Mason whistles low. "Rachel told me about them showing up at your event and handing over an offer letter. That was ballsy."
"It was." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "And she turned it down, sight unseen." I pause, and the words that follow cost me more than I want to admit. "But it wasn’t so simple. She spent the next few days distracted and upset, and by Tuesday she told me she needed to see Evan in person. Said she owed him a real conversation, not a blanket rejection."
"That's fair, I guess," Mason comments.
"I know. I told her I understood, and I really do. I drove her to the airport, kissed her goodbye, and told her to take all the time she needs." I stare at my hands. "And now I can't help thinking I've made a huge mistake."
The cab goes quiet. The engine hums. Tires hiss against asphalt.
I spent the whole damn night staring at the ceiling, turning the same thought over and over until it wore a groove in me. I never told her. Three damned words, and I swallowed them every time the moment felt right, because it never seemed right enough. Now she's seventeen hundred miles away sitting across from a man who's presenting her with everything she's dreamed of.
"You are a lot of things, Charlie. A coward isn't one of them." Mason's tone is flat with certainty. "But you do have a habit of giving people so much room that you forget to take up any yourself."
The observation hits harder than it should, probably because it's accurate. I've spent weeks giving Sunny space, letting her come to me on her terms, reading her signals and matching her pace. It's the right approach for a woman who builds walls the way Sunny does. But somewhere along the way, the patience I was so proud of turned into something else, a convenient excuse for not putting my own heart fully on the line.
We cross the county line into Tarrant County, and the outskirts of Fort Worth begin to materialize on the horizon. Cody breaks the silence from the back seat.
"Uncle Charlie?" His voice is careful, the way a teenager sounds when he's about to wade into territory that might not be welcome. "You remember what Dad did when he was trying to keep Rachel from leaving the ranch?"
"I remember," I say.
"He didn't wait for the perfect moment. He made one."
Mason's jaw flexes, and a ghost of a smile crosses his face.
I turn in my seat to look at my nephew, and the quiet certainty in his young face is pure Mason, and it hits me like a two-by-four right to the head.
The Fort Worth Stockyards come into view as Mason navigates the downtown traffic. The grounds are buzzing with activity, trailers lining the lots, handlers walking horses between the barns, and the familiar scent of hay and livestock fills the air.
We check in at the exhibitor gate and get our credentials. Wade trailered our horses down yesterday, and by the time we reach the assigned barn, he has the stalls set up and the animals settled.
"Everything's in order," Wade reports, handing me the vet paperwork. "Colby was a little restless in the trailer, but he settled once I got him in the stall."
"Good." I flip through the papers and sign where indicated, but the words blur on the page. My mind keeps circling back to a woman three states west, sitting across from the man who taught her everything, listening to an offer that could change her life…and mine.
Our horses look magnificent. The two-year-old filly Wade has been training turns heads the moment she enters the ring, moving with a fluid grace that draws murmurs from the experienced breeders in the stands. Colby performs flawlessly in the stallion showcase, and by mid-afternoon, we've fielded inquiries from six different operations interested in our program.
Mason handles the conversations with the natural authority of a man who's been in this world his entire life. Cody stands beside him, shaking hands and answering questions about the horses with a poise that makes me proud. The two of them have it covered.
Which is perfect because my mind is not on the horses, the show, or even in Fort Worth.
I catch myself checking my phone between events, hoping for a message from Sunny that hasn't come. She texted me when she landed late last night.
Made it safe. Evan picked me up at the airport. Talk soon.
Nothing since. The silence is louder than Kevin at feeding time.
During a break between showings, I walk to a quiet corner behind the horse barns and make two phone calls.
The first is to my attorney in Austin.
"Richard, I have a job for you." I lean against the barn wall and lower my voice. "I want a private investigator on something. Quietly."
"Of course, Charlie. What do you need?"
"A background on two people. Derek Parker, a trust fund kid out of California. He is in the process of purchasing a winery called Beaumont Crest in Sonoma County. I want to know everything. His financials, his business history, his reputation, and where his money comes from." I pause. "The second is Evan Reynolds, the head winemaker at Beaumont Crest. He's planning to retire, and I want to understand the circumstances of the sale and whether he had any leverage in the deal."
Richard is quiet for a moment. "This wouldn't happen to be connected to the winery you invested in, would it?"
