Page 43 of Impossible Love

We find him propped up in bed, his casted leg elevated and his arms crossed. I don’t know the guy, but he looks thoroughly unhappy.

“You have my iPad?” He holds out his hand. Cal gives it to him. He ignores us while he logs in and has a look at whatever’s got him fired up. This is about the negotiation, obviously.

“Fuck me. He can’t get here for ten fucking days.” Evander closes his eyes and drops his head to the pillow.

“Who?” Cal asks.

“My tailor!” He sits up again and stares at Cal like he’s responsible for this calamity. “I know the last Concorde flight was more than twenty years ago, but really? It’s London to Las Vegas, not Easter Island to Johannesburg, for fuck’s sake. He could be here tonight if he wanted to.”

I take a seat on the vinyl armchair near the bed, thinking that I have no idea what he’s going on about. I wonder if it’s the medication talking. “Is Dr. Taylor a surgeon?”

Cal barks out a laugh.

Evander turns his attention to me. “No. Thanks for coming, by the way. I’m talking about my Savile Row tailor.” He tosses his iPad to the end of his bed. “I had Phoebe call him and leave a message. It was the least she could do since she’s the one who ripped a perfectly good pair of trousers up to my groin.”

“Your femur punched a hole in those pants long before she got to them.”

“Then I need a replacement pair, if not an entire suit. It’s the only one I own in that particular shade of gray. It goes with my eyes.”

I almost laugh, but Evander is such a dominant force that I hold back. Leaning forward, I examine the signature violet of his MacLaine eyes. They’re as gorgeous as Cal’s, but they have no effect on me. It’s like looking at someone else’s vacation photos.

Now I’m sure it’s the medication, because what Navy SEAL talks like a contestant on Project Runway? I decide to humor him. “Your hospital gown looks perfectly lovely with your eyes, Evander.”

He harrumphs.

Phoebe’s at the door. “Hi, everyone!”

Evander groans, like her cheerfulness pours salt on his wound.

She smiles at me. “And yes, he’s always this grumpy and this persnickety. I’m surprised he hasn’t demanded room service.” She checks on Evander’s saline drip, takes his temperature, and makes note of his blood pressure and pulse. She does this quickly and efficiently before she ruffles up his thick black hair. He smacks her hands away.

“What pain meds is he on?” Cal asks.

“Oh!” Phoebe puts her hands on her curvy hips. “He’s refusing everything but ibuprofen. Told the surgeon that he needs to keep his mind sharp and that his SEAL training means he can handle a level of pain that would kill a normal person, blah blah blah.”

I can’t hold it in. I sputter with laughter. Evander glares at me.

“But now the doctor says he won’t send him home without something for the pain. Bye, all!” Phoebe leaves the room while speaking over her shoulder. “Use your call button if you need anything, Ev.”

“I need my tailor,” Evander whines. “And I need for everyone to use my actual name. Evander. Not Ev. Not Van. Not Der.”

I glance at Cal. The bored smirk on his face leads me to believe that this is completely normal behavior from his middle brother, with or without surgery.

I get to work with Evander. Cal paces and hovers. He occasionally adds his two cents, though we didn’t ask him for it. It doesn’t take long for me to see that this contract is complicated.

It’s a lease renewal with the Bureau of Land Management, or BLM. The lease is for a huge parcel of land that connects Sulfur Springs to the rest of MacLaine ranchland. That bit is news to me when it shouldn’t be. I swear this wasn’t included in the background research I received. Which is truly strange. As soon as we get back to Cal’s place, I’ll have to double-check.

The agreement is tricky because several parties have a stake in what happens with the lease. The US government does, of course, but also neighboring tribal authorities and private landowners. I’ve never handled something like this. But I can.

Of course I can.

That’s when Evander drops a bomb on me. “You’ll have to go to San Francisco in my place,” he says. “The meeting’s tomorrow.”

I stare at him, my brain buzzing with confusion. “I can’t do that. That would—”

“Help us out a lot,” Evander says, interrupting me. “I can’t go, obviously, and we have to get this wrapped up. I’m asking you to go in my stead.”

I turn to Cal. He looks as confused as I feel. “No fuckin’ way,” he says. “We can’t ask her to do that.”

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