Page 44 of Awaiting the Storm
She’s going to hate this.
At first, at least. But maybe—just maybe—she’ll understand. If she can keep her anger in check long enough to listen and really hear me.
The door to my office creaks open, and I glance up as Holland strolls in, cowboy hat in hand, his white dress shirt pressed and collar crisp.
“Working hard or hardly workin’?” he asks, grinning.
I hold up the proposal. “Just reading over the final draft.”
He steps closer, eyes scanning the document. “This the offer for the Storms?”
“Yeah,” I say, rising from my chair. “I bumped it up—ten percent over market—like we discussed. Cash deal. No contingencies. We can close in under thirty days.”
He lets out a low whistle and nods, clearly impressed. “That’ll be hard for them to walk away from.”
“That’s the idea.”
He picks up one of the pages and scans it. “I’m not usually thisgenerous.”
“You’re not usually dealing with a ranch that’s been your neighbor all these years and that’s been in the same family for four generations.”
He glances at me over the top of the paper. “You think they’ll go for it?”
I pause. “Albert might. Matty … she’ll be a harder sell, but I think I’ll be able to talk her around.”
He nods. “She’s always been a little spitfire, that one. I remember when she was just a tiny thing, running around the ranch in pigtails. Always on Miriam’s heels.”
“I didn’t realize you knew Miriam well.”
“Oh, sure. She and Priscilla were good friends. She’d bring the girls over for afternoon tea. They’d play on that old tree swing in the back with Waylon. Shame what happened to her.”
That takes me by surprise.
“Yeah. Not sure Matty has ever recovered from the loss. But she’s the one who’s been keeping that place alive. She’s smart. Resilient. Determined. And she isn’t going to want to let go of any of it.” He eyes me curiously. “You like her.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I freeze for half a beat too long, then shrug. “I like the whole family. They’re good folks. Salt-of-the-earth people. They have integrity, and they work hard. They’ve earned the right to be treated with dignity.”
Holland sets the papers back on my desk. “You’re more personally invested in this than I expected.”
I meet his gaze and deflect with a slight smile. “You know I give a damn about doing things right.”
He studies me for a long moment, then finally nods. “That you do, son.”
He walks to the window and looks out toward the paddocks, arms crossed. “I’m proud of you, Caison. You’ve got good instincts and an admirable work ethic. You’ve come in here and taken hold of this place like it was your own. Your father would’ve been proud too.”
A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down and offer a quiet, “Thank you.”
He turns back to me. “I meant what I said when you moved in. You’re part of the family here. Like a second son to me and Priscilla. I trust you with this land, this business—hell, the whole damn Ironhorse outfit.”
His words matter more than I want to admit.
“You’ve got Waylon,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “He’s your son too. Your flesh and blood.”
Holland’s smile fades slightly. He looks back out the window like the thought of Waylon is too much for him to bear.
“I do,” he says eventually. “Haven’t heard much from him lately.”
“Have you reached out to him?”
