Page 92 of A Little Too Late
Out the window I can see a golf course in the distance. I’m so very far from the mountain peaks of Colorado. I could just walk away from the whole mess. Weston would.
So why am I so unhappy right now?
Reed:I wanted it to be my problem. I told Dad that I wanted in, and he threw me out.
Weston:He’s a dickwad. But why do you want a piece of that? Aren’t you a rich fuck already?
Reed:Because of Ava. She’s still in CO. And Dad is selling any day now to assholes she hates.
Weston:Dude. Busy here. GTG. But if the thing you want is in CO why are you back in CA?
That’s it. That’s all the words he can spare for his brother. The green dot disappears from his text thread.
Weston loves to have the last word. I let out a shout of petty rage. And it feels so good that I let out another one.
But then I realize Weston made one very good point.
Shit. What am I doing in California?
I fling open my office door and bellow, “SHEILAAAAAAAA!” Because I can’t seem to moderate my voice all of a sudden.
Every single employee within shouting distance turns to stare at me, open-mouthed. I can see all their tonsils.
Shit.
CHAPTER 32
A BEAUTIFUL PATINA
REED
After a busy twenty-four hours, I pull up to Block’s farmhouse in Penny Ridge and climb out of another rental car into the snow. This time I don’t hide in the shrubberies. I walk right up onto the porch and knock.
It’s not as much fun, to be honest, and I wish I had Ava at my side, but this is something I need to do on my own.
I use the brass door knocker to make my presence known. For a long minute I fear that I’ve miscalculated. Flying all the way here and then showing up unannounced to talk to a man with a grudge against my family? Yeah, this could go wrong in a hundred ways.
But I had to try.
Just when I’m sure that nobody is coming to the door, I hear footsteps. The door swings open to reveal a well-to-do cowboy entrepreneur named Tucker Block.
And he looks confused.
“Hi,” I say quickly. “My name is Reed Madigan.”
“Ah,” he says, and his bushy eyebrows fly up in surprise. “Interesting.”
“Could I come in?” I try.
He hesitates for only a beat, then he swings the door open wide. “Not sure I can help you.”
“I’m not sure you can either,” I admit. “But I had to ask. I know you have a deal to sell the apron land to the Sharpes. I’m here to ask you to reconsider.”
He leads me into a parlor that’s just off the front hall. “Why would you want to do that?” he asks, settling into an antique chair.
I glance around the room and wonder why a bachelor would live alone in this enormous house. Maybe that will be me someday—rattling around in a California mansion, paying people to dust furniture that doesn’t get much use.
“Okay, so, I’m sure you know my father has an offer to sell the ski resort.”
