Page 17 of Impossible Love

Thud.

We sit like that, Mom’s death like a giant black ball of sadness between us. I think I see tears in Dad’s eyes. It’s been many years since we lost her to lung cancer. But the pain is still there, ready to strike.

“Anyway,” Dad waves it off because that’s his way. If there was a photo illustration of the word “stoic” in the dictionary, it would be the face of James Lynch MacLaine. “What I’m telling you, son, is that this is a totally reasonable and rational consideration. That’s it. Nothing more dramatic or over the top. I’m just considering my options.”

I nod in silence.

“You think you can work with your old dad on this? Give it a week? Let Miss Backlund hang around for a while and hear her best offer? It might be that after spending a few days here, she’ll discover it’s not a good fit for Renaissance Eternity.”

“Empowered.”

“Stupid name for a company.”

“You got that right.”

I want to tell him no. That under no circumstances will I ever agree to selling an inch of Yosemite Ranch, the MacLaine homestead. It’s been our family history since the first generation emigrated from Scotland and took the deadly journey west to build a life for themselves. But I don’t tell my father that. He’s asked me to do something, so I’ll do it. Like always.

“We’ll give it a week, Dad. But just one week. And then we’ll see where we are.”

“All right, then.” Dad raises his mug and I raise mine and we clink them together. “One week it is.”

“Knock, knock!” Phyllis sticks her head in the back door, checking that the coast is clear. Victoria is behind her.

“How was your walk?” Dad rises from the stool, sounding cheerful and friendly, as if he hadn’t just been plotting to sell the land out from under me.

“It’s stunning here!” Victoria steps inside, her cheeks rosy from the fresh air and her hair wild again. It seems she’s in a constant battle to keep the thick auburn waves in check. “And the wildflowers! I had no idea they could go on for miles like this!”

I’ve already risen from my stool, and I’m standing in the living room, frozen like an elk in the crosshairs. There’s an awkward silence, and Dad is staring at me, his expression a mix of confusion and wonder.

“Oh,” I say, glancing at Phyllis and Victoria. “That’s nice.”

My dad clears his throat. “So, Cal was just saying that he’s ready to get you settled over at his place.”

“Okay. Sure. We’ll talk later then, Mr. MacLaine.”

“Call me Jamie. And I hope you don’t mind if I call you Victoria.”

“I’d like that.”

As I hold open the front door for first-name-basis Victoria, I look over my shoulder. Dad winks at me.

Chapter 11

Cal

I open the Jeep’s passenger door for her, and before I can lift her into position again, she purses her lips and shakes her head. “Not gonna happen.” And with that, she slaps her hand around the grab bar and pulls herself up and around into the seat, all without having to bend her knees.

It’s impressive, but I won’t let her see that I’m impressed. I walk over to the driver’s side.

“How far is it to your cabin?”

“It’s not a cabin and it’s not far.”

“You’re a freaking font of knowledge, Callum. Too bad you couldn’t have been this forthcoming before I met your father.”

“That was your strategic error, not mine.”

She sighs. Loudly. It’s more like a huff of frustration. Good.

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