Page 22 of Awaiting the Storm
“I want you to support the conversation,” I say carefully. “I’ll bring her the proposal myself. I just … I think she might be more likely to hear me out if she knows you’re not dead set against it.”
“You’re talking about not only purchasing a big chunk of our land, but going into direct competition with our horse business,” he says.
“Not true. We’re talking high-stakes, big-money horses with bloodlines. What you guys do is small potatoes next to what Holland has in mind. I don’t mean thatdisrespectfully. I just don’t think it will have any bearing on your ranch’s success. We aren’t going to train cutting horses or trail riders.”
He snorts. “I seriously doubt Matty will see it that way.”
“That’s why I intend to show her.”
The waitress returns with our food, and for a few minutes, we’re both silent, busy with ribs and cornbread slathered in butter.
When Albert finally speaks again, his voice is lower. “You know”—he wipes his mouth—“Earl, my father, he’d have my ass if he thought I was even considering selling off any part of the Storm property.”
“Maybe so, but I bet he’d want you to do whatever you had to do to save it from falling into bankruptcy. You and I both know that land doesn’t stretch as far as it used to. Not when the costs of upkeep keep climbing and not when you lose a dozen horses to horse thieves.”
He looks me square in the eye. “Matty’s the best of us. Smart. Strong. Reliable. She stepped up to help me raise her sisters when we lost my wife, Miriam. And she’s stubborn as a bull. Refuses to accept defeat. She’s held the ranch together longer than anyone had a right to expect. If there’s something I can do to make her life a little easier …” He trails off, then adds, “I’ll do what I can. Doesn’t mean she’ll listen to either of us, but the support’s yours all the same.”
Relief settles in my chest. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
His gaze holds mine. “I’m trusting that you’re being honest with me.”
“I am, sir,” I assure him.
He nods and digs back into his plate.
“One more thing, Caison. I may be the owner of Wildhaven Storm, but make no mistake—I won’t make a single move that my girl isn’t a hundred percent on board with. Do I make myself clear?”
I smile. “Crystal.”
Before I can say more, the front door opens, and another gust of cool autumn air spills in. I glance over my shoulder and spot Giles walking in, pulling off his jacket. And behind him, trailing a few steps back, is a man I don’t recognize—but I clock the tension that stiffens Albert’s spine the moment he sees him.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“The older one is our trainer, Giles. The other one is Carl Teague. He used to work for us.”
I quirk a brow. “Used to?”
“Yep,” he says curtly.
Giles spots us and gives a friendly wave. Carl, on the other hand, zeroes in on Albert like he’s got unfinished business. I watch as he mutters something to Giles and then peels off, heading straight for our table.
Albert sits back, unreadable.
“Mr. Storm,” Carl says, stopping at the end of the booth.
Albert doesn’t smile. “Carl. Didn’t expect to see you in town. Are you lost?”
The man winces at the question.
“I’m back,” Carl says, his tone almost … defensive. “Took a job over in Jackson Hole after things went south, but it wasn’t for me. Wildhaven’s my home. I’m here to help again. Make things right.”
Albert blinks. “Well, that’s a surprise.”
Carl glances at me. “Don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Caison Galloway,” I say, standing slowly and offering my hand.
“Carl Teague,” he replies, shaking it. “Albert’s employee and hopefully his son-in-law. One day.”
