How could I forget? Punching a horse had made Karl Townsend an instant villain, as if we hadn’t known he was before that. The guy had yelled instead of talking. He had sworn like he’d been getting paid per “fuck.” Several businesses in town had banned him from entering, thanks to his legendary temper.
Tate grunted. “He said we shouldn’t complain since he hit animals instead of his worthless kids.”
I had winced at that, in the middle of the parade with over half the town watching. A young, doe-eyed Madison had shrunk against her mom, only to be shooed away.
Well, hell. “She had a shitty upbringing. No wonder she isn’t staying at that house.”
“She might need the money.” Tate scratched his beard. “I hate to spread gossip?—”
I guffawed. “Oh my god, you love it. Don’t think I haven’t seen you hanging out in the gas station, getting your morning coffee so you can keep tabs on the town.”
The gas station had a breakfast nook that was full of old farmers and ranchers and retired business folk each day. Sometimes, I’d been half tempted to linger myself.
Tate smirked. “Dad used to say if you wanted real news, find out where the retired people hang out.” His grin turned affectionate. “Scarlett also pays in kisses per rumor. But anyway, when Madison moved back to town, the old bank president commented that she wouldn’t find a place to live. Her husband left her with a shitload of debt.”
“School loans.” Since the asshole had let her support him through law school.
Tate nodded. “That and credit cards. Auto loans. He said the asshole was driving a seventy-thousand-dollar truck.”
“Bet the fucker is still driving it too.” Madison’s old beater had probably come off the family property. “Divorcing a lawyer couldn’t have ended well for her.”
“Ruby probably knows her better than anyone in town,” Tenor said, “but she says Madison is hard to get to know. She’s all about business and won’t share much of herself.”
Guilt wound its way through my gut, leaving an inky feeling behind. She had no one, and she’d been used and discarded by everyone. I was a bossy asshole who made her defensive.
How did I change that?
Madison
A small bag of root beer jelly beans sat on the pool table. Teller had pulled up two of the nonbusted barstools for us to sit on. He had papers spread out on the green felt, each sheet filled with his chicken scratch.
That was too harsh a term. His handwriting was strong with slashes. Even his print resonated confidence. This man didn’t question a single thing he did.
“So those are our options for plumbers.” He shuffled another sheet of paper on top of his pile. It listed plumbing companies, one local, two from Livingston, and three from Bozeman. None of them had called me back when I had tried to get someone out to help replace leaky faucets in the house before I put it on the market.
One of the guys in Livingston had told me that he wouldn’t touch my house if my mom crawled to him on her hands and knees to apologize. Another said she still had outstanding invoices my mom had disputed.
I studied the list, rife with rates and timelines. “You didn’t tell them where it was for, did you?”
“That’s why there’s only six.”
He’d used his name, and he’d probably done it without second thought. For me. He’d do it for anyone, but he was here, throwing the Bailey name around for me.
He tapped another list. “Here are the electrician estimates.”
I picked up that neat list, hyperaware of his proximity. The heat between us from yesterday was gone. He was professional, kind, and efficient. It was irritating.
I refused to become one of Teller’s many fangirls, but here I was, wishing he’d look at me with a spark in his eye.
Dropping my attention to his notes on electrical estimates, I choked. “Oh my god. Are they rewiring the building?”
“No, it’s just that expensive.”
Despair weighed me down until I worried I’d crash through the wooden floor. The bathrooms would need new toilets, sinks, and partitions and cosmetic work. “What if they find issues while doing the work?” My question came out more frantic than I’d intended. I didn’t have the funds for more. As it was, I was waiting for the house sale to close so I could have enough to cover what I needed. The money shuffle was the cost of bidding on Tenor.
His gaze stroked across my face. “You’ll have to plan a buffer. Always overestimate because there will be delays and problems.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. My stomach heaved. How the hell was I going to do this?
