It's a hasty designation to make, seeing as how I've only known him for approximately thirty seconds, but it feels spot on.
He stepped from his front porch the moment I pulled in. He's younger than I expected. In my head, I envisioned him as an old man. He has a full head of brown hair, but it's cut close and doesn't look right, as if he told the barber to use a four and they accidentally used a two.
He's tall, but overweight, his face resembling something of a ferret. From somewhere in the house, I hear gunshots, voices, military-like commands, and realize it's a video game.
"Can I help you?" he says, with a look that says help is the last thing he'd like to provide me.
Might as well cut right to it. "I'm here to make an offer on your property."
"I'm not interested."
"Why not? You haven't heard my terms yet."
He eyes me suspiciously. "Does this have anything to do with my so-called neighbors coming by?"
"I don't know who you're talking about."
"The Haydens came here and tried to throw their weight around. I hate when people like that think they should get what they want just because of who they are."
I hate when people use more than their share of water and the downstream effect means other people don't have enough.
I nod and shrug like I'm clueless. "I have nothing to do with them." And why would they be so-called? Their land butts up against his. Pretty sure that makes them neighbors. "I own a real estate investment trust called Tower Properties. I came to Sierra Grande less than a year ago, and I've been buying properties and investing."
"I don't want to move," he says, crossing his arms like he's settling in for an argument.
"Why not? You're all alone out here.” I gesture around the place. “There are plenty of ladies in town who'd love to date you. Or men, if that's your preference. Point is, you'll make enough to buy yourself a nice place in town and then swim in the rest if you want to."
He looks behind me, directing his gaze to the house across from his. His eyes sweep down the road, to all the other houses.
It's an odd setup. His house is the oldest, his property the largest by far. The rest of the homes are nearly identical to one another, little cookie cutters with yards a fraction the size of his. My guess is a home developer came in and developed around the farm.
"You don't need to worry about my social life.” He scratches his forearm and glances once more across the street. “I like it here."
"Can I give you my card? You can call me after you think it over. I've written the price I'm willing to pay on the back of the card." I take the card from my pocket, offering it up like I'm giving a morsel of food to a wild animal. He ventures out from the porch to take it from me.
"I'll be in touch," I say, backing away. I get in my car and reverse out of his driveway. Across from Conrad’s house, a woman stands in a front yard. Two kids run around her legs, and she lifts her hand and waves at Conrad. He smiles and ducks his head, his hands in his pockets.
I shift into drive, leaving the farm, but my thoughts are stranded behind me.
A few minutes with Conrad was enough time to get a bad feeling about the guy. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but something about him is unsettling. I’d like to know more about him, but given how defensive he is, that’s not going to be easy.
My hand scrapes my jaw and I scratch at the growth from a skipped day of shaving, my mind rolling over ways I can learn about Conrad.
Then I remember.
I climbthe stairs to the front porch. The door is wide open, the bottom of it held in place by some kind of lift, and the person I came here to talk to uses a drill to screw in the new strike plates.
I wait for the high-pitched sound to cease, then ask, “How did you know my background?”
Wyatt looks over at me and sets down the power tool. I climb the stairs so we’re on even ground. He crosses his arms, eyebrows raised, and evaluates me, deciding if he should tell me the truth. A sigh escapes his lips as he peers back into the house, then back to me and leans his head in closer. "There's a kid in town who is too tech savvy for his own good. Luckily, that aligns with my goals most of the time."
A twinge of irritation flares. "You had him look into me?"
"Possibly. But you piqued his curiosity all by yourself with that fancy-ass car of yours and the way you dress."
I look down at my navy slacks and pressed shirt. I didn't intend to keep who I was a secret when I came to Sierra Grande, but I didn't feel much like advertising it either.
He continues. "You stick out like a sore thumb, my friend."
