Page 45 of Wild Rose
“Yeah, well, Rose pinned me down Wednesday on your behalf,” I tell her.
She nods curtly. “That girl’s been doing well here. Real sharp. Organized those files we’ve been meaning to get done for months.”
“She been hangin’ out here a lot?”
Ginger shrugs. “Few hours yesterday and for a bit late Wednesday afternoon. Says she’s bored. Comes here for somethin’ to do.”
“Thought I’d given her plenty.”
“She’s quick.”
“You mean she’s slick,” Brett argues.
Ginger shakes her head. “You hush back there. The girl needed to get around,” she barks back.
I scratch the back of my neck, speaking of golf carts. “She complainin’ about me yet?”
“Like I’d tell you.”
I smirk. “Listen, a few of the guys are going to stop by here with their checks before the end of the day. Going to need them reissued.”
She sets her glasses down. “Why?”
“There were some errors.”
She winces. “Oh.”
“It’s no big deal. She’ll stop by with the corrected amounts later.”
Setting her glasses back over the tip of her nose, she makes a note for herself. I notice it’s a long list. Ginger isn’t that young anymore. And the additional work will have her leaving here after dark, I’m sure of it.
But the guys need to be paid right today.
“Reminds me,” I pull a few bills from my wallet and reach over the desk. “Greatly appreciate it if you get that done tonight.”
She perks a brow. “Mighty generous.”
I give her a small smile. Dropping a bonus here and there for the extra mile is nothing new to Dallas and me. But we take particular care of Ginger. She was a second mother to us. And we’re almost sure she’s sticking around past retirement to watch over us. Either that or giving Dad the scoop on the business. I’d like to think it’s more sentimental than that.
She stuffs the cash somewhere inside her blouse. “You got yourself a deal, boss.”
Before I can utter a thank you, the door swings open behind me. I turn to see a man step inside, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor. He looks to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, strong build with a lined face. His hat is worn and his shirt wrinkled, but his posture is steady, confident.
His eyes find mine instantly, sharp but not hostile. “You Dallas?”
I cross my arms. “Wilder, his brother. What can I do for you?”
The man’s gaze flicks to Ginger, then back to me. “I’m looking for Dallas.”
“I get that. He’s unavailable. What can I do for you?” My stomach tightens as I imagine what kind of trouble Dallas got himself into. We don’t have many rivals. Callahan Ranch—which just barely crosses the border of Blue River—is the only one. And Dallas and I know that family inside out. He’s not one of them.
Maybe this guy owns a bar in town and is here to collect on damage? Damage my brother caused?
“Do you know where I can find him? I was told I could catch him here.”
“By who?”
The man shifts at my tone, resting his hand on his belt. He’s not threatening in the least. That much, I’m sure. There’s a guardedness about him. Like he’s been preparing for confrontation. “This is personal business, sir,” he states evenly.
