Page 81 of Awaiting the Storm
I reach over and cover her hand. “That’s okay. The bills will show up when they come due.”
“What if they don’t? What if they go to some old email address of his or something?”
“Mom, Dad’s passing wasn’t sudden. He knew he was dying. He made sure that everything would be easy for you. Including making sure you he had a decent-sized insurance policy. You have nothing to be afraid of,” Iassure her. “Tell you what. I’ll go through his office tomorrow, every file, and I’ll get things in order and show you where to find everything.”
She nods.
“So, I have a question for you,” I say, changing the subject to one I know will perk her back up.
“What’s that?”
“I was thinking that you could come to Ironhorse for Thanksgiving. Priscilla mentioned she would love someone to cook with, and while you’re there, I could take you out to show you the property,” I say. Then I add the final temptation. “And I want to introduce you to Matty and her family.”
I can see the indecision on her face. But I really want her to agree because I’d like to stay in Wildhaven for Thanksgiving, but if she doesn’t come, I’ll be here. I’m not letting her spend it alone.
She looks around. “I’ve always cooked Thanksgiving dinner right here in the kitchen.”
“I know.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to things being different.”
I don’t say anything, just wait for her to decide.
Her eyes come to mine. “I’ll come for Thanksgiving, but I’ll be here for Christmas.”
I smile. “So will I.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to introduce me to a girl,” she says, her voice brightening.
The truth is, I’m a bit surprised, but I want them to know each other. I’d even like to bring Matty to the farm with me someday and show her where I grew up.
It happened so fast. Just a couple of weeks ago, we were sitting in the attorney’s office, and I asked her on our first official date. Now, she’s the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last voice I want to hear before I go to sleep at night.
I fell in love when I wasn’t paying attention. Just like Dad always said he did with Mom.
I’m halfway between Jackson and Wildhaven with the Tetons leading the way. I check the time again and press a little harder on the gas.
I hadn’t planned on returning this early. I was supposed to help Mom pull the holiday decorations out of the attic and prepare the house for the season. Marcia Galloway loves the holidays. It’s her favorite time of year. She agreed to come to Ironhorse the week after next to spend Thanksgiving with Holland and Priscilla. However, she insisted on celebrating Christmas at the farm. It might be the last Christmas morning we spend in the old house, so I want to make sure it’s special for her, even though it will be difficult for both of us without Dad.
After decorating, I planned to take Mom to Sunday brunch and then head to Wildhaven Storm to spend the evening with Matty. But Holland texted me just after breakfast with a direct message.
Holland: Dinner meeting at The Buckhorn. 5 p.m. Your presence is expected.
There was no further explanation, just that request of my presence. But I know that when he uses the wordexpected, it ain’t a suggestion. So, now I’m thirty minutes from town, wearing the cleanest shirt I had in my truck and trying to guess what kind of pitch or power play this meeting could be about. Whatever it is, it must be big. Holland Ludlow doesn’t waste anyone’s time.
Still, I can’t shake the low thrum of irritation in my chest. I was looking forward to seeing Matty. Last night, when we were texting and things took a heated turn, I nearly hopped in my truck and drove to her. If I had been at home instead of an hour and a half away, I would have. It killed me tocancel our ride and reschedule it for Wednesday, which is the next evening that both of us had free.
I pull into The Buckhorn’s parking lot and pass my keys to the valet. Inside, the place is humming with low conversations and the scent of grilled steaks. The hostess leads me to the back corner, where Holland sits at a round table with two other men—one I recognize instantly as Giles Godwin, and the other … I don’t.
The silver-haired stranger is impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, and loafers that look more expensive than my truck. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, and something about his smooth confidence puts my instincts on high alert.
Holland catches my eye and beckons me to them.
“Caison,” he calls as I approach, rising just enough to shake my hand. “Glad you could make it.”
“Of course,” I answer, nodding to Giles. “Good to see you again.”
“You too,” Giles says with a genuine smile. “Was hoping you’d join us.”
