbell puffs out a small laugh, her attention remaining on the wall.
“I think it’s important in this case to be the bigger person.” His shoulders are stiff as he continues. “To be infallible when it comes to how we conduct ourselves.”
I shift in my seat, but Campbell’s gaze flicks up and she grimaces, as if my movement projects all my judgment onto the tabletop. Rich girl gets a job from her daddy when she can’t hold her own.
She’s wrong.
Well, that’s absolutely what happened in her case.
But I don’t judge her for it. I didn’t grow up rich, but I have the job and my land because of what my dad left behind for me and my brothers.
For a long time, the only family assets we had were detriments.
Her dad loves her, and he wants to help.
She accepted that help. In that, we’re no different.
It’s how we use advantages that makes the difference, and she’s been thrown into the fire.
He scrubs a hand down his face, and for once, he looks old. Bags hang under his eyes, and strain shows in the frown lines pulling down at the corners of his mouth. “Rayburn also owns half the ranch.”
“What?” Iverson and I say at the same time.
“The guest ranch is mine. The money it makes or loses is mine, but we were both left the land the working ranch is on.” He blows out a hard breath.
“If we do this wedding, he’s agreed to sell it to me.
Then I can leave it free and clear to my daughters.
All but a portion he wants to keep for Sydney.
January wants the wedding, and she doesn’t want anything else to do with the ranch. ”
A sarcastic snort leaves Campbell. “She probably hasn’t told Stanford, or he’d be counting the money he could squeeze out of you, Daddy.”
Christine’s derisive sniff lands between us. “That girl just wants to show you up more than she wants a part of her family’s legacy. She always was a jealous kid.”
My mind’s whirling. The situation is shitty for everyone involved, but it’s all Hawthorne drama. The only other family involved is Stanford’s. “What’s our role in this?”
William lifts his gaze to Campbell.
She crosses one leg over the other. If she were wearing the dress from last night, it might’ve slid down her knee to reveal some skin.
And why would I care?
She has nice legs. I’m not interested, but I still notice things.
“They would like the local distillery with deep roots in Huckleberry Springs history to provide the spirits and bar services.” She says it like she’s trying to recruit our business, and the way she’s selling it would’ve worked if I hadn’t just heard the story about why.
“We can provide the spirits,” Iverson says. He taps his fingertips together. “Is there a reason why the staff here can’t do their normal duties with the bar? Or why they can’t provide a wet bar?”
“Stanford thinks you’re an asshole and he wants you to wait on him,” Campbell says simply.
I cough out a laugh. “Way to get to the point.”
I mean it as a compliment, but her shoulders droop farther.
“It’s a guess. I shouldn’t have said it, but this isn’t really a standard pitch for your services.
” She bites into her lower lip, and I’m fixated on the spot where her white teeth are sinking into red flesh.
“At the wedding, Stanford thought both of you were presumptive asses and dismissed him. Haven too. He doesn’t take kindly to that, ironically, because he thinks he’s better than anyone.
So when he was presented with a chance to have a wedding at the ranch and make you three dance for his money, he couldn’t resist.”
“Fucker,” I growl.
Christine leans over to put her cool fingers on my forearm. I tense for her censure.
“I’m so glad we’re of the same mind when it comes to this craziness.” She pats me in the most maternal gesture I’ve ever experienced before pulling away. “I say we should tell them to take a hike.”
The venom in her tone tells me she’s used harsher words to describe what Stanford, January, and William’s brother can do.
“We can,” William said cautiously.
“We don’t need their business to succeed,” Iverson says. “Foster House is doing just fine, and the Foster House Gold products are growing a niche whiskey, vodka, and gin audience, just like we planned. It doesn’t need some dickwad’s wedding.”
“But it would help,” Campbell says in a soft voice.
“It would help you and your growing family for Foster House to have more stability and faster growth.” She runs her gaze over me, a resolute glint in her eyes.
“You’re supporting a lot of people in this small community.
Iverson, you’re married, but the other owners are mostly single guys who may also be settling down soon and growing families. ”
Is she shouldering the responsibility of how our company is going to support all of its employees? My admiration for her grows. Just a little.
“I can tell them no,” William assures her, but the stress and fatigue weighing him down are almost palpable.
“I have no problem telling them to fuck off,” Iverson adds.
“He’ll have the full Foster House fuck-off behind him,” I say.
Christine’s nodding, but Campbell’s studying me, as if she can’t believe that I’m on board to keep her from getting bossed around by two people who hurt her. She’s annoying, but I don’t wish that for her. I’m a better man than her ex.
We all watch her. She licks her pink tongue out, wetting her bottom lip, and once again, I’m riveted. Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve had sex.
That determination from earlier hardens.
“I think we should do it. I’m going to plan their wedding, and I’m going to do it well.
Because I’m good at what I do. No matter what anyone thinks.
” She casts a glance in my direction. Point taken.
“I think Foster House should participate. You can serve the wedding and get your products on more palates, but you’ll also be factored into the biggest talk of the town since one of Daddy’s cowboys ran off with his daughter. ”
William and Christine chuckle. Iverson looks pleased with himself.
“I’m going to plan the hell out of this wedding,” Campbell says, “and I’m going to do it with a smile. I’m going to look blissfully happy that Stanford is no longer my problem, and I can’t think of anyone better to be saddled with him than my backstabbing cousin.”
William dips his head. “Amen to that.”
Neither Iverson nor I jump in. It doesn’t feel right. Everyone involved in hurting Campbell can stay in Portland or Seattle, or wherever Campbell was living before she moved home.
“When you put it like that . . .” Christine sighs and rolls her neck. “Then I’m in. Whatever you need, even if it’s just moral support when Stanford’s pompous parents show up.”
The relief and gratitude pouring through Campbell’s smile at her mom tugs at my heart.
Damn, she’s pretty when she’s not irritating me.
She’s not just doing the wedding to spite her ex.
She wants to help her dad—and us. I thought she was self-absorbed, but her selflessness didn’t just appear overnight.
Iverson and I exchange a glance. I know from his hard stare what he’s thinking. He wants to back Campbell. He doesn’t want to incur his wife’s wrath for agreeing to the wedding, but he wants to help Campbell. So do I. But neither of us is going to be Stanford’s dancing puppet. Fuck that guy.
“We’ll agree,” I say carefully. “But the bride and groom are going to realize quickly that we’ll provide services at our discretion, when it works for us, and we can jump off this train wreck whenever we want. They can go buy a few six-packs if they piss us off.”
Her eyes widen with each declaration, but then a radiant smile breaks through. “I can’t wait to tell them.”
Iverson glances at me. “Jamison’s due right around when the wedding is. Mind taking point on all this?”
“No problem.” Just because Campbell Hawthorne is the event coordinator doesn’t mean I can’t be professional.