16. Daisy
sixteen
Daisy
“Event bookings are up forty-five percent for the fall,” Charlie says, running her finger down a printed spreadsheet.
The table is covered with them, all our papers and reports scattered around the pastries and coffee that fuel our business brunch.
“That’s good, but if we can increase it by another ten to twelve percent, I’ll feel better about pushing through the low season. ”
“I’m waiting to hear back from three prospective clients,” Dylan replies. “Two weddings and a corporate lunch. I’ll follow up today and let you know if I get any confirmations.”
“Perfect. And the plans for Chord’s retirement party next month?”
“Consider the catering under control,” he says. “Assuming the guest list hasn’t changed?”
Charlie picks up her tablet and scrolls through her emails.
“Nope. It’ll be most of the team, coaches and management, and some other names I’ve included for networking purposes.
Now that Chord’s no longer playing for the Fury, I might need to renegotiate our beverage supply contracts with the arena.
” She frowns at the screen. “The marketing team wants to run a campaign around Chord’s retirement and our party here at the ranch.
It’ll be great exposure for Silver Leaf.
” She hesitates, glancing first at Dylan, then at me. “He’s going to say no, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Dylan muses. “Our big brother might not mind the ego boost.”
“Good point.” Charlie looks thoughtful, then shakes it off and pushes a stack of papers toward Dylan. “Don’t forget to email me everything for digital recordkeeping.”
“I won’t,” Dylan assures her, then under his breath, he says to me, “Just like I email them every week.”
We share a sneaky grin, and Charlie looks up from her screen with a suspicious look. The conspiracy melts from our faces, replaced with wide-eyed innocence, and Charlie snorts.
This is my fifth meeting with Charlie and Dylan, but really, it’s brunch at Dylan’s restaurant while we make sure Charlie’s happy with how things are running.
I was way under-prepared for my first session, so I’ve been passing my reports by Dylan before sharing them with our sister.
She’s been happier with my output this week, though I don’t know why I’m so relieved.
My sister was right about running a business.
It’s boring and so, so tedious. I still don’t know my way around the software, and when I go looking for a tutorial to fix my problem, I spend hours watching videos of hot cowboys making cannoli and shirtless men in gray sweats skipping rope.
What should take minutes to complete takes hours instead.
Being a boss is a pain in the ass, but I can’t let Charlie know how I feel.
Don’t get me wrong. I love overseeing the horses, and it’s nice to have nobody breathing down my neck, but the paperwork is torture, and I’d pass it to someone else if I could.
I recall the saying about a wise leader knowing when to delegate.
Maybe Charlie would respect me more for giving up the parts of this job that don’t come naturally.
I watch her study my profit-and-loss statement, bottom lip caught between her teeth and a ballpoint pen sticking out of her messy bun.
Yeah, she’s not going to buy it.
I shift closer to my brother, and he sets down his mug of coffee to lean into my whisper.
“How much longer am I going to be stuck here?” I ask. “I’ve got Chardonneigh tied up out front, and I want to check out a potential new trail before the vet gets here.”
Dylan sits up straight and scowls out the windows. “You didn’t put her near the veggie patch again, did you? I lost half my radishes last week. If she gets her nose into my summer squash, I’m charging you for the feed.”
I scoff quietly. “She’s nowhere near your veggies. I put her near the herbs.”
“You—” Dylan growls, then yanks the tie from my ponytail.
“Hey!” I swat him away as my hair tumbles out. “Cut it out!”
He tweaks my nose, and I flap my hand again, missing him by a mile.
“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”
“Keep your horses out of my crops,” he retorts, poking my side while my arms are raised to re-tie my hair; I jerk as he hits my most ticklish spot, “and maybe I won’t have to be.”
I give up on my hair and punch him in the ribs hard enough to make him grunt.
Charlie clears her throat. “Do I need to separate you two?”
“He started it,” I say at the same time Dylan says, “It’s her fault.”
We share a smirk as Charlie sighs and closes the folder with my reports. “Everything looks good, Daze. You’re doing a great job.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it, even while wondering how I’ll ever wriggle my way out of the business admin now.
Dylan casts me a sidelong look like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“How’s the situation with Beau?” Charlie asks, and a dark cloud descends over Dylan.
“The situation is fine,” I say flatly. “Six weeks from now, he’ll be in Kismet Creek, and we can all move on with our lives.”
“And his replacement?”
I busy myself scooping up my paperwork. “I’ll finalize the job ad first thing next week.”
Charlie exchanges a look with Dylan, and I pretend not to notice. I know they care, but it’s hard enough dealing with Beau on my own. I don’t need to live under their microscope, especially when my goal to get over him feels harder by the day.
“Mind if I skip out early?” I throw my napkin onto my plate and jump to my feet. Charlie looks ready to object, so I hurriedly add, “Dr. Lawson is due at the stable in an hour, and there’s a new trail I want to check out on the ride back.”
Charlie can’t argue with business. “Oh. Okay. If I don’t see you over the weekend, we’ll meet you here same time on Monday.”
I salute at the same time I kick Dylan’s ankle under the table.
“Ow!” He leans down to rub the bone.
“Serves you right. Bye, loser.”
After judging that Chardonneigh has decimated a perfectly acceptable portion of Dylan’s squash, I take my time returning to the stable.
The trails around Silver Leaf never get old, and though I spent my childhood exploring every inch of them on horseback with my mom or with my siblings on foot, there’s always somewhere I haven’t been.
Our property is close to two hundred acres of vineyards, riverbanks and woodlands, and when we were kids, Mom and Dad would take us into “the wilderness” on weekends to camp under the stars.
And though we rarely strayed from our property, they always found something new to show us.
It was my favorite thing about my childhood—that home was an adventure.
As my brothers and sister grew older and we stopped camping together, Mom and I still went out every other weekend, just the two of us.
We’d ride and talk all afternoon about school and friends and what I planned to be when I grew up, and she’d tell me about the cities she wanted to visit and the experiences she still hoped to have.
At night, we’d light the fire, toast marshmallows, and gossip about boys.
I’d share my latest crush, or if there was none, I’d dream about my future out loud.
Long, impossible descriptions of the man I’d marry.
He’d be tall, dark, and handsome, of course, with a passion for horses, and my mom would adore him.
I’d ask her how I could tell if he was the one, and she’d brush my hair from my face and say, you just know.
The way I take is less a trail and more a beaten path through the woods.
I came across it a few days ago, but to make it suitable for guided rides, I’d have to get in here with some equipment and clear a wider road.
I press as far as I can, but soon, the track narrows too much to continue, and I turn around, undeterred.
This old trail could be one of those adventures Mom took us on, and thinking about reestablishing a trail we rode together boosts my post-business meeting bad mood.
It’s just past noon when I get back, the stable and surroundings quiet the way they are in the middle of the day.
I approach as a shiny silver truck pulls into my drive.
Dr. Lawson is a sixty-something man who’s been our vet since I was a kid, and I’ve never known him to drive anything but his old Ford.
I dig my heels into Chardonneigh, spurring her into a canter, as a dark-haired guy with broad shoulders, Wranglers, and dusty boots steps out of the vehicle.
And he’s certainly not Dr. Lawson.
The stranger looks at ease, not lost or needing directions, and the closer I get, the more I sense that I know him.
When he hears the hooves barreling toward him, he turns to see who’s about to run him down.
Even with a hand shielding his face from the sun, I recognize those crinkly eyes behind dark-framed glasses anywhere.
“Emmett!”
I swing out of the saddle and jump into his arms, and he spins me around in a hug.
“Now that’s the kind of welcome that could go to a man’s head,” he says, laughing as he sets me down. He holds my waist to steady me, and I squeeze his shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He lets me go and takes a step back. “Dr. Lawson is on an extended vacation, and he asked me to cover his practice for the month.” Emmett crosses his muscled arms and sweeps his eyes over me, brows waggling. “You’re looking good, Daze.”
I punch him the way I would any of my brothers. “Shut up.”
He just chuckles.
Dr. Emmett Montgomery is the second son of Duke Montgomery, the same man who called me about the job for Beau.
I’ve known Emmett all my life. The Montgomery kids were as good as our cousins, if not better, but I haven’t seen him in ten years.
He was tall and lanky as a kid, but now in his early thirties, he’s filled out in all the right places.
He reaches into his truck and pulls out a heavy black bag. “Should we get started?”
“Let’s do it.”
I lead Chardonneigh toward the stable with Emmett by my side. “It’s good to see you,” I say. “It’s been, what? Ten years?”