Chapter 3
THREE
CALDER
My frustration seems to bolster her, evident in the way she straightens.
It’s a struggle to keep my gaze away from the lift of her breasts beneath that obnoxious blue polo with the Jules Creek emblem.
Since when did employees wear branded shirts?
Just one more question to chafe under my collar as fatigue battles with the edges of my patience.
It was a long fucking drive from Denver, and my day isn’t over yet.
I wanted to get this task out of the way, but I don’t want to linger.
This is my first time home in two decades, and I’m greeted by a grown version of the quiet girl I first met a long damn time ago.
She still pulls her hair back, containing those loose curls that frame a strong face with pouty lips set in an irritated line.
The dark lashes around her hazel eyes don’t dim the fire sparking from the flecks of green among the brown.
Meredith Winslow has grown into a beautiful woman. A fact I didn’t need to recognize as soon as I saw her. An acknowledgment that irritates me on an already trying day.
Her smart mouth doesn’t help either.
I’d be amused about it if I weren’t so damn tired.
After I left the city, there was nothing but wide-open spaces, empty roads, and time to think.
And questions. Always the fucking questions.
What exactly is in the will? How soon can my brothers and I put this damn place up for sale?
Will the brewery sell faster than Crossroads Ranch?
Did my father include Holly’s sister in the goddamn trust?
“You might want ear protection when you use it, unless you enjoy white noise.”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s referring to the old computer.
“And it may be a laptop, but don’t rest it on your actual lap if you want kids in your future.”
I hold in my groan. My brother, Bowen, is the tech guy.
He can get this thing updated, connected, or whatever it needs, but he isn’t here yet.
I don’t know when he’ll arrive, nor do I know if my youngest brother, Landry, will bother to show up at all.
I would start combing through the files here in the office to get a sense of where the financials are for the impending sale, but right now, I’m at risk of falling asleep and drooling on the desk.
Judging by the militant expression on Meredith’s face, she’d like that a bit too much, and I’m not inclined to give her what she desires.
My father and the brewery have already been catering to her and her sister for the two decades since Mama died.
I inhale a shallow breath, fearing too many memories will rise from the long-gone ashes of Dad’s cigars, like how Mama used to sit on his lap when he smoked on the front porch.
My brothers and I would play catch with the football on the front lawn, and we’d just… be.
I give myself a mental shake. I’m here for business, and that’s all this trip is. I need to finalize funeral arrangements for Dad and finally release myself and my brothers from the haunting shadows of the brewery and the ranch we once called home.
“Where are all the filing cabinets?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Formidable” is the word that comes to mind. She’s trying to be, anyway. I don’t have the ambition for a face-off. The ranch bears my last name, and the brewery is named after Mama. Meredith needs to remember that.
“We converted the storeroom to an office on the main level,” she says.
I can’t dispute that the brewery has a shortage of office space, but renovating a storeroom? Why?
“Bea uses a walker, and there’s no elevator,” she clarifies.
Bea Parsons. Mama met her at church and recruited her as a part-time bookkeeper. She’s got to be in her mid-sixties by now, but anxiety races through my veins. Why the walker? Dad didn’t mention Bea got hurt, but then our conversations never lasted long after seventeen years of radio silence.
Bea won’t be happy with our plans once Dad’s affairs are settled. I’ll deal with that later.
“I need access to everything. I also need Ransom’s keys.” I’m not lingering at the entrance for her to unlock it when I want in. She’ll keep me waiting and enjoy it.
Her brow ticks up. At the way I referred to my father by his first name, or because I’m demanding access to something she believes should be hers? “Have you been to the funeral home yet?”
Her question feels like a punch to my gut. Funeral homes. Burials. Before, I had two degrees of separation from all this. Dad managed Mama’s funeral, not bothering to ask what her sons might have wanted.
Grief brims in Meredith’s eyes, and for a scant second, there’s a kinship between us. A shared loss. Recognition of the unspoken and unwanted history that connects us. The funerals are going to be hard on all of us, for so many reasons.
“You know they would want to be buried together,” she utters quietly, shattering the facade.
I do, unfortunately, realize it’s what Dad would’ve wanted, and it’s the one thing he won’t get his way in—or Meredith. She has her sister’s arrangements to plan. Why isn’t she doing just that? Is she still here trying to extract every dollar out of these walls before I run her off?
“Why is the brewery still open?”
She folds her arms tighter.
“Its founder just died, Meredith,” I continue, gauging her wince. Her sadness seems genuine enough. Is it better or worse if she’s truly mourning my dad? “You’re acting like it’s business as usual.”
She lifts her chin, and a beat of relief passes through me.
She doesn’t look like her blonde-haired, blue-eyed sister, but then they had different dads.
“You’re right. I’d love to be at home sobbing over how I lost the sister who raised me, and the man who took me under his wing and taught me everything about this career that I love. But I must be a greedy slut as well.”
Where did that come from? My initial response is anger.
Who the hell called her a slut? But then a memory slaps me.
I’m facing Dad, irate and hurt, feeling so goddamn betrayed I can’t think straight.
He just told me and my brothers that if we don’t stand by him and his decision to move on, then we can leave and never come back.
Yes, I said awful things about Holly Winslow just to enrage my dad. But that’s not who I am now.
“I was young and upset. I had a right to be.”
Defiance shines in her eyes. “You didn’t have the right to be an insulting asshole to a woman who devoted her time to helping your entire family.”
My shame gives way to indignation. This woman certainly has the audacity, that’s for sure.
“What help are you referring to? When she started seeing her best friend’s husband?
Or when she married her best friend’s widow mere months after that friend was in the ground?
No, wait—that’s not right.” My voice dips low, causing her to cringe.
“They were married before the funeral home could even put my mom in the ground.”
Mama passed away in the heart of winter and was held until the ground thawed three months later.
By then, Dad had married Holly and had permanently given Meredith my old bedroom.
His actions turned me and my brothers from heartbroken sons to mere employees on the ranch for those six months Holly and Meredith lived with us before Mama died.
My blood pressure spikes, and my anger crests again. Yes. Separate funerals.
“Well, congrats,” Meredith says hoarsely. “You stayed away long enough, and now they’re both gone.”
I flinch, and regret sneaks in. The pain darkening her eyes bothers me.
I want to make it better, but I shut that shit down.
I don’t need the reminder I lost all those years, or that my reconciliation with Dad meandered on for too long.
I’m not the one who said that if I couldn’t accept his decisions, I could leave.
“Keeping the brewery open gives locals a place to grieve.” She says it as if she’s extending an olive branch, but I’m not my father.
“By providing them with alcohol?”
She rolls her eyes. “Are you being insufferable on purpose?”
“I take after my dad.”
She snorts. “Ransom was stubborn as a mule and twice as loud.” Then her pouty lips thin. “There are people here who didn’t cut him off for two decades, and they want to pay their respects.”
She’s trying to be tough, but the cracks in her armor are evident in the tension around her eyes. She keeps slouching like she’s going to curl up at the base of the desk for a nap, yet she steels herself as though facing me is an ongoing battle—one she’s not giving up.
My admiration is inconvenient. She’s going to have to realize the way I left wasn’t me throwing in the towel. It was me moving on to deal with life on my own terms.
“They can say their goodbyes at the funeral.”
Her stare could wither a field full of hops.
“Go ahead and close it down for as long as you need to grieve then. Just leave a sign. Also, give all the employees a heads-up that they won’t need to come in.
Maybe inform them whether they’ll be paid for not working or if they’ll miss out on projected income because they can’t work. ”
Shit. I remember all too well those days of penny-pinching, of wondering if I’d have to choose between rent and food for another month, worrying about my brothers. “Fine, stay open. What about the day of the funeral?” I should be the one deciding, but I haven’t sorted my ass from my socks yet.
“We’re closed.”
I rankle at her “we.” I know I’m not included, but I keep quiet.
“The reception is at the ranch,” she adds.
The hell it is. “I didn’t plan a reception.”
“I did. And I invited everyone. It’s in Holly’s announcement on the funeral home’s website. I mentioned that it’d be for both of them.”
Since she likely guessed I wouldn’t. My return to Scandal, North Dakota, isn’t to entertain nosy townsfolk who want to gossip about how my brothers and I are dealing with our dad’s passing. It’ll be even harder to avoid that if they’re at the house.
“I said—”
“I know what you texted.” She stuffs her hands into her pockets, and my attention catches on her jean-clad hips.
I rip it away before my dick reminds me it’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed curves like hers—if there is such a thing.
“It’s more efficient to hold them together, and there’ll be the same people at both funerals. ”
When I open my mouth to tell her I don’t care, she gives her head a shake. I bite down on my tongue, half amused that I was shushed, and half annoyed I obeyed.
“People need to say goodbye. They need to share stories and get a sense of closure. I don’t care if you don’t want to do right by your dad in these final days, but I’m going to. Whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t want a bunch of people at the ranch.”
“Why not? The pavilion was built for just that.”
“What pavilion?”
She simply shrugs. “I can move it, but then you’ll have to put out the announcement the location has changed.
You might also want to station someone at the end of the drive to inform them.
You know how easily people miss information.
” She checks her plain, functional black watch.
It suits her. “I’ve gotta get to brewing.
You know my number if you need anything, slick. ”
She saunters out, her ass swaying in a way that starts a drip of desire straight into my blood.
Yeah. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out with someone.
And it’s going to be even longer. The only thing I’m doing in Scandal is laying my dad to rest and signing whatever legal paperwork I need to clear the brewery and the ranch from my mind. After that, I’m gone.