Dad shrugs. “I might be, if the price is right.”
“That’s great, Dad.” He’s been searching for a new project since we finished the retail center in Denver.
He leans forward, propping his elbows on the desk and steepling his hands under his chin. “This is better than great, Dakota. This is unheard of. Beau Hayden is a hard-ass and he’s never sold any of his land, and not because people haven’t offered to purchase it. Remember Rich Calloway from Brandywine Developers?”
I nod even though I don’t remember him.
“He thought he was going to get in good with Beau by showing up on the ranch and making him an unsolicited offer. The way he tells it, Beau met him on the front porch with a shotgun and told him he had ten seconds to get back in his truck, then began counting.” He laughs, and I can tell how much he respects this old-school frontier way of doing business.
“That’s pretty severe,” I respond.
“Could be to some, I suppose. But to men like Beau, men who’ve been pouring their blood, sweat, and tears into their ranch, and watched their ancestors do the same, it’s an effective form of communication.” Dad places his palms on the desk and pushes to stand. He leans on his hands and looks at us. “This one is going to be a little different though. I, as an individual, am going to be the buyer. Then I’ll hire Wright Design + Build to do the development.”
I blanch. “Can you do that?”
He nods. “Most definitely. I’ve been looking for something to invest in for quite some time, and this feels like the right opportunity.”
We’re quiet around the table. I don’t know what there is for any of us to say.
Dad directs his gaze at me. “We are flying out this afternoon and meeting with Beau and the realtor tomorrow morning.”
My eyebrows cinch. “We?”
He points to his chest. “Me.” His finger rotates my way. “And you. I want you to design it.”
Brandt makes a choking noise. He tries to cover it up with a fisted hand at his mouth and a fake-sounding cough.
“Dad, I don’t think—”
“You’re ready for this, Dakota. Really. You grew up around this business and you’ve been in the office learning everything you need to know. Also, you have a real knack for it.”
It’s his stare, the belief in his gaze, the certainty in his voice, that suspends the argument hovering in my throat. Well, that and the fact we have an audience.
I want so badly to be worthy of his unyielding confidence in me. But the truth is, I’m not sure I’ll ever make up for the pain I’ve caused him.
“I’ll go home and pack a few things,” I tell him, and his face splits into a grin.
“Sheila will email you the flight information,” he says, sitting back down and pulling his laptop closer. “Meet me back here at one.” His shoulders are lifted, pulled higher by the possibility of winning a big deal. It’s a lovely thing to see; for so long his shoulders drooped as if the weight of the world was using him for push-ups, and it was largely my fault.
“See you soon,” I say. “Don’t eat, I’ll bring us lunch.” I wave half-heartedly at Brandt and Jon.
My dad focuses on the computer, and I step away from the conference room with a stomach that feels as if fireflies are buzzing around inside it.
I wonder what my mother would say if she were here? Would she believe in me, the prodigal child, the way my dad does?
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
I spent the longest time thinking it was my fault she was dead. And there’s a small part of me that still does.
* * *
“Abby, are you home?”
I called my sister as soon as I sat down in my car. The phone is on speaker, resting in my car’s cupholder, as I tap my chipped cherry red nail polish on my steering wheel.
“No, I took the girls to the Children’s Museum.” She sounds distracted. She’s probably watching them climb the monstrous treehouse in the middle of the museum. “What’s up?”
