“Why didn’t you ramp down?” Surprisingly, there was no judgment in my voice. “You could’ve sold off the herd, leased the pastures, even the farmland, and then you could’ve gotten work in town.”
He rewrapped the plate. Only half the food had been eaten. “In the end, it was my decision.” He spoke deliberately, like acknowledging his role in everything was critical to the conversation. “At the time, I got a lot of pressure from your grandparents.”
“Mom’s parents?”
He nodded. “Percival was everything to them. Your grandpa grew up hearing the story and getting told about legacies. Their pride was strong. So damn strong.” His gaze fell to the laminate of the table surface, sadness and regret in his eyes. “I was already panicking about how I would do all this on my own. Jenni and I could barely handle everything when her parents had to step down.”
“You were struggling?” I had never thought to askthese questions before, but then he’d never seemed ready to answer them before.
His features pinched. “You’d never know it from how she acted, but yes. We were struggling.”
My hackles rose. “Are you blaming Mom?”
A long sigh left him. “After all this time, maybe a little.” He put a hand up. My building ire must’ve shown on my face. “I take plenty of blame, but back then, the two of us should’ve been more of a team. I was treated like the hired man instead.”
I recoiled. I’d felt the same from him after Mom had died. Yet he couldn’t put this all on Mom when she wasn’t here to defend herself. “Why didn’t you hire someone?”
“I wasn’t fit to be a boss. I followed Jenni’s lead. And when she was gone...” A heavy sigh left him. “I wasn’t fit for much.”
He acknowledged all the troubles so easily now. “I went to Vegas to earn enough money to buy Percival.”
“Your grandpa told you to.”
Astonished, I gawked at him. “How do you know that?”
“He told me.” The muscles at the corners of his jaw clenched. “Several times. He boasted about it.”
Dismay settled across my shoulders, heavy and dark. “That’s why you’re not selling to me.”
“No, Giddy. I’m selling because we all should get to live our own lives.”
He said it so simply, as if I should understand. “Nothing about that answer explains why you wouldn’t let me even make an offer. Percival should be mine. It’s my life. It’smyfamily legacy.”
“That’s your grandfather talking.”
“Mom wanted me to have it.”
“She wanted you to have choices. She wanted the world for you.”
“Percival is my world and you’re locking me out of it!”
Solemnity lined his face. “Your world is that amazing wife of yours, but all I hear is you putting some old blathering of your grandpa’s before her.”
“Autumn is none of your business,” I growled. Fuck this. Dad refused to hear me, and I was done. I rose. “You have two weeks to understand that you’re severing everything between us. Again.”
I stormed out of the house. He didn’t run after me. Or call my name. He sat at the table and let me leave, just like he had all those years ago.
Autumn
It was another quiet Wednesday night at the bar. Gideon had helped move cattle for the last three days. He’d dropped the car off for me and said Tenor would give him a ride to the bar after they were done.
Last night, he’d returned home with a dark cloud over his head. I had seen it in his eyes and the way he’d moved his body. I’d asked if everything was okay, but he’d just said the day was fine, fun even, and that he was tired. Then he’d fucked me into oblivion before we’d made it to the bedroom. After we’d been in bed, he’d sunk deep into contemplation and hadn’t shared his thoughts with me.
We were just over the halfway point of our short time together.
A couple of guys waved to me as they walked out. The whole distillery had been quiet this week with all the bosses out except for Summer. She covered for Teller and Tenor, and Wynter’s team was used to her working out of the office much of the time.
I peered out the window.
