They stared at each other for a long beat before Grandpa relented. “I’ll put on a pot.” Logan slipped through the door before it could close on him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been locked out of this house.
The kitchen table was littered with papers, mail, and legal pads, with only a single spot cleared for eating. “How’s work been?” he asked as he fought the urge to riffle through the stack of mail. It wasn’t like his grandpa to be so unorganized. They’d been raised to put everything away. Everything had its place.
Grandpa dug around in a drawer until he found a coffee filter. “It’s work.”
“You could retire, you know.”
The drawer slammed shut. “If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked for it.”
“Grandpa—”
“Still riding them bulls like a fool?”
Bull riding was in his blood. It was all he knew, what called to him when he lay awake at night. It wasn’t something an Attwood could easily be talked out of. His grandpa Gerald, his mom’s father, had never once ridden a bull. Never wanted to. “That’s why I’m in town.”
Grandpa laughed, a sneer left on his face. “Knew it wasn’t to see me.”
Before Logan’s nearly fatal injury, his grandpa had been more supportive of his bull-riding career and his desire to follow in his dad’s footsteps. He had proven he had the knack, the talent, the fortitude. Everyone had been more supportive when he was earning heaps of money and the injuries were minor.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” An envelope with bright red lettering on the outside caught his attention, and he lost his ability to leave well enough alone. “What’s this?” he asked, shaking off a couple other pieces of mail in the process. “Final notice?”
Grandpa wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Grandpa. This is a foreclosure notice.”
“I know what it is.”
“I don’t understand.”
Grandpa yanked the coffee pot from its stand, the dark liquid sloshing to the rim. “They cut my hours, that’s all. I picked up another job, so don’t worry about it.”
“I’ve sent you money. Every month for two years.”
“I don’t want your money.”
This was absurd. His grandpa was really willing to let his home go into foreclosure—too proud to take his money? “This is your home.”My home,he nearly let escape. “It’ll get auctioned off. Probably to some developer who’ll ruin all this.”
“Don’t pretend you have all the answers.” Grandpa shoved a mug at him. Black was as good as it would get; he doubted there was even fresh milk in the fridge. Grandpa leaned back against the counter, unwilling to join him at the table. “You haven’t been around.”
His heart twisted. He had no argument to that, so he sipped his coffee instead. He’d always imagined visiting his grandpa here someday, with Abbie. They’d bring their family over for Sunday dinners so the kids could play out in the yard. He wouldn’t ride bulls forever. Most riders retired in their late twenties, early thirties.
He’d clung to his dad’s advice his entire career, that he never let a bull get the best of him. His nearly fatal ride had cost him a lot. It forced him to step down before he was ready. Worst of all, he’d let a bull defeat him.
Tornado, a nasty black and white spotted bucking bull, would be retired after this season but Logan had yet to draw the beast since returning to the circuit. Time was running out.
“Let me buy it from you, then.”
Grandpa sputtered a laugh at that comment, then sipped on his coffee. “What do you want with this place? You’re never here.”
“You stay on until I retire. You can stay as long as you like.” It would take a lot of time and money to spruce everything back up to its former state. Logan had plenty of both.
“No, thanks.”
“You’d rather let the bank take it than sell it to me?”
Grandpa poured himself another cup. “I’m tired, Logan. There’s too much to do around here, and I don’t have the time.”
It took a lot of self-control for him to bite his tongue. With the monthly amount he sent his grandpa, he could’ve hired someone to do the upkeep and general maintenance. “Then let me get someone while I’m in town.”
