When I get back to the hotel, I grab myself a glass of wine from the restaurant bar, go upstairs, and hunker down for a long night of work. By the time I go to bed at one a.m., I’m armed with a solid plan to present to Beau and Wes in the morning.
11
Dakota
“Beau. Wes.”I nod my head in turn at each man. “Good morning.”
Beau says hello and shakes my dad’s offered hand. Wes does the same, but even as I turn my back to him and walk to the burnt red leather couch in the living room, I can feel his gaze searing me.
Dad and I walked into the house expecting to be taken back to Beau’s office. Instead, Beau asked us to join them for coffee in the living room.
It’s the room I stared at the first and only other time I’ve been in this house, just a few days ago when Wes’s little sister Jessie answered the door. The double-sided floor to ceiling stone fireplace is remarkable. On the mantle sits a coat of arms, with a man on a horse reared on its hind legs, and the wordsLegacy, Loyalty, Honoremblazoned on the bottom center.
I can’t help but think of Wes and what this means to him, how legacy, loyalty, and honor have been ground into him since the day he was born. It seems a heavy load to carry, even for the strongest of arms.
I take a seat beside my dad on the couch opposite Beau and Wes. Seeing them together, separated only by a mere twelve inches, is like looking into the future. This is what Wes will look like in thirty-odd years.
“Dakota,” Beau says, leaning forward to grab his coffee cup off the table between us. “What have you got for us?”
I reach for my bag and remove the plans I worked so hard on last night.
I prop the artist’s notebook on my thighs and open it to where I made my rudimentary drawings. “I’m no artist, as you can see.” I grin at Beau, and try damn hard not to look at Wes. “But these are a few ideas I came up with after visiting with some ladies in town last night.”
“Tourism would benefit this town, and here’s how I’m thinking we could create a place people in Sierra Grande would use, and create a tourist attraction at the same time. This,” I point at the first drawing, “is the main attraction. An upscale version of the Bar N. No offense to the operator, of course, because an establishment like the Bar N has its place.”
Deep, rich laughter breaks through my spiel. Beau holds a forearm over his stomach and chortles like Santa Claus. Beside him, Wes smirks in this obnoxiously sexy way.
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask tentatively.
“Establishment,” Beau says around his laughter. “You called that shithole of a bar anestablishment.”
Relief turns up the corners of my mouth. Thank God I didn’t offend him.
“Just be honest, Dakota, and call the place what it is,” Beau instructs.
“Fine,” I respond, laughter bubbling in my throat. “It’s a shithole.”
Wes’s smirk turns into a deep, rumbling chuckle. Beside me, I feel my dad laugh.
Beau nods, waving his hand in my direction. “Okay, now that we’ve called a spade a spade, please continue.”
I look back down to my sketch. “This,” I point at the paper, “would be a courtyard in the middle of two restaurants. Maybe one is more casual, and the other a little fancier. It can stock local wine and beer. I did some research and found there’s a fairly robust wine country out here, and it would play well to use local products. The entire place could be rented out for weddings, and that’s a second revenue stream aside from tourism. Additionally, the property can host a farmer’s market and open it up to vendors of the entire Verde Valley.”
I pause to catch my breath. In just a few days time, the project has gone from just a piece of property my dad wants to buy to something weirdly personal. I care about these ideas, and the people they would benefit. “Also,” I add, “I’m planning on calling it The Orchard. There is a small grove of pecan trees near the back portion of the property, and though they don’t look healthy now, I’ve been learning about how to properly care for them, and I’m confident they just need a little TLC. They’re unique to the area, and I want to incorporate them.”
Beau captures his chin with his thumb and forefinger and nods slowly. The look on Wes’s face is unreadable, and it makes me wonder if he’s placed a neutral mask on his face on purpose. Whatever he’s feeling, he’s hiding it.
Beau’s gaze leaves my paper and raises to my dad. “You’ve got yourself one hell of a daughter.”
“Don’t I know it,” my dad replies, his voice brimming with love and pride.
My shoulders curve forward, as if I can shrink away from the undeserved praise. Wes frowns, and despite the negative look, I welcome the break in his stoicism.
“Wes?” Beau says, looking at his son.
Wes looks at us. “Mitch.” He nods at my dad. “Dakota.” His gaze falls over me, and there’s something about it that makes my stomach coil in anticipation. “We’d like to sell the property to you.”
A giant smile breaks out on my face, and if I’m supposed to be handling this win in a more professional manner, I’m failing miserably.
