Page 208 of Lost Then Found
That’s all he gives me.
I straighten a little, but not by much. “I want to know what you and Wendell Tate are up to. Why the hell you’re trying to take the Bluebell from Lark.”
Vaughn lets out a short, humorless laugh, sharp like gravel scraping metal. “Wendell Tate? What the fuck does Wendell have to do with the Bluebell?”
“Cut the shit,” I say, still calm. “You’re not just looking at permits for the fun of it.”
He stares at me, something shifting behind his eyes—calculation, maybe, or amusement. Hard to tell. He plucks the toothpick from his mouth, spins it between his fingers.
“I stopped doin’ business with Tate years back.”
I lift a brow. “Right. And I’m just supposed to take your word on that?”
Vaughn shrugs. “Believe what you want.”
I wait, silent.
He sighs, shakes his head once. “Wendell and I ran in the same circles for a long time. Both of us got ties in Bozeman, friends on the county boards, state committees, police officers. If you got land and you want to keep it, then you grease the right wheels.”
He leans forward slightly. “But Tate’s greedy. Always wanted more than his share—more power, more leverage. Got sloppy with it. Pushed for things that were gonna bring too many eyes, too much noise. I walked away before his shit dragged me down with it.”
His gaze sharpens. “I protect what’s mine. I don’t throw my name in with someone who’s gonna blow up his own deals for a little extra control, a little extra money. I’ve got plenty of both. And I got it all by workingsmart.”
I take that in and nod. Still doesn’t answer why he’s got his nose in Lark’s business.
“Then why are you looking into permits for the Bluebell? What are you hoping to find?”
His jaw works for a beat, thoughtful. No defensiveness, just calculation.
“I ain’t trying to take the damn place from her, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at,” he says finally, voice even. “It’s not personal. Not against her, not against you.”
I don’t move. Just wait.
Vaughn sighs like he doesn’t have the patience for games. “I’ve had my eye on that corner lot next to the Bluebell for a while now. Good spot, high traffic. Thought about expanding, putting in a feed store or tack shop. Something useful for folks around here. Idolike givin’ back to the community, believe it or not.”
He leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. “Problem is, the zoning’s a mess. Always has been. That whole block’s tied up in permits from twenty years ago, stuff that should’ve expired but never did. I started digging to see what’s what, see if it’d hold up a sale. Bluebell came up in the paperwork—it’s tied into the same damn zoning mess.”
My brow pulls together slightly. It’s possible. Hell, it’s Summit Springs. Paperwork’s a nightmare and there’s a good chance nobody’s cleaned it up in decades.
“I’m not tryin’ to fuck her over,” Vaughn says again, slow, deliberate. “I’m tryin’ to figure out if that lot’s worth the hassle.”
It’s believable, I’ll give him that. Still feels off, but not impossible. I keep my expression blank, trying to read the parts he’s not saying.
Next to me, Sawyer clears his throat, like he can feel me questioning it.
“It’s true,” he says, arms still crossed but his tone less guarded now. “I’ve been helping him sort it out. Been trying to untangle what’s still validand what’s a mess of old paperwork. Half of it’s barely legible.”
I glance at him, just once. His eyes stay steady on mine, like he wants me to believe him. Oddly enough, I do.
Vaughn shifts in his chair, pulling the toothpick from his mouth and setting it on the desk. “Alright. Now you tell me—what’s Tate got to do with the Bluebell? Why’s he so goddamn interested?”
I exhale through my nose, slow. No use dancing around it now.
“There’s oil under it.”
Vaughn’s brow lifts, sharp and immediate. “Oil?”
I nod once. “Yeah. A lot of it.”
