Chapter One
Atlas
It’s just land. Dirt. Trees. Grass. If I could convince myself that were true, I wouldn’t be trying to negotiate with a woman who’s part bombshell, part hurricane.
“This land is important to me too.” She readjusts her little black dress and leans against the old maple tree my dad planted when he and my mom first moved in. If she thinks she can bat her eyelashes and make me go away, she’s wrong.
“Yeah? You’ve been here for six months. How can you say this place means more to you than it does to me?”
“I didn’t say that,” she snaps, rolling her eyes before heading up toward the house. “Men are all the same. None of you listen.”
“Whoa.” I follow behind with an inappropriate laugh in my throat. “Who the fuck burned your biscuit?”
“Look,” she twists back dramatically, her long dark hair blowing in the late evening breeze, “I may have only been here for six months, but it’s the first purchase I made after my divorce, and that means something to me.”
Divorce. Now it makes sense. She hates all men.
“I appreciate that,” I force my kindest voice, though I’m pretty sure it sounds fake, “and I’m sure the divorce was hard on you, but my family owned this land for fifty years.
I grew up here. Every memory I’ve ever had has ties to this place.
” I nod out toward the treeline in the back of the house.
“My sister and I would get lost in those trees from sunup to sundown. We’d eat blackberries off the bush like survivalists, and we’d look for fossils in the creek beds.
That lilac bush in the yard over there, it came from Grandma’s cabin out in Rusty Mills. ”
The woman nods toward the porch. “And that’s where I had my first glass of tea post-divorce with a bundle of your grandma’s lilacs in a mason jar next to me.” She draws her amber glare up slowly as though she wants to see my reaction to her smart-ass remark.
I don’t react though. I don’t react at all. Reacting is what people want, and I usually refuse to give people what they want. You give them what they want once, and they own you.
“Anyway,” she sighs when I don’t respond right away, “I need far more than you’re offering to buy this place.”
If I could get into the house, I could get more money. I’m certain that my father left a box of cash in the bedroom wall of my sister’s room. He swore he was keeping it there in case the government went crazy and tried to seize bank accounts. He kept rifles in every room for the same reason.
“Maybe you could at least let me see the place one last time then.”
The woman breaks out into some kind of hysterical laughter.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Me, a single woman, in the middle of nowhere, is going to invite a big, huge, rock of a man with a record into my home to look around.
” Her eyes roll back. “I’ve kind of had enough of this back and forth with you.
Maybe your looks get you what you want with other women, but it won’t with me. ”
I laugh abruptly. “My looks? Are you flirting with me?”
She exhales loudly. “Umm… what? I just told you I didn’t want anything to do with you.”
“And you also said I was attractive.”
“I didn’t say you’re attractive, I said your looks get you what you want. That could mean you’re intimidating.”
I grin. “It didn’t though, did it?”
There’s an audible huff in her throat as she leans over the porch rail, her full breasts spilling from her dress as she stares out at the aspen and maple turning color. “You know you’re not the only one that’s lost things.”
“Yes, but isn’t a divorce supposed to be cleansing or something?”
“Not the divorce. The land. People die, land gets sold, then new people buy it, and the cycle starts again. I didn’t make the rules.”
“No, you didn’t,” I pause, “but I’d bet you have a heart, and maybe that heart knows what it’s like to lose something so important.” I glance down at the porch rail. “You know my father built this entire place himself. Brick by brick, board by board, every nail is his blood, sweat, and tea—”
“Tears.” The woman rolls her eyes. “I get it. It’s sad, but that’s life. You think something is yours, then stuff happens, and reality gets rearranged.”
Clearly, we’re not talking about land anymore, or maybe we are. This is probably why women say men don’t understand them.
“You know this place isn’t easy to take care of,” I say, nodding toward the treeline. “There are bobcats that hunt to the west, a group of foxes to the north, and these carpenter bees that—”
“Very cute,” she says, crossing her arms over one another.
“I see what you’re doing, but I’m a very capable woman.
I was also raised in the woods, and guess what, my family’s twenty-two-acre lot was sold last year to a buyer in Wyoming who turned the place into a subdivision.
So… I get what you’re feeling, but at least you have the solace in the fact that this won’t be a pile of cookie-cutter homes with a manufactured lake in the center of it all.
This place will be me, the bobcats, and the carpenter bees. ”
“I’m sorry about your family’s land. Why did they sell?”
She shakes her head and draws a deep breath.
“No, this isn’t a personal share circle.
I entertained your offer multiple times.
The bottom line is you don’t have enough money to entice me, and I no longer want to converse with a criminal, so good luck.
” She steps forward through the front door and slams it shut behind her.
I’m not sure what the feeling is that I’m feeling right now.
On one hand, I understand the concept of time.
I know life moves, titles are transferred, and homes are sold.
This woman locking me out of my family’s home is her legal right.
Thankfully, I also know that a rational person would leave, and he’d handle his grief at home with a bottle of whiskey and an old record, maybe some photographs.
A slightly crazier person would bang on the door, maybe scream a little.
Then there’s me.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but instinct takes over, and without much thought at all, my body moves around the edge of the pine tree that sits at the corner of the house.
It moves past the old wildflower garden my mother tended for the better part of fifty years, up onto the deck, then the railing, and up to the asphalt roof where I used to jimmy open the window in my sister’s room for us to sneak out every Friday night.
It’s convenient that this room is also the place where my father hid his money.
He had it in his head that no one would think of checking a kid’s room for anything of value.
“Oh my God!” Ms. Houston shrieks the second my boots hit the ground. “You didn’t!”
“I’m only here for one thing,” I call down the steps. I scan the room for something hard to hit the wall with, but when nothing comes into view, I punch through the drywall like a maniac. Dust gathers in small clouds, and the dry fragments coat my knuckles.
“I’m calling the police!” she shouts, and I can’t say I blame her. Technically, I’m trespassing and now I’m destroying property.
“Please do,” I say with a grin, searching inside the wall for my father’s box of cash. “I’d love to talk to the sheriff. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Ugh!” Her heels knock against the wood steps as she climbs up toward me. “What are you doing?” She hollers the second she sees what I’ve done to the wall.
“I’m getting the money my father left behind. It’s enough to pay for the land.”
“No!” She swings at me with a steel ladle from the kitchen that stings pretty hard when it hits my skin. “Get out!”
“It’ll only take me a second.”
She pauses and huffs, her arms crossing over her chest again. “It’s not there.”
My chest tightens and I glare toward her. “What?”
“The box with the cash you’re looking for isn’t there.
If you weren’t a stupid buffoon who just started smashing everything he saw, you’d have noticed that this piece of drywall was recently replaced.
I found the cash box months ago. Like, a week after I moved in.
” She nods up toward the ceiling. “There was a leak. I had to have the roof replaced, but there was some drywall damage, so I did a DIY job and found the box.” She rests her hand on her hip.
“It was a miracle I found it, actually. I was almost out of money, and it helped me pay for a bunch of renovations I wanted to do on the house.”
My jaw ticks. “You spent the money? Money that wasn’t yours?”
She laughs under her breath. “Funny that a criminal is schooling me on taking something that doesn’t belong to me.”
“He had sixty grand in that box. What the hell did you spend it on?”
“The bathrooms needed a facelift,” she shrugs, “the kitchen needed countertops, and the fireplace was unsafe, so I had to—”
“The fireplace was an heirloom passed down from my grandfather’s cabin. It got him through the coldest winter of his life. My father had it installed here when he passed. It’s cast iron. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
“Well, if you want the fireplace, you can have it. You just need to go down to the landfill to dig it out.” She raises the silver ladle again. “Now get out of my house!”
This time, I hold my arm up to block the strikes and grip her wrist before she takes another swing.
“Hey! Let me go!” She’s begging with a whine in her voice as I back her up against the bedroom wall, her heavy breasts pressing against me, the scent of honey and whatever fucking floral perfume she’s wearing wafting up my nose as the barbaric bells inside of me start ringing.
Jesus Christ, I need to get a fucking grip. This woman is heartless, but this is too much.
“I’ll leave,” I groan, “but I’m getting this land back.”
She laughs and rolls her head to the side.
“You’ve got three seconds before I knee you in the balls.
Three, two—” Her knee lifts, and I back away, though my hand is still wrapped around her tiny, pulsing wrist as she swings the ladle at me.
This time she nails me in the knuckles, and I lose my grip.
“Get out of my house, you giant ape!”
I stare down at her, knowing full well I could lift her little frame up over my shoulders and lock her in the basement for good. The walls are eight feet thick down there. No one would hear her screams.
I’m thinking over the possibility when she reaches for her phone in her back pocket, stares at the screen, groans, then tucks it back again.
“What was all that about?”
She exhales heavily. “Why are you asking me more questions? Get out!”
“I want to get out, but now you look distressed.”
“Oh yeah?” she scoffs. “You would be too if your ex was posting pictures all over the internet with a woman half his age.” She turns toward me, brows narrowed.
“I get it, he’s old, he wants attention, and these girls make him feel big and special, but…
they don’t know him.” Her head starts shaking, and she’s back to pacing.
“They don’t know who he really is. The truth is, he’s really just embarrassing himself.
People must be laughing their asses off. ”
“Sounds like you’re jealous.”
Her jaw drops open. “Jealous? What?” she huffs. “Why am I even talking to you? Get out!”
“No, hear me out. Maybe it would be good for you to post a few pictures too, do something unexpected that would let him see you’ve moved on.”
“That sounds like a game, and I don’t want to play games. And truthfully, I don’t care what he thinks. He’s an asshole.”
“The world is a game, lady. You either play, or you get played.”
She sighs and heads down the steps and into the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge. “What eighties movie did you dig that one up from?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but it’s true. Everyone is playing games these days. That’s what social media is. Hell, maybe this guy isn’t even fucking this girl. Maybe he’s just posting pictures to make everyone think he is.”
“No, they’re for sure dating.” She takes a long sip of water and swishes the liquid into her cheeks before swallowing. “She’s been coming to my son’s football games, and this weekend I have the pleasure of spending two full days with them both at a wedding I should’ve bailed on.”
Son. I didn’t see that one coming.
“No, you can’t bail. You go, have a great time, and you show him that you’re happier without him. That’ll piss him off more than anything. Trust me, whatever he’s doing with this girl won’t match what you’ve got going on here.” I move my eyes over her frame slowly.
“Who’s flirting with who now?”
I laugh. “I’m telling you the truth. Ten out of ten he regrets leaving you. A grown man dating women that young is trying to fill something. Trust me, if he sees you having a good time alone, he’ll be thinking about you all night.”
“Or,” she says, eyes on me like daggers, “you come with me.”
“What?” I shake my head and bump into the countertop she bought with my father’s savings. “Why the hell would I do that? You stole from me, you’ve been smacking me with that ladle all night, and you’re living on my family’s property.”
She draws in a heavy breath. “You’re right. Get out!”
“Wait,” my jaw tightens, “okay. Let’s talk this out. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” She shrugs. “You… come to the wedding, we pretend we’re so in love, and you do anything and everything to make my ex insanely jealous and sorry for hurting me.”
My brow narrows inward. “And what’s in this for me?”
“I can’t give you the money back, I’ve already spent it, but… this property is huge. I don’t need the whole thing. If you do this, I’ll transfer the rights to half of it over to you.”
“You’re on the half I want.”
“Oh my God!” She paces back and forth and grabs the ladle again. “What am I doing? I’m negotiating with a criminal! Get out now!”
“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hand, and thankfully she stops with the ladle this time. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She drags in a breath and lets it out slowly. “I need you to touch me the same way you did up in that bedroom, but with everyone watching.”
“You want me to manhandle you in front of your ex-husband?”
“Yes! I want it all. If you do that for me, I’ll sell you the west side of the property.
It has great sunlight, and apparently, you and your sister picked berries by a creek there…
or something.” Her gaze widens. “If you’re really good at this, I’ll even throw in the parcel with Grandma’s lilac bush, assuming you fix that drywall upstairs.
I have my girlfriends coming over for a welcome party and I need the place looking great. ”
One weekend. One weekend with a beautiful woman who wants me to manhandle her, and half the property is mine.
Call me stupid, but I’m having a hard time finding a reason to say no.