Chapter Sixteen #2
“Fuck,” he swore softly as the edge of the paper cut the side of his thumb, halting the tumble of thoughts. He put it into his mouth to stem the bleeding, the taste of copper sliding over his tongue. Worn out from the constant drama invading his mind, he let his eyes slide shut for just a moment.
The image of Liz backed up on the desk, rumpled, bruised, and biting her lower lip entered his brain, and he groaned as he took his thumb out and examined it.
He liked punishing himself, it seemed. That was another situation he had to figure out. Liz was not a frivolous woman, and kissing her had consequences. Including Tanner’s well-aimed fist if he took it the wrong way. Well, not if. He would take it the wrong way.
Jake was not looking forward to that stare down.
After kissing Liz this morning, the kitchen had provided a distraction.
But now, he was trying—and failing—to distract himself by attempting to make heads or tails of the accounts for the ranch.
If he was here for a while before they could give it all back to Tanner and Brady, he needed to get familiar with it.
One, so he could sign things with an idea of what they were, and two, so Tanner would stop rubbing it in his face that he knew absolutely nothing about running a ranch.
It couldn’t be that much different from running a restaurant. Ins, outs, salary, staffing, equipment, and supplies. So far, he had input the salary for the past three years, and was now working his way through property taxes, mortgage payments, and lease fees for what looked to be fields nearby.
He flipped the page in the logbook, his own fingers touching the smudged fingerprints of his father along the edges. Scanning the list, he noticed the last mortgage payment written in was April. It was late July now. Brett had died at the beginning of July.
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
Jake looked up to see Tanner standing in the doorway, coveralls streaked in god knew what, dark smudges over one cheek.
He looked pissed off, which was normal, but he also looked really fucking tired.
Bags under his eyes, a slump to his shoulders.
If they weren’t so at odds, Jake would ask him if he was okay.
All the same, Jake braced for the third degree about Liz before he answered and cleared his throat as Tanner raised an eyebrow and looked over the mess on his dad’s desk, Jake standing on the far side of it.
“Just setting up some spreadsheets to get my head wrapped around your books. Noticed that Dad . . . Brett, didn’t input any of the mortgage past April in the ledger. Did he do bulk entries? It’s July.”
“Dunno. We got monthly statements from the bank and the payments were set up to come out automatically. Should be in that mess somewhere,” Tanner said, flipping his hand at the paper piles surrounding Jake on the desk.
“Okay,” Jake replied hesitantly. He must have communicated something that wasn’t to Tanner’s liking because his brother made that irritated sound he was so good at.
Here we go, he thought, and winced when Tanner strode past him to his own desk.
“You don’t have to do any of this. We can handle it. You just have to sign the checks,” he said tersely as he sat down, throwing the big marker and clipboard onto his paper tray with a metallic thud.
“I need to make myself useful other than cooking,” Jake said, letting out a breath. “I can get all this sorted for you guys so the paperwork to sell the ranch back to you is easy.”
“Sell? It’s mine. I don’t need to buy anything,” Tanner retorted, sitting up and glaring at Jake. Jake tilted his head back in frustration, rubbing at his eyes. He couldn’t say anything to this asshole without it being taken the wrong way.
“What in the absolute fuck is wrong with you? Seriously, man. I’m trying to fucking help you,” Jake barked, frustrated.
Tanner let out a huff of air like a bull about to charge, and then collapsed back into his chair, his hand over his face. The exhaustion bled back into his frame, and Jake studied his brother for a moment without judgment.
How could they bridge this gulf? Was it even possible?
“Look, I know this place is yours. I know this is shit. Cut me some slack, let me organize this clusterfuck for you so that when I leave, you have working books you can farm out to your accountant, at least. Or would you rather spend your days in here, attached to a computer and all this goddamned paper?” Jake snapped, moving his laptop off the stack of folders so he could shuffle through them and look for the elusive mortgage statements.
Tanner didn’t respond, but then his hand dragged down his face, smearing dirt into streaks and Jake knew that look. He’d seen that look on his own face many, many times in the past. Haunted, helpless in the face of something he didn’t know how to reconcile.
“Yeah. Okay. Look, I—” Tanner started.
“Hey, Mr. West? Are you done with the tagging?”
They looked up in unison as Rowan poked his head in. He looked at both of them, blinking and then directing his gaze at Tanner.
“What is it, Ro?” Tanner asked tiredly.
“That feed mixer we just set up isn’t working. The corn is jamming in the intake. Do you know how to set the auger back farther?”
Tanner sighed and levered himself out of the chair, picking up a wrench from underneath a stack of unopened mail. He turned it in his hand for a moment and nodded curtly to Rowan, who tapped the door frame and left quickly.
Tanner picked up the stack of unopened mail with his free hand and carefully laid it down on his father’s desk, in front of Jake.
Jake looked at him questioningly, meeting his eye for a moment before Tanner averted his.
Was this some sort of weird truce gesture?
Did he not know about what had happened with Liz yet?
Was he giving him permission to keep going?
The confusion must have been plain on his face, because Tanner scoffed at him, shaking his head.
“Bank statement’s likely in that pile,” Tanner blurted, poking his index finger at the envelopes, leaving brown, smudgy fingerprints.
Before Jake could say thank you, Tanner strode quickly out the door.