“We’ll see about her type.” Allen backed away. “Gotta go get cleaned up for our photoshoot with those lady writers,” he added with a wink.
Wade groaned, catching Daphne’s attention. Why couldn’t Allen leave all things to do with Trish alone? His cousin had always enjoyed riling him up a bit, and usually it had to do with some sort of competition. But it’d been college since they competed for a girl, and Wade wasn’t about to play that game now. The first prickles of irritation poked at him.
Wade patted Daphne, then slipped out of the stall to find the farrier. He was supposed to be running things around here with his uncle out of the country. He couldn’t shirk all his responsibilities, even if it meant dealing with a crotchety farrier. George was great with horses, but not so much with people.
“Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled, secretly hoping the farrier would keep him too busy to join in for the photoshoot. Except the image of Allen snuggled up close to Trish for a picture, in his most expensive cologne, made Wade see a little bit of red.
* * *
Wade’d just steppedout of the shower when he heard the house phone ringing. Grams wasn’t a fan of cell phones, and though she had one Kate bought her last Christmas, she rarely turned it on. That forced most people to call the landline.
“Grams?” he called out into the empty kitchen. The farrier hadn’t been in a hurry earlier, making Wade a little bit late. The Holbrook Ranch had been the last on his list for the day, but Wade didn’t want to leave him alone in the stable. Mostly, he didn’t want George to still be around for this. All they needed was him to come looking for one of them. What would he think, finding them all in the backyard taking romance novel cover-worthy pictures? It would be too much to explain to crotchety ol’ George.
On the fourth ring, Wade zipped around the kitchen island and picked up the phone from the wall receiver. Grams had been having problems with her answering machine lately, so this might be her best chance for a message.
“Wade, how you been?”
“Uncle Bill. Where you callin’ from today?” Wade leaned against the counter and crossed his legs.
“Barcelona.”
Wade glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s kinda late there, isn’t it? Where’s Aunt Tabby?”
“She’s got a couple days off before the next events, so she’s at a bar down the street from our hotel with some fans.” Bill rambled on a bit more about the speaking event and the mass of fans. Wade’s aunt was a motivational speaker in high demand. She’d been doing a circuit in Europe for the past several weeks and her popularity was exploding.
“Sounds like you two are having a great time.”
“We get to take it easy between events. Since it’s all paid for, can’t ask for more than that. How’s things? Heard Grams talked you into playing an escort to some writer gal.” Bill cackled until he coughed. Too many years of smoking behind him.
“Chaperone,” Wade corrected. “We’re actually due out back for a photoshoot, of all things. Guess Grams wants them to have something to remember us by. Can’t imagine why anyone would want photographic evidence of knowing Allen,” Wade joked. “He’s lapping up his temporary fame.”
“Of course he is.” Wade couldn’t discern whether there was disapproval in Bill’s tone. “Look, I need you to tell Grams to get hold of me. She can send an email so I know when it’s a good time to call back. I ran into someone today interested in buying some land out there.”
It should have struck Wade as odd that his uncle had coincidentally found someone wanting to buy land in Wyoming while he was halfway around the world. Wade’s stomach twisted uneasily. “You think she knows some folks selling land around here?”
“I described that north pasture to this guy I met today, and you should have seen his eyes light up. Look, he’s willing to pay cash. More’n it’s worth, too. It’s just a hundred acres. Small parcel of land. And it would set Grams up for years if she sold it at that price.”
Wade thought he might get dizzy from this conversation. His grandpa had to be turning in his grave with the thought of a single acre being sold. “Why the north pasture?” Bill, like Grams, didn’t know how much work Wade had been putting into that cabin. Bill must have remembered how Wade mentioned his interest in someday claiming that parcel as his own; mentioned it more than once.
“It’s got the best view.” Chatter in the background and the closing of a door announced his aunt’s return.
“It also has some of the best grazing land we have.”
“All our pastures are good for that.”
The conversation reminded him of the many arguments his uncle and grandpa had about how to run the ranch. Grandpa cared about the animals, found the highest form of pride and reward in a hard day’s work, loved the land. Bill, on the other hand, liked to find excuses to skate out of work early. Always interested in something that might bring inbigmoney.
“Look, if someone took down that old cabin, there’s a decent plot of land to build a new house perfect for a bachelor. Just tell Grams to check her email so I can figure out a good time to call her back.”
Wade had no such intention, but it was the easiest way to get Uncle Bill off the phone. With any luck, that buyer would find land somewhere else to spend his money, before the possibility was ever mentioned to Grams. “I’ll tell her. Check her email.”
“Wade, you know this is good for her. Money’s tight. Selling that parcel would take that burden off her shoulders for years.”
Grams always did the books. Wade gave her information about costs and expenses. Had brief conversations with her about a good time to buy and sell. But she’d never let himseethe books. Maybe what Bill was saying had some truth in it. “Enjoy Barcelona, Uncle Bill.”
Wade hung up and stared at the wall mount receiver, muttering curses on his way back to the bathroom. He’d planned to shave his two-day stubble, but now he felt too irritated to wield something as dangerous as a razor blade. Grams would forgive him the light beard. She wouldn’t be happy if he came out there with bloody nicks all over his cheeks.
Wade anchored himself with two hands on the edges of the sink and bowed his head to catch his breath. Nausea slammed him at the thought of Grams not having enough money. Was Grams really holding this writers’ retreat in some attempt to increase revenue and not just a dream fulfilled as she made it out to be? Things had been tight this season, but tight enough that she would even consider selling a single acre? He didn’t want to believe it.
