I took off my cap, pushed a hand through my hair, and stuffed the cap back on. “They could erect another casino in the time it’s gonna take us to finish this stretch.”
“I’m sure they’ll hire you to run that one too.”
I couldn’t decipher his tone. Snarky? Disappointed? Crestfallen? “It’s not like I’ll be rebootingmyfarm if you finish the sale.”
“You sound a lot like your grandfather right now.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
He straightened. His expression was the most serious I’d seen it since I’d gotten home. “It is if you’re spewing his poison.”
“He was dedicated to this place. And to Mom.”
“Is that how you remember it?” He peered at me, intent on my answer.
“I remember he was around when you weren’t.” He hadn’t been able to help physically, but he’d imparted his wisdom to me.
Sadness filled his gaze. “At least he tried to build you up instead of tearing you down. Not that I agree with how or why he did it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan Carhartt jacket. “What is it you plan to do? Quit your big-city job and come back to farm and ranch? Autumn can get a job anywhere, but there are no casinos in Bourbon Canyon.”
Irritation heated the back of my neck. “I know that.”
“Then Autumn’s moving? Mae’s going to be sad to see her go.”
I stomped to the bed of the pickup. He had a different vehicle than when I’d moved, but this one wasn’t much newer. Which piece of farm equipment had he sold to buy it?
I grabbed a new post. Only a shitload more to put up. “We haven’t decided yet.”
“I heard it’s a mighty nice patch of land that Darin left her.”
I hadn’t seen it yet. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
“Gideon, what are you doing?”
I knew what he was asking. He was thrilled about Autumn and that I was home, but the alcohol hadn’t burned away all his brain cells. “Trying to save a family legacy.”
“But you no longer have yourself to think of. You’re partners. She has her own family. Her own hopes and dreams. You can’t railroad them because your grandfather tied your worth to some dirt.”
Some dirt? This was home. This should bemyhome. “The sale would’ve broken Mom’s heart.”
Those wrinkles of his carved deeper with his frown. “Giddy, I did the best I could.”
“Don’t call me Giddy, and you didn’t do a thing. Did you even care for the animals after I left?”
His brows crashed together. “Of course I did.”
“So the dog died from old age? Same with the chickens?”
“The dog got cancer and I gave the chickens away. What did you think happened?” Realization dawned on his face.
Aw, hell. I hadn’t expected to feel so fucking guilty today. I was the one missing work to fix fence for no damn reason.
“Look,” he said, deflated, “I didn’t say my best was a lot. I’m not making excuses, son. I failed you. I failed this place. But I’m trying to do right.”
“By selling?”
