I'm still waiting for Travis to morph into this awful teenager my mom spoke of.
I know she’s a lot of things, but now I'm starting to think maybe my mom is a liar, too.
32
Wyatt
When my phone rings,I'm holding a mortar-covered trowel in my hand. I've been expecting this call though, so I stop what I'm doing and answer.
"Farley, what do you have for me?" Using one finger, I swipe across the edge of the trowel to gather the excess mortar and apply it to the blade, then spread it across the bare wall in the kitchen.
"Get ready, Hayden. It's good."
It's been two weeks since I visited Farley, and I'm more than ready to hear this news. Balancing the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I say, "Go."
"You sure this Bennett guy doesn't already ring a bell?"
I don't like that he's giving me a lead, like he's throwing a treat in front of me and watching to see if I pounce. I set down the trowel and pick up the next sheet of subway tile Jo chose. Pushing it into the mortar, I huff, "I wouldn't have come to you if he did."
"God, you take all the fun out of everything," Farley complains.
"Talk, Farley."
"Bennett starts with 'B', right?"
I sigh and pick up another tile sheet, fitting it into the previous one on the wall. I'm going to maim this kid if he doesn't come out with it. "Farley, would you like Tenley's autograph?"
He stumbles over his next sentence. "Well, yeah, I… uh…"
"Say what you have to say."
"The ‘B’ in Circle B is Bennett. The ranch was owned by Cynthia and Kenneth Bennett before the title was transferred into"—he pauses—"Tower Properties. Looks like a real estate investment trust."
"Shit," I say in a low voice, looking around. Nobody notices me, or my expletive. I get why the family would transfer the property into a REIT, where all their properties could be together, but why choose Jo out of all those buyers with much deeper pockets? It doesn’t feel sinister, just odd.
I wipe off the excess grout between the tiles. I'm doing a shitty job. I need to tell Jo, of course, but what will telling her do? I don't know anything. And she has everything hung on this ranch. Her hopes, her dreams, it's like her entire life depends on Wildflower opening. On Travis coming to live with her.
"I have something else for you," Farley says, his voice dripping with excitement. "I heard about Mrs. Calhoun's grandsons showing up in town to visit with her. I saw them acting like assholes at the Merc one day, so I decided to dig a little deeper. Turns out they're ex-cons—"
"I'm aware." Honestly, all it took to figure that out was a basic internet search.
"Are you aware Mrs. Calhoun is mother to only one child? And that one child fathered one child? Making the Marks brothers—"
"Fuck," I hiss. I drop the trowel in the empty bucket I've been using to mix the grout. "Those motherfuckers aren't her grandsons."
"Sure aren't. But they did know Dixon. Turns out, they did some work with him before they served time."
Work. What an interesting word to describe cooking meth.
I wash my hands quickly, splashing water all over the counter and drying my hands on the front of my jeans. "You're a genius, Farley."
"I'll make sure to remind you of that the next time you call me a name."
"Hang on," I instruct, holding my phone at my side.
I pass Jo on my way to the front door. She's talking with Scott. She looks at me, bewildered when she takes in my state. "What's wrong?" she asks, eyes crinkling with concern.
"All good," I respond, nodding at Scott and kissing Jo quickly on the mouth. I see her suspicion, but I don't have time to stop and explain. She'd want to come with me, and there's no way I'd allow that, plus she's knee-deep in what's going on at Wildflower. The additions and updates are so close to the finish line, I can't distract her now.
