“It’s a business,” he says. “And we have to treat it that way.”
“Don’t you think I know it’s a business? I’ve been running this place since I was sixteen.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’ve been pretty much carrying this place for all of us.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just honestly in a terrible mood. I’m tired and cranky. I’m truly so glad you’re working here. You’ll be far better at it than I am. Any other thoughts so far?”
“Well, for starters, it’s a Sunday morning, and there’s nobody here,” he says. “We could team up with Wild Ivy Ranch and offer brunch with mimosas.”
“That’s a great idea. Daddy isn’t working to grow the business. He’s just leaning on Jane’s ghost for his profits. She’s his cash cow. Without her, this place would be sunk.”
“Daddy sucks at the bottom line.” Ben points to a stack of papers in front of him. “Look at this: he had you order ninety-six bottles of the Pinot Noir. If he’d ordered a hundred, he would have saved a dollar per. Here’s another example.” Ben shows me the latest order of beer Daddy had me do. “Four hundred cases when five hundred is the break point to a much better margin. It’s a mess. I can’t believe you didn’t catch this, Mace.”
I sigh. “I’ve been so preoccupied. Honestly, I do try to catch Daddy’s errors, but I miss a lot. Running this saloon and chapel just isn’t my thing. I’ve tried to tell him.”
“When have you tried to tell him that?” Ben asks me.
“When…” I pause. “When he did the amended contract, I said something about setting a schedule to find a new manager. But I had already signed the original contract, you know, during that intervention we staged before one of his rehabs, and he never listens to me when I try to explain…”
“Because he doesn’t want to hire a stranger. He wants to keep it in the family.”
“That’s why I don’t push him more. I can’t. Getting him to stay sober has been a full-time job. It’s like I have two jobs, and that one always comes first, Ben.”
“I know. But somebody should say something.” He stands up and takes the papers back. “Because relying on a ghost to keep him afloat is a risky game to play. And eventually, he’s gonna lose.”
As he heads for the bar, I check my cell. Riley wants to meet me at the creek a half hour before the engagement party. I text her backsure, then curse myself for agreeing to meet with the one person in this world, other than Gigi, who can make me feel about two inches tall by her mere presence. Riley never seems overwhelmed, she never feels awkward, and she’s never embarrassed. She never seems to have any problems.
I drive home where I grab a sandwich and chips, and then shower and change for the party. I sit down at my laptop to write until I need to leave. I can barely concentrate on my novel because the feeling of Logan underneath me keeps my hormones dancing and my panties wet. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that when I finally finish a chapter, my ghost hero and heroine have been branded with red raindrop tattoos.
Oh, crap!
I’m not writingGhost Loveabout my parents’ redemption! I’m writing about Logan and me getting a second chance as ghosts after blowing all our chances on earth.
I lean back in my chair and snarf down about three times the amount of potato chips I planned to eat. I knew my diary was providing ideas—but writing a story about my ex-husband? The man who’s currently engaged to someone else? That’s just ludicrous. And pathetic.
This can’t happen. The chapter of my life that included Logan Wild in any romantic sense is long over. I’m going to have to rework this novel for the third time and try focusing on Mama and Daddy as inspiration. Maybe I can write their redemption story, which would at least feel like one degree of separation.
But right now, it’s time to meet Riley, right before I go to Logan and Gigi’s engagement party.
Super.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I pull up to the creek just as Riley steps out of her car. I park right behind her, and we walk toward the water together, taking seats on top of one of the picnic tables. I can see the streamers and balloons down by the lake just on the other side of the tree line. I’m sure Gigi’s already there, ready for her fans and all the cameras to descend on her.
“You look hot.” Riley glances approvingly at my silk green shirt and black miniskirt.
“Thanks. Maybe feeling good about my outfit will help my mood.”
“You dreading this party as much as I’d imagine you are?” Riley asks me, chipping paint off the table with a stick she found.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” I take a rock off the bench. “Want to?”
We walk down to the edge of the water and take turns skipping stones. Riley wins, of course. Eleven skips. I get six.
“You always win.” I know I sound like a brat, and I smile at her to make up for it.
She follows me back to the table, and we sit in silence for a few minutes. The sun is hot already, and I’m sweating through my clothes. This feeling used to turn me on and make me wonder where Logan could be right now. But I know better than to ever play that game with myself again.
