CHAPTER 12
Finn
“Somebody stab me in the eye,” Special K says.
“Happy to,” Declan says.
For nearly an hour now, we’ve been gathered in Evander’s living room, getting our marching orders from Cal. He thinks the world will stop spinning just because he’s going on his honeymoon.
Evander slouches down on his couch and puts a toss pillow over his face. “Please, for the love of all that’s holy, get on with it, Cal. We already know all this shit.”
“It’s important,” Cal says. “I’ll be gone for twenty-eight days and six hours.” Cal shoots me a get-a-load-of-these-idiots eye roll.
I sigh. “Actually, I agree with them. We’re perfectly able to run StellaR Tech without you for a few weeks. After all, Declan and I created the company.”
Declan puts his hands behind his head and nods. “I’m the creative genius in this fam, for sure.”
Cal points at us. “You two are napkin scribblers.”
He thinks that’s an insult. I take it as a compliment. How many dudes come up with a billion-dollar satellite-based cyber-surveillance technology over beers at a dive bar? The answer is “two”—Declan and Finn MacLaine.
I set Cal straight. “If it weren’t for me, there wouldn’t be a company.”
“Excuse me?” Evander removes the pillow from his face. “I’m the one who created the S-Corp. I’m the one who’s negotiated every damn contract we have.”
Special K stands. “Enough with the corporate dick competition. Finn, let me know if there’s an emergency and I’ll put out the fire. Won’t be the first time.” He sneers at Cal with his last statement.
“Okay, but don’t forget—”
Special K cuts him off with a grunt and walks out the front door.
“I can’t believe I have to contend with his shit,” Cal complains.
“Ditto,” Evander says.
“Double ditto,” I say.
Cal scowls at us. He’s still pissed off about this morning, for some reason. He looks about an inch away from canceling his honeymoon.
Declan puts his hands up in surrender. “I get it, bro. I’m the only one around here who knows what it means to be a team player.”
Evander hits Declan with his pillow. “Oh, fuck off. You’ve slept through every business meeting we’ve ever had.”
“I resent that.” Declan drops his hands from behind his head and straightens.
“You know I get low blood sugar in the afternoons, and yet you insist on scheduling meetings during that time of day, which makes me think you might be trying to push me out. And even after all that, here I am in the late morning hours, contributing like a motherfucker. I believe I have proven my point.”
Declan’s observation leaves us sitting in stunned silence. It’s his gift.
I stand. “This has devolved,” I tell Cal. “I’m gonna go.”
He rubs a hand over his hair. “Victoria wants us to go off the grid for our honeymoon, but maybe I should bring my laptop and do a couple hours of work a day.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” I tell him.
“You think I should?” Cal asks me, his eyes wide. “We’ll have satellite internet.”
Evander kicks Cal in the shins. “If I had a beautiful wife who was packing for our honeymoon, I’d be helping her, not giving lectures about correct invoicing procedures.”
“Shit! I forgot to review the correct invoicing procedures!”
“Fuckity-bye.” Declan jumps to a stand and heads for the door.
I’m right behind him. “Bon voyage, big brother. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, such as bring your damn laptop along on your honeymoon.”
I catch up with Declan on the ranch lane.
“That dude is relentless,” he says, shaking his head. “Cal needs to start meditating or something, unless he wants to stroke out before he turns forty. Work-life balance is key.”
I bust out laughing, since Declan’s lifestyle is as lopsided Cal’s, just in the opposite direction. If it doesn’t have an engine, wings, rotors, or the ability to orbit Earth, Declan isn’t interested in working on it.
His biggest contribution to ranch operations is trying—and failing—to get under Summer’s skin. I have to give him props for his dedication.
“What are you up to?” I ask him.
“Gonna take a nap.”
“Of course you are.”
I pat him on the back, and we part ways. I wander toward the barn, thinking I should check up on Meadow Eclipse, the six-year-old hunter type Quarter Horse who’s in foal by our racing stallion, Wind Dancer’s Dream.
In addition to busting my hump on StellaR Tech business and being the best dad possible to Jasmine, I’ve always dreamed of diversifying Yosemite Ranch operations by adding a top-shelf breeding program.
Of all the MacLaine boys, I’m the one who spent most of his childhood with our ranch horses—grooming, training, riding, competing, and showing.
I inherited my love of horses from Mom. Before she was Stella MacLaine, my mom was Stella Roberts, champion barrel racer. She taught all of us to ride and drive cattle, but I was the one that couldn’t seem to learn enough.
I always wanted more—more hands-on experience with training, the most difficult horses to turn around, and higher stakes in racing or competitions. There was even a time when I thought about becoming an equine veterinarian.
But then I discovered computers and set my sights on the Navy, determined to follow in Cal’s footsteps.
It wasn’t until I returned to Yosemite two years ago that I’d found a way to mesh both sides of my personality: I make serious money with the cyber surveillance tech Declan and I invented, and I spend it on whatever the fuck I want, including horses.
And the ridiculous luxury of our new horse barn.
I step inside, my feet silent on the custom rubberized flooring.
Everything about the barn is customized, from its bell-tower cupola to the stalls made of Brazilian hardwood and powder-coated steel.
I made sure this facility was built for what I have planned for the future, not just for what we’re doing today.
I walk down the aisle and smile at what I see. As I suspected—and hoped—Meadow has been brought in from the heat of the midday pasture to the climate-controlled comfort of her stall. I open the stall door and step inside with her.
She nuzzles me and lowers her head for some attention.
I stroke her shiny dark flank, feeling the life growing inside her.
She’s a sweet-natured mare who can get a bit spooked by barn activity, but she has the smoothest forward motion I’ve ever seen, and she’s a world champion hunt seat Quarter Horse.
I know that I paid a shit ton of money for her, but I’m glad I did.
“Hey, boss.”
I turn to see Summer swing open the Dutch door, climb up, and prop her elbows on the steel ledge. She’s grinning. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Just checking on my main squeeze.”
“She’s the sweetest thing ever,” Summer says. “A pleasure to be around. Just like me.”
“Ha! How’s she doing on the new concentrate?”
“She likes it, and she goes crazy for the Timothy hay from the east fields. That shit’s like horse crack. She’s up to about seventeen pounds a day.”
I stroke the white blaze on Meadow’s face and gently run my hands down her hind legs. Then I push the stall door open and step out into the aisle. Summer walks with me.
“Hey, Summer. Just to double-check, are you—?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t even let me ask the question.
“I always feed hay before the concentrate because it’s easier for her to digest. I’ve got it on lock.
And if the day comes when I don’t have it on lock, that’s the day you can fire my bony ass.
Hey, speaking of bony asses, how’s our girl Emma doing?
You need to hook her up with some of Phyllis’s coffee cake, ASAP ‘cause she needs some carbohydrates before she tackles your place.”
All I can do is shake my head. Summer has never needed another person to enjoy a lively conversation.
“Hey, she’s great,” Summer continues. “But I really have to wonder what her deal is, because she looks like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.”
“She’s doing good. Jasmine seems to like her.”
“And how about you? You like her, too?”
Summer comes to a stop at the barn door, hands on her hips. I keep on walking, because I know it’s the smart thing to do. “See you later.”
I feel Summer’s eyes on my back. I’ve felt eyes on me all day. Has something changed in my expression? Is there something about my exterior that’s hinting at the internal shitshow I’m dealing with?
Of course not, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.
Summer’s right. Emma looks like she’s been to hell and back. But I noticed this morning that she was squeaky clean and soft looking, even her fingernails. And her scent was soft and feminine. That tells me that being covered in dust and dirt isn’t the norm for her. I hope she enjoyed the shower.
I wanted to kiss her this morning. I almost did.
Holy shit what am I doing?
I think about how pretty she is, with that beautiful dark hair, knowing eyes, and the sweet way she touches her cheek when she’s uncertain. It’s like she’s trying to hide herself, keep out of sight.
I wonder why she’s like that.
I also wonder what she’s doing now, and whether she’s finding everything she needs. Wait—did I say she could clean my bedroom? Was that on the list of rules? I don’t remember, but I’m not sure that I want her in my bedroom.
Actually, I do want her in my bedroom. That’s why she shouldn’t go in there.