Page 15 of Impossible Love

I stand, take a deep breath, and begin.

For the next ten minutes, I dazzle them with my sales pitch. I’ve been practicing the phrasing for weeks, the precise wording and inflection designed to get what I want. And I nail it. I don’t come off as demanding, of course. I make sure Mr. MacLaine sees that I’m competent and confident—and in possession of all the pertinent facts—but not pushy.

I explain why he should consider selling Sulfur Springs to Renaissance Empowered. The acreage is far enough away that he’ll never even see what we do there. The ranch isn’t performing as well as it should. He can’t keep getting high-interest private loans to support operating costs. That would be foolish and short-sighted.

Mr. MacLaine and Arlo stare at each other. They seem confused.

“What the fuck kind of loans?” Cal looks like he could spit nails. “What the fuck is this chick talking about?”

“Please, go on, Miss Backlund,” Mr. MacLaine says.

I explain that Renaissance Empowered is here to save him. That this is the way to put Yosemite Ranch on secure footing for the rest of his life.

When I finish, Cal’s hands are on his head, fingers interlaced. His mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Finally, he turns to look at his father. “Have you ever heard any bullshit that’s more bullshit than the sack of one-hundred-percent, Grade A bullshit delivered by this woman?”

Mr. MacLaine smiles, nods at Cal, and then nods at me. He slaps his palms to his thighs and stands. “I think I need a little time to think this over,” he says.

“What?” Cal extends his arms to his sides. His exposed forearms are elegantly muscled, and his hands are large. “Has the world come to an end? Has hell frozen over? Dad, have you lost your damned mind?”

“A week should be enough time.” Mr. MacLaine says this to me, ignoring his son. “You can stick around until then. Oh, by the way, Phyllis and I are going out of town. We’ll be back in a week.”

As the words come from his mouth, Phyllis enters with a large tray of iced tea and a variety of baked goods. She stops in her tracks. “We’re going somewhere? We never go anywhere.”

“Yes. It’s that thing we were supposed to do, and now we’re going to do it, Phyllis.”

She looks confused, still holding the tray.

“The termites!” Mr. MacLaine seems weirdly happy about this statement. “Yes, the house is going to be locked up and treated for a termite infestation. One week should do it.”

Cal squeezes his eyes shut and lifts his face to the ceiling for a moment, as if praying for patience. “Termites?” He looks at his father with exasperation. “I didn’t hear anything about termites. Since when do you have termites, Dad?”

“It’s dry country,” Mr. MacLaine says. “You know how it is with these little critters. They come and they go. Anyway, Miss Backlund.” He turns to me. “You can’t stay in this house because of the termites, but Cal has a bigger and nicer house with plenty of room for guests. The biggest home on the ranch, in fact. And beautiful. He’s got an oven so large that you could cook for an army.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t cook. Not for myself and certainly not for a large crowd. The La Cornue oven in my condo’s kitchen has never been turned on. And I’m shocked that he wants me to stay with Cal for a week. Cal looks shocked too.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cal says. “I’d take her to the hotel, but it’s closed. She’ll just have to go home, and we’ll do a Zoom call in a week.”

“I don’t want to do a Zoom,” Mr. MacLaine says. “So let me be clear with both of you. Victoria will stay here for a week. And she won’t leave until I get back. Got it?”

Mr. MacLaine’s voice was stern. It does the trick with Cal, who finally shuts up. Then Mr. MacLaine wags his finger at me.

“If you want any chance of this deal, Victoria, and if you are a serious businessperson, then you need to stick around the ranch for a week to better understand what goes on here and how Sulfur Springs fits into the big picture. And the only place to stay is in Cal’s house. Understood?”

Chapter 10

Cal

Phyllis makes eye contact with me as she puts down the tray and walks toward Victoria. “How about I show you around the outside?” she asks our unwelcome invader.

Talk about an infestation…

“We could go on a walk around the house, maybe see the wildflowers. It’s too early in the season for the garden to be in full bloom, but the early wildflowers are wonderful.”

“That sounds nice,” Victoria says.

I nod, grateful to Phyllis. Her intuition is flawless. She always knows what needs to happen next. Technically, she’s our aunt, the second wife of Dad’s late brother. She’s been our housekeeper and cook and part of the family ever since Mom died when I was fifteen.

Those were dark days. I was an enraged and heartbroken teenager back then, unable to process Mom’s death and feeling I was somehow responsible for it. There were many times that I was on the verge of making the kind of mistakes that you can never take back. But Phyllis was there, talking sense into me. I would listen to her when no one or nothing else could get through to me.

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