Page 118 of On One Condition

Ledger

“You did it, Ledge. The Retreat can officially open next month,” Callahan says. “I don’t know how you won that fucker Grossman over, but you did.”

“Congrats, man,” Ford says. “See? You were the right man for the job after all.”

“If you come home in a pair of cowboy boots or Wranglers, though, be prepared for me to never stop giving you shit.” Callahan’s laugh bellows through the speaker.

“Me? In cowboy boots?” I snort and then sigh. Hearing my brothers’ voices should make me happy rather than have emotion lodge in my throat. I clear my throat to try and get rid of it, but it remains.

“But why are you still there? Wasn’t your plan to get in, get it done, and get the hell out of there?” Ford asks. “We were both surprised you weren’t jonesing so bad to get back that you didn’t fly home to tell us the good news, face-to-face.”

“Nah. I’ve got some loose ends to tie up here.” Asher’s face flashes in my mind, followed by a pang in my chest. “Just a few things.”

“That’s code for one last hop in the sack with Asher,” Callahan says.

“Funny,” I mutter, the words affecting me more than they’ll ever know. “Look, I have to meet with Hillary on something.”

“Sure you do.” Ford laughs.

“I said I have to go,” I snap.

“Whoa. Down, boy,” Callahan says. “You sure everything is good, Ledge?”

“Fine. Fucking perfect.” And I end the call before they can say another word.

I lean back in my chair at my desk, close my eyes, and blow out a slow exhale.

She ran.

Isn’t that what’s eating at me? I offered to give us time when I fucking don’t need it. But I offered it because she looked like a scared fucking rabbit . . . and she ran.

And the only reason I know is that I stopped by The Fields today to see if we could talk. To see if I could fix whatever needs fixing.

Asher doesn’t need fixing, Ledger.

I replay the scene from earlier in my head.

The empty echo of the house as I knocked on the door.

The flutter of panic when it didn’t open. When no one answered.

“She’s not home.” George’s words behind me making me jump.

“Where is she?”

“She took off. Packed a bag, asked me to take care of the place, and left.”

“Did she say for how long?”

“Nope.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“Just that if this place can ever get up and running”—he points toward the barn area—“then she’d love to hire on my wife to help run some of the events.” I must give him an odd look because he continues without my prompting. “She’s afraid she’s going to lose her job because of The Retreat.”

“The Retreat? Why?”

He shrugs as he sizes me up, clearly still uncertain what to think of me. “It’s a big operation. The assumption is tourists will jump ship from her hotel to yours.”