Chapter Four #2
Their farms were close together thanks to a split of property that had the houses butt up against one another. Back in the day, it probably seemed like a good idea, but now it was a liability.
“Seems like you’re the not normal one, still worried about sleep at this late hour. Wanna hand me that pail?” He waved at the small pail he’d been tossing metal scraps into.
She scoffed but handed it over. “You’re a cocky jerk, you know that? I thought cowboys were supposed to be respectful, but maybe that’s just the real ranchers. Not guys who play them on television.”
With that, she spun on her heels and sped off toward his neighbors’ place. He was amused at first by her fire and sass, even if the words did sting. He had a retort ready. But the sound got stuck in his throat as his gaze met her backside sashaying away.
Jesus, she was stunning. The only thing more beautiful in his estimation was the land that was infecting him on a cellular level again.
Like cancer, his brain conjured. Maybe. He put the hammer down and sat down in the detritus of his work. Damn, he felt good. Tired, but good. Not at all like he was sick. The opposite, in fact.
“Well, this is interesting,” he muttered. A breeze blew over his skin, cooling him. “I hear ya, Dad. Got your message loud and clear.”
He’d stay, for a little, at least.
He shot Cammie a text.
“Hey. Send me the info on the job we talked about earlier, but can you clear me from any press stuff for the next two months?”
It might take longer, but that was fine; he’d handle the extension then.
The only issue he foresaw was wanting to go back to the city at all, especially that city.
He’d never felt at home in LA unless he was off set, surfing Huntington, or up the coast near San Luis Obispo, exploring the coastline and wineries with equal excitement.
Hollywood, on the other hand, was as much a character as those it created, with its bougie cupcakes and coffee, fake tans, bodies, and smiles…
The list was endless, and he needed a break.
This is more than a break you’re considering. This was a deep dive right into the shallow pool of his childhood. But maybe it was just the thing he needed to shake things up. He could always leave again.
His phone buzzed.
“You got it. Whatcha got cooking, Jace? Anything I need to know about?”
He shot off a reply. “Not yet. I’ll keep you posted.”
In the distance, the low-pitched squeal of gears grinding picked up speed, then the grumble of a motor joined in as it begrudgingly woke and roared to life.
That sound—the echo of machines and chaos—would be at his place tomorrow.
He’d hired a crew to demo his dad’s old place, then make a new home that would draw the eye of a potential buyer.
Jace pulled up the digital copy of the plans, and his heart thumped out a tattoo of longing.
No matter what happened, he wasn’t going to live in it, but with tall, wide windows framing the peaks behind the fields the new owners would run, he wished he would have the chance, even for a little while.
The ranch-style home he’d designed had an open floor plan and more light, more comfort packed into it than physics should allow. It would be a thing of beauty.
He gave himself a mental shake. Of course it would. But it wasn’t his own mind he needed to convince; it was that damned Aurelie from the night before. He was building a place no one in their right mind would want to tear down.
His phone rang, interrupting the peace of the moment. He wiped his brow and swiped open the call.
“’Ello,” he said, grabbing his coffee mug and frowning when it came up empty.
“Jace, it’s Cammie.”
He glanced at the LA number that hadn’t registered with her contact information.
“Why aren’t you calling on your phone? What’s up?”
“I needed to keep the guy on hold, so I borrowed my boyfriend’s cell. It has better reception at his mom’s house anyway.”
Cammie had a boyfriend? And they’d been dating long enough that she’d met his mother? Guilt rippled over his skin, cooling it.
So, change.
He would.
Now that he was sticking his head out from the scripts he’d been buried under, he’d see the people in his life as more than just instruments of his success. He could do that, at least.
“Bad news?”
“Not at all. I just had a guy call the listing number and speak to your real estate agent, but he wouldn’t deal with her. He wanted to talk to me because he, and I quote, ‘has an offer you won’t want to refuse.’”
Jace paced the side of the deck, his senses on full alert. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I told him to hold while I called to run it by you, but Jace, he’s right. This offer is legitimate.”
“Okay, lemme have it.”
“They want you to forego the rebuild and buy the property as-is.”
Jace frowned. On one hand, that would save him time and money, and a lot of both. But something nagged at him.
“Why?”
“At the price they’re willing to pay, I didn’t ask.” She told Jace the number, and he balked. No rancher could afford that kind of pricing. Not even the obscenely wealthy ones.
Did that mean…?
No, he wouldn’t go there, not yet.
“So, what should I tell him? He doesn’t seem like the patient type.”
Again, no rancher he’d ever known, or wanted to know, was impatient, especially when it came to building a solid outfit. He might’ve been out of the business for a hot second, but he was pretty damned sure that much hadn’t changed.
“Did he say what he wanted to do about the livestock and horses in the south barn?”
“Only that we should consider offloading them before he took possession. He, and again, I quote, ‘wants the land and is willing to pay for it.’ Sounds like you can double your income if you sell both separately, Jace. Not a bad deal. Should we take it?”
Jace ignored the way the we made him feel. Like a disappointment, for one. He’d shucked all potential connections, romantic and otherwise, for the job. His father, friends. Harley had even left because he’d ignored her needs and made his career more important.
Time with his neighbors last night had opened up a deep ache that might have scarred over the past few years, but it was sure as hell a gaping wound now.
“Gimme a sec to think about it.”
It was a damn good deal, one that would buy him not only financial freedom—though he already had that from his career, which had been good to him—but would free him from life in Banberry without having to invest a single minute, slab of oak, or modicum of energy.
That said, though, he’d just mentally committed to staying at least until the house was built.
Hell, he’d committed to building it himself, partly at least.
He ran his hand along the last of the old pine railing on the east side of the deck. Jace recalled his father fixing this particular swathe when he was five, maybe six. When he’d asked what was wrong with the old wood, his dad had smiled down on him.
“Nothin’s wrong with it, not that you can see. But inside, this wood’s started to break down, rot from the inside. I don’t want you to trust it, then lean against it, only to fall right on your face.”
“So, you’re building me something strong?” he’d asked.
“I’m building you somethin’ strong that’ll last,” his dad had replied.
Jace closed his eyes against the heat building behind his eyes. God, he’d forgotten about so much, hadn’t he? His dad had had his faults, but he’d loved Jace through and through.
“And I turned the man away,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” Cammie asked. “You turned who away?”
He’d turned completely away from everything that supported him, if he was being honest. Brad and Paige had been good friends back in the day, had even snuck out for a drink with him once or twice. Had he even checked in once about their lives after he’d left?
The answer was damning.
As was the question he couldn’t get out of his head.
Who the hell wanted a ranch without everything that made it a ranch? And was willing to pay top dollar for the property? If he said yes to this deal, he’d get to go back to Hollywood, focus on that audition he’d been vying for his whole career, and leave Banberry and Montana behind for good.
Why didn’t that sound as good as it had earlier?
He raked his hands down his cheeks, the stubble rough against his skin. He hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, one of the other, less pressing, perks of not being in the city. Why bother?
For some dumb reason he couldn’t fathom in the moment, Aurelie and her smooth, island-baked skin, full ruby lips, and jade-green eyes flecked with gold-like small jewels, came crashing into his thoughts. His subconscious argued that it wouldn’t mind impressing her. Not one bit.
He closed his eyes and shook the image away like an Etch-A-Sketch he was desperate to erase.
It backfired, though, and not only did Aurelie’s face stay seared against the back of his eyelids, but it highlighted the flush of her cheeks when she’d stormed up to him the morning before, the way her eyes danced with rage at him, a stranger who’d come a little too close to wrecking her world.
It wasn’t him, but that guy was still out there.
Then all the pieces fell into place.
This phone call from Cammie… That was the reason Aurelie had been so upset at dinner. Jace posed a threat to her friends, to her world, if he, indeed, was there to put up a hotel.
She’d put him and her friends face-to-face with the problem. He walked out to where his dad usually had the morning paper delivered. There, on his dad’s front porch, was the damning headline on yet another paper.
Mystery Millionaire Buying Up Farms in Banberry for Hotel Project, it read.
Shit.
It sure didn’t bode well that he was a millionaire who’d just acquired a farm in the same damn town as this mess. He picked up the paper and read the subhead.
Will Banberry become the next Jackson Hole? As farms are being bought up one by one—for half their worth—we have to wonder if our mystery buyer is savior or soulless.
Shit, shit, double shit.