Page 21 of Awaiting the Storm
“Blackey makes the best smoked ribs in the state. That’s him behindthe register.” He gestures with his chin. “You have to order first, and they’ll deliver your food when it’s ready.”
I pause. Then, taking his cue, I walk over and order half a rack and a beer. After paying, I walk to Albert, and he gestures to the other side of the booth.
“It’s nice to see you again, son. Have a seat.”
I smile and slide into the cracked pleather bench. A waitress appears like magic with a tea for Albert and my beer. Once she disappears, I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table.
“I appreciate you letting me sit down. I was planning to come out and visit you again. I’ve been wanting a word.”
Albert’s eyes narrow slightly, not suspicious, just curious. “About?”
“Matty.”
He blows out a breath. “About one of my daughters. I figured as much.”
I nod. “Yes, sir. And about Wildhaven Storm.”
He exhales through his nose and glances out the window. “I can guess what your interest in a daughter might be, but I’m not sure what your interest in our ranch could be.”
I chuckle. “I bet you have to deal with a lot of men sniffing around your girls. But that’s not what I’m about.”
His brows rise in question.
“I won’t waste your time,” I say. “I know things have been tough for you all. Folks are talking, and I’ve seen some of it for myself. I know you’re proud of that land—and you should be—but I also know you’re watching your daughter wear herself thin, trying to keep it all going.”
Albert doesn’t answer right away. He tugs off his hat, sets it on the bench beside him, and scrubs a hand over his weathered face.
“You’re not wrong,” he says finally. “She’s too proud to admit it, but I see it. Every morning before the sun’s up, she’s already out on the ranch. Fixing what’s busted. Figuring out how to hold things together with duct tape and a prayer. Juggling bills. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Hell, last week, I caught her sleeping in the tack room ’cause she hadn’t had the energy to walk back to the house.”
That hits me hard. I knew Matty was overworked, but I didn’t picture her curled up, napping beside the bridles.
“I don’t want to take anything from her or you,” I say. “I want to offersomething that might help. That piece of acreage on the western ridge—Holland and I want to expand there. There’s room, and it’s close enough to Ironhorse to make sense. We need a thousand acres—that’s all—and we’d pay fair market. Maybe even above it. She wouldn’t be selling the heart of Wildhaven Storm. Just a corner of it.”
Albert’s quiet. Thoughtful. I can see the wheels turning.
“What kind of expanding are you guys doing over there?” he asks.
I take a deep breath and choose my words carefully because this could make or break everything.
“We want to build new arenas. Outdoor and indoor.”
“Arenas? For what?”
“To train thoroughbreds and host events. We also plan to put in a training facility.”
“Horses? Since when is Ironhorse in the horse trade? Despite its name, that ranch has always been a cattle ranch,” he points out.
“It has. But Holland wants to expand into the equine businesses—training, breeding, even owning his own racehorses. He’s bought a share in one of next year’s favorites. He has his sights on the big three—the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, and Belmont Stakes.”
He leans back in his seat and lets out a low whistle. “The Triple Crown? That’s awfully ambitious for a first-time owner.”
I laugh. “Yeah, but you know Holland.”
“I do indeed.” He leans in and glares at me. “What do you get out of this?” he asks.
I don’t flinch. “Space to grow. Room to train more horses. We’re building something serious at Ironhorse—bringing in racers, thoroughbreds. The best jockeys in the world. I need facilities that match the talent.”
He nods slowly, folding his hands on the table. “You want me to help convince her.”
