CHAPTER 50
Victoria
“Sure, I’ll go over it again.” The MacLaine brothers look so flabbergasted that I don’t mind repeating myself. It’s a lot for them to take in. “I’m saying that it’s not normal for five single grown men to live this close together and be up in each other’s business all the time.”
“Not that part,” Finn says. “But you’re probably right about the too-close thing.”
“It does cut down on privacy,” Declan adds.
“Repeat what you said about the value of the ranch,” Cal says, his words sharp.
“Yosemite Ranch is severely undervalued,” I say. “If something were to happen, like a natural disaster, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be adequately insured.”
“That can’t be right,” Finn says.
“I’m never wrong about protecting what’s most valuable,” I say, forcing myself not to look at Cal.
“Not only that, but your balance sheets and profit and loss statements have been completely out of whack for at least eighteen years. You didn’t get all the tax credits you’ve been entitled to, and your ranch assets have gone underutilized. ”
“So…” Special K looks around the room. “She’s not trying to rip us off?”
“Ugh! I’m done.” I’m more than done. I’m exhausted and haven’t put anything in my stomach except coffee for almost twenty-four hours. “I’ll write up a report of my recommendations and leave it with Evander before I take off. Please put everything back in Arlo’s office exactly the way you found it.”
“You think Arlo is doing us dirty?”
I stand and gather my stuff, along with my thoughts, before I answer Cal. “It’s extremely important that you keep your suspicions to yourselves for now. No shit, gentlemen—don’t share a word of what we discussed here. I need to talk to your dad before I do anything else.”
“Damn. I thought this was some kind of hostile takeover shit,” Special K says.
“Sorry to disappoint.” I watch as the MacLaines start repacking the banker’s boxes, and then I head for the door.
“Wait.”
I ignore Cal. There’s nothing left to say.
“Victoria.”
I keep walking.
“Hey. Come on. Talk to me.”
I open Cal’s back door and go straight into his kitchen. I make a salad with cherry tomatoes and leftover steak, tossing it with olive oil and vinegar. Cal causally leans against the counter with arms over his chest, like he’s expecting pleasant chitchat.
Not happening. I do take time to chat with Sarah and Ripley, however, and give them each a bite of steak.
Then I walk past him and head for my room.
“Please.”
I spin around. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to eat this salad because I’m starving. Then I’m going to take a nap and grab a shower. After that, I’m going to write my report and go talk to your dad. I don’t have time for any more of your self-righteous mind games.”
“At least tell me what’s up with Arlo.”
I turn my back to him. I place my salad on the side table and toss my computer and notes to the bed.
I know he’s followed me all the way down the hall.
I can feel him behind me. I can smell him, a combination of dust, leather, and warm male skin that brings back memories of…
us. The rush of pleasure. The slide of his hot flesh on mine. How good it feels to sleep in his arms.
I don’t want these memories, but I have no defense against them. Maybe one day I will.
I wish I’d never laid eyes on Cal MacLaine. I wish I’d never let down my guard. I wish I’d never come to Yosemite Ranch. But despite all that, maybe he deserves one last opportunity to make it right before I leave.
“Let’s make a deal.” I face him again. I stand on the threshold with my hand grasping the edge of the heavy oak bedroom door. “I’ll tell you what I think is going on after you tell me something first.”
He takes a step closer. I step back.
“You want me to apologize?” He smirks, like I’m some sort of overly emotional female who just can’t help herself. “What for?”
“For thinking the worst of me. For not knowing me. For not seeing who I really am.”
“Oh, come on. I had every reason to think the worst of you. I saw with my own eyes how —”
“You needed to look with your heart, not your eyes.”
I slam the door in his face. Lock it. And eat my damn salad, though a few tears plop on my cherry tomatoes. Unfortunately, my nap doesn’t happen. The echoing racket outside keeps me from getting any rest. What the hell is he doing out there?
I pull the blinds back and peer out toward the side of the house. Oh no. I shouldn’t have done that. As I take inventory of what I’m seeing, my mouth goes dry and my panties dampen.
Cal’s shirtless. His chest bulges. His worn jeans hang low, hugging his narrow hips. I see his flat belly and six-pack, with that coal-black strip of hair disappearing down into the delicious swell of his package. He’s wielding that axe like he harbors a deep and longstanding hatred of trees.
His skin glistens with sweat. I watch, fascinated, as the muscles in his shoulders, upper arms, and back ripple and twitch with each swing. I hear him grunt every time iron meets hardwood.
For the first time in my life, I understand the sex appeal of lumberjacks.
This latest log cracks, splits, and the pieces fly off to the haphazard heap that looks as if it’s about to topple down the slope. He stops, impales the chopping block with the axe, and uses his discarded shirt to wipe sweat from his face.
That’s when he raises those deep violet eyes to the house and sees me spying on him from the window. His eyes crinkle and his mouth curls in a self-satisfied smile. He waves his fingers at me.
Well, shit.
Once more, I try to sleep. But now he’s got the radio blaring directly below the bedroom window. I look out again to see him cleaning his guns. Shirtless. He’s doing this on purpose. I give up on getting any rest and begin to draft my report.
I need to get my mind off Cal’s muscles. Focusing on taxes and utilization spreadsheets will certainly do the trick.
About three hours later I hit save and close my laptop.
It’s already after noon, and I’m so tired I can’t think straight.
There are so many unpleasant details I need to share with Jamie, and many of them will be difficult for him to hear.
My head needs to be clear and calm for this discussion, despite the rage I feel over what my father has done.
I decide to cut my losses and call it a day.
I immediately regret my short-sighted escape plan of the day before. I need my toiletries and something to sleep in, but I’ve already dragged my suitcases out to the front porch. And I’d really prefer not to run into Cal.
He’s an ass. He’s an entitled, self-important ass and I never want to speak to him again. Despite how hot he is without his shirt.
Snap out of it, Victoria.
I need my stuff, so I crack the door. I listen for any noise coming from the kitchen or great room, but it’s quiet.
I decide to make a break for it and tiptoe down the hall.
As I’m halfway across the great room, I notice that my suitcases have been brought back inside.
I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be some sort of message or just a courtesy in case it rains, but regardless, I make a dash for them. I’ll just grab what I need and—
“Need a hand?”
I spin around, looking for where the voice came from. His dark head pops up from the leather sectional and he peers over the edge
“No.”
“I don’t mind helping you.”
“I mind. I don’t want your help.” I decide to hell with rooting around inside my bags for what I need. I’ve had enough of his clever banter. I grab the handles and try to roll the suitcases back down the hall, but they crash together and make a racket.
“I don’t want you to leave. Not like this.”
I stop in my tracks. I hear him get up from the sofa and walk toward me, but I don’t turn to face him.
“Once I’ve spoken to Jamie about the Sulfur Springs deal, I’m gone.”
“You really are a piece of work, Victoria.”
And just like that, any hope that the goodness I saw in Cal was real, that he really is a decent man, it all shatters like glass at my feet.
“You’re still gunning for our land, aren’t you? You’re still doing daddy’s dirty work. There is no Sulfur Springs deal. Give it a rest.”
I drop my head, the weight of all the waste overwhelming. I’ve worked so hard for my father, fighting for his approval, putting my heart and soul into something I now know is rotten to its core. And it hurts so fucking much.
But it’s nothing compared to the blow Cal MacLaine just delivered to my heart.