He got out and approached the gate. Pebbles and grit crunched underfoot. A cool, gentle breeze carried the fragrances of blooming flowers. It was a quarter past nine in the morning, and already the temperature had edged past eighty degrees, promising a sweltering day.
Other than his vehicle’s humming engine, silence ruled the morning. The road that ran adjacent to his granddad’s property entertained little traffic. Getting there, Nick had seen only a US postal mail truck, the driver weaving his way along the street.
He dug a ring of keys out of the front pocket of his jeans. Grandpa Lee had made copies for Nick’s mother but no one else, and she had let Nick borrow them. He found a small key that looked as if it would fit, slipped it inside the locking mechanism, and disengaged the shackle.
He hung the lock on the chain link, and pulled the gate toward him, the metal swinging silently on oiled hinges.
Amiya had gotten behind the steering wheel. She guided the Range Rover through the entrance. Once she’d driven past, Nick snapped the gate back into position.
He climbed onto the passenger side of the SUV. “You can drive on ahead. The house isn’t too far.”
Dense foliage crowded the driveway. Through the thick screen of interlocking vines, flowers, and shrubs, Nick saw immense pine, birch, and elm trees, and he wondered how long they had been standing. Although he had visited his reclusive grandfather many times, it was the first time he had questioned such things.
What would it look like back here once a developer stripped the land bare?
It wouldn’t look nearly as bad as the fist of one of Shango’s goons smashing into his jaw, would it?
“It’s gorgeous back here,” Amiya said as they rolled along the driveway. She had lowered her window, allowing the scents of the abundant flora to permeate the truck. “I can’t imagine why you would possibly want your grandfather to sell this place.”
“I can think of four and a half million reasons why.”
“Money isn’t everything, Nick.”
“So says the woman whose family has a summer cottage on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I know you love bringing up my family’s money for some reason, but that’s exactly why you should trust my opinion on this. Wealth doesn’t bring happiness. My mom has lost more pairs of designer shoes than most people would ever buy in their lifetime and she’s still absolutely miserable.”
“At various points in my life, I’ve been both broke and flush with cash.” He ran his fingers across the sleek dashboard and smiled. “I much prefer having cash.”
“But look around. All of this land, hundreds of acres of it, this is alegacy. Do you want someone to rip all of these trees out of the earth and replace them with coffee shops and condos?”
“Give me the money and I don’t care what they do with the trees. It’s not my responsibility.”
“You’re wrong.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “Clearly, we’ll never agree on this.”
“Since you haven’t said yes to becoming Mrs. Alexander, we don’t have to agree, do we?”
Her eyes burned like solar flares. He had gone too far, but the comment had slipped out of him, right past his psychological filter.
“That’s how it’s going to be, then?” she asked. “Because I’m still thinking about your proposal, you don’t have to consider my opinion on things?”
“Amiya, on this topic of the property, let’s agree to disagree, all right? You aren’t changing my mind. Obviously, I’m not changing yours.”
“Whatever you say.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
He would have to work his way back into her good graces. Amiya could carry a grudge for days, and his ill-considered remark had cut deep.
Still, her reluctance to move forward in their relationship bugged him. He didn’t know what he had to prove to her to convince her to accept his ring.
But pissing her off like I just did isn’t helping my case, he thought sourly.
At last, the land opened up, the narrow lane breaking off into several diverging branches that twisted through other areas of the property. One of those paths led to a small house. It was a shotgun-style residence; yellow with green trim, and from the looks of it, had been recently painted.
“Wow, is this the house?” Amiya asked.
“Grandpa Lee’s mansion.” Nick chuckled.
A blue Ford pickup truck so old that it looked as if it belonged in an automobile museum was parked underneath a wooden carport.
