Page 4 of Impossible Love

“Super fine,” I hear myself mumble.

Declan slaps me on the back. “All right-eee. If we don’t head out soon, I’ll have to file a new flight plan. Everyone ready?”

A few minutes later, I give Jasmine one last hug for the road and lift her up to the chopper and into her dad’s arms. I watch as Finn buckles her in, checks to ensure the harness is snug, and places the headset over her ears. As always, it’s a joy to see what a good dad my brother has become. But that always comes with a twinge of heartache, because I have to watch him do it without Amy, Jasmine’s mom.

No doubt about it. We MacLaines have had our share of loss. For me, it’s always there at the edges, reminding me how precious it all is and how it’s my job, as the eldest son, to watch over the family.

It’s an honor. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Declan gives me a thumbs-up and a big smile. I jog backward toward the hangar and wave goodbye. It isn’t long before I see the helicopter rise, bank, and head northwest toward the mountains.

Chapter 3

Victoria

It takes about five seconds to walk in one door of the building and out the other side. I tell the pilots that I’m good, that my car is picking me up from here, and that they can head back.

“Enjoy your stay, Miss Backlund,” one of them says.

Just then, my phone rings.

“You’ve landed right on time, I see.” If anyone loves a schedule as much as me, it’s my assistant, Millicent. Now, this woman sweats. All the time. Over every little thing. Metaphorically speaking, anyway.

“I’m here. Just waiting for the car. Standing out on the front sidewalk of the airport.”

“Let me check on the car service. Call you right back.”

I picture her now at her desk outside my office. Her wild curly hair standing on end, a speck of lip gloss on her teeth, wearing the running shoes that help her speed through the hallways. She always tells me she loves being an assistant, loves working for me, and doesn’t mind the long hours.

That’s why I hired her. She’s single. Has no social life. Her phone is always powered on, and she’s ready to go to work any time, day or night.

Just like me.

I cross my arms over my chest and tap the toe of my shoe on the sidewalk. The car should be here by now. But if I have to wait, I may as well review my notes again, so I pull up the document on my phone.

I need to meet with the father, James MacLaine, not one of the sons. The offer will be more readily accepted by the less-worldly father, who’s responsible for their mess in the first place.

The target is part of the MacLaine holdings. Yosemite Ranch is one of the biggest cattle operations in the entire state of Nevada. The family has owned it since the Civil War, and over time it’s grown to a thousand square miles, the size of a small country. And even though there’s been a recent influx of cash, my guess is it’s the result of a high-interest loan that the MacLaines have no ability to repay.

The piece of land I’m here to acquire is called Sulfur Springs, a barren spot about a half-hour drive from Jamie MacLaine’s ranch house. He can’t possibly need it for much. Once we acquire it, he’ll be far enough away that he won’t even know we’re there.

It makes good sense for him to sell. Why would a man rounding the corner to Social Security keep working his fingers to the bone if he doesn’t have to?

I’ve been preparing for this moment for months, so none of this information is new to me. But a little extra preparation never hurts. Besides, the situation with my lipstick and heel has me feeling a bit off balance. Not to mention that man.

That. Man.

No time for fantasy cowpokes. There’s nothing to do now but summon all the patience I can and continue to wait.

I glance around the dump of an unpaved parking lot. I see a couple of ramshackle trucks nearby, but there’s nothing that looks like a car for hire. No black SUVs, limos, or even a Toyota Camry.

I’m about to lose it. Nothing is going right when everything should be going perfectly. I am on the cusp of making partner at Renaissance Empowered. Nothing is supposed to get in the way of that.

I take a deep breath. I don’t normally let mishaps, setbacks, and complications get me upset or leave me discombobulated.

But I’m so freakin’ discombobulated!

I blame it on the rough and dangerous hunk who stared at me from the hangar. I might have been too far away to have seen clearly, but I swear he had beautiful violet eyes. Not blue. Not brown or green or gold. Violet, as in the Elizabeth Taylor kind of violet.

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