He’d just finished loading up his truck with the lumber he needed for a couple jobs—one of which was Rory’s front porch—when a truck pulled into the gravel lot. Bright-red letters proclaiming Bozeman Builders was emblazoned on the driver’s side door, and Nash clenched his jaw. Another reason he loved Havenbrook—he didn’t have to come face-to-face with King Construction’s closest competition on a daily basis.
Despite Nash’s prodding, his dad hadn’t told him much of anything since their initial discussion. Hadn’t given Nash a clue as to what Bozeman was offering to take over the business, which meant he had no idea what he was up against. No idea if his dream of buying out his old man was even a remote possibility.
No idea what he’d do if it wasn’t.
Construction had been all he’d ever done—had been all he’d everwantedto do. Building was in his blood…was him down to his very bones. And while Nash’s dad hadn’t been the ideal fatherly example, his granddad had always been there until the day he’d died. Family meant something to Nash…probably more than it should’ve, all things considered.
While he’d had no intention of seeking out Bozeman and getting information from them on the deal, he also wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip right past him when it fell into his lap.
He affixed a red ribbon to the wood sticking out of the back of his truck bed and kept an eye on the competitor’s pickup as it parked next to Nash. Before the guy even got out, Nash recognized him as the face of the business for the past couple decades—Henry Bozeman. A guy right around Nash’s dad’s age, son to John Bozeman—who was nearly as old as dirt—and current deal-maker for the business.
Bozeman Builders was only one of a select handful of businesses that Nash kept tabs on. He’d always made it a point to know the goings-on of his competitors, just to stay on top of things, but that’d never been more necessary than now.
Henry stepped out of the truck, doing a double take when he spotted Nash. He snapped his fingers and pointed in his direction. “You’re Nash’s boy, huh? Shit, you look just like him.”
Yep, he’d heard that a time or two in his life. Which just proved that he could do everything the exact opposite of his father, could repair his name and reputation, but people were still going to see his old man whenever they looked at him.
“Seems you and my dad have been busy.”
Henry laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Tryin’ to, but he’s holdin’ strong. At least for now.”
There wasn’t a doubt in Nash’s mind Henry would never willingly give up any details if he knew Nash was looking to cut him off at the knees, so he had to play this just right. Get him talking enough to glean some information that’d clue Nash in to exactly what he was up against.
“Those are some interesting terms y’all’ve talked about.”
Henry’s brows lifted. “If by interestin’ you mean highly competitive and extremely generous for the current market, then yeah.”
“Y’all surprised he didn’t go for it immediately?”
The other man shrugged. “A little. But I’m not worried. It ain’t every day a family-owned construction company in a tiny town like Havenbrook gets offered six figures for a handful of clients, a glorified shed, and a few tools.”
That was a load of bullshit, and they both knew it. King Construction offered a hell of a lot more than what Henry’d reduced it to. Nash had busted his ass to gain a steady stream of new clientele, traveling to neighboring towns to do so, as well as repairing their name with Havenbrook’s residents who were hesitant to trust a King. Nash’s granddad had built that five-thousand-square-foot “glorified shed” decades ago, and it’d been where King Construction had thrived.
And that was exactly why Bozeman had offered six figures. Because King Construction was a genuine competitor that was finally making a name for itself—mostly thanks to Nash’s hustle and reputation—and Bozeman was worried about what might happen in the coming years.
But six figures… Goddamn. Nash had no idea if that general ballpark was low, mid, or high, and there wasn’t a way to ask without showing his hand. Low, he might be able to swing. He’d been living in a studio apartment above The Sweet Spot since he’d moved out of his old man’s place, exchanging his handyman services for rent. Because of that, he’d been able to save a lot of pennies over the years and had a nice little nest egg in preparation for this very day. He’d just always assumed he’d have a bit more time to accrue the money. But mid-six? No way. And high-six? He’d be completely and utterly fucked.
Henry continued as if he hadn’t just shit all over everything Nash had made of their family business. “Your old man’s only in his fifties, but I bet he’d like to retire early. Christ knows I’d love to!” He chuckled. “He might be playin’ the long game, but we all know it’s only a matter of time till he says yes.”
He rested a hand on Nash’s shoulder and squeezed, like they were old friends. “Would love to have you on board when everything gets finalized. I’ve seen some of your work, and I’m impressed. But we can talk more about that later. Put in a good word for us, will ya?” With a wave, Bozeman ambled off toward the lumberyard.
Fuck, Nash hated that guy. He was a condescending prick who did shitty work for too-high prices simply because he could get away with it. There wasn’t a whole lot of competition in the area, which was no doubt why they were so keen on buying out King Construction. Get a major player out of their way—one who delivered on time and on budget, who did quality work for a fair price—and they’d be golden.
Well, fuck that. Nash wasn’t going to work for a business that cared more about stuffing their pockets full of money than they did about their clients. He just had to figure out how the hell he was possibly going to go up against a deal like the one they’d offered.
In a perfect world, Nash’s dad would pass along the business to him, just like his granddad had done. He had no idea the details on the exchange—and hadn’t been old enough to even contemplate asking his grandpa before he’d passed—but Nash knew, without a doubt, his dad couldn’t have possibly paid much for it, if anything at all.
He also knew it’d be too much to ask for his old man to be quite so generous. It wasn’t in his bones—not with his time, his attention, or his love. And certainly not with his business.
Rory had hoped Nash was right and her sister would return one of her twelve hundred calls or texts. But by the following week, when she still hadn’t gotten a response, she’d had enough. Time was ticking down to Gran’s birthday, and she needed to make shit happen whether Nat wanted to or not.
She snuck in to her bedroom even though her house was empty. Ella was outside with Nash, serving as his right-hand girl while he repaired the front porch. Ava was at her daddy’s for a sleepover, despite the fact that it was Rory’s weekend. They’d just fought over it that morning, which had set the tone for the day. Rory’d eventually relented for the sole reason that it was Kelsey’s birthday, but she wasn’t happy about it.
Even all alone inside, she closed her bedroom door, giving her an extra layer of security. She didn’t want anyone else witnessing another failure, and she wasn’t all that optimistic it’d be anything but. She cued up Nat’s name, pressed the call button, and closed her eyes, saying a little prayer that her sister would finally answer.
It rang twice before clicking over to voice mail. Super. So Nat had moved on from screening her calls and gone straight to seeing Rory’s name on the screen and downright ignoring. That was justgreat.
After the beep, she said, “Nat, this is your sister. Again. I’m sure you’reincrediblybusy, but if you wouldn’t mind returning one of my dozen voice mails or texts, it’d be much appreciated.”
