“Yeah.”
Tucker poured something amber—whiskey, probably—and set it in front of Wes. “You eat?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Wes sighed. “I ate.”
“Good.” Tucker glanced between Wes and Jake, then smirked. “You two know each other?”
Wes took a drink. “Something like that.”
Jake kept his expression neutral. “We met yesterday. At his farm.”
“Hmm.” Tucker’s smirk widened. “Small world.”
“Tiny,” Wes muttered.
Tucker left to help another customer. The bar hummed with comforting noise around them—someone laughing at a booth, the trilling of dartboards from the rear, Cal’s jukebox playing on. But the two stools between Jake and Wes felt like a gulf.
I should probably just let it go,Jake thought.Let Wes have his drink in peace.
Instead, he said, “I sent you an email.”
Wes didn’t look at him. “I know.”
“Did you read it?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
Wes turned to meet Jake’s gaze. His eyes were dark, guarded. “And I’m still trying to decide if you’re full of shit or not.”
Jake stared blankly for a moment, then he couldn’t help it. He chuckled.
Wes scowled. “What’s funny?” he asked.
“You. Most people at leastpretendto be polite.”
“I’m not most people.”
“I noticed.”
Wes took another drink, set the glass down carefully. “You really think you can save my farm?”
“I think there’s a good chance, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the fundamentals are solid. You’ve got land, equipment, and a customer base. What you don’t have is capital and a sustainability plan.”
“And you can give me that?”
“I can help you restructure your debt and connect you with resources. The rest is up to you.”
Wes looked away. “And what’s it cost me?”
