“Did you eat the last calzone?”
“Was that yours?” he asks like he knew it was.
I slam the fridge shut. I haven’t bought groceries since before the accident. Holly and I used to shop on Mondays, when the brewery was closed, after her morning drive with Ransom. There’s little more than crumbs in the fridge and the pantry. I’d have to cook something else. Yet I’m not going to abort my mission and give him the satisfaction. I dig out the bread and toss a couple of slices in the toaster.
He doesn’t turn to watch me, so I lean against the counter and glower at the back of his head. Except that warmth returns, curling through my veins and pooling low in my belly. Every twitch and flex of his muscles is visible through the fabric of his dress shirt. He even sits sexy.
“When are you leaving?” I snap.
He stiffens but doesn’t turn around. “After we sell everything.”
The world crumples around me like a Coke can. “You’re selling?”
“We’re selling. Me and my brothers. We’re selling the ranch, this house with it, and the brewery.”
My heart rate tracks upward. That’s not sexy. Not at all. “You can’t.”
“And why not?” His scrutiny intensifies with his silky question.
“Because I want to keep working twelve hours and watch my retirement continue to build in tiny increments,” I throw at him.My caustic tone wipes out his suspicion.Yeah, asshole.It’s not much, but it’s all I have.
Holly moved out here with nothing, yet she took everything that belonged to Julia Cross, including her husband. She didn’t have ill intentions, but still. Her retirement nest egg was to marry her best friend’s widower. She had more of a plan than I do.
“Doesn’t it mean anything to you?” Why am I trying to appeal to a block of granite with a heavy shadow covering his scruff? “Your family built this legacy.”
His lips thin, but for once, his anger isn’t directed at me. “Yeah, well, my brothers and I had to go make our own, and we did. Now we’re in charge of our own destinies.”
“I guess I learned a different lesson from your dad.”
His right eye twitches, and I take that morsel of unsettlement and forge ahead. He’s not made of all stone.
“I guess you won’t know for sure what you can do until the will reading.”
His nostrils flare, and the sparks in his eyes are exactly why he’s done so well in business. “Guess not. But I’m staying here until then. Inmyfamily home.”
“Knock yourself out. Maybe you can get some answers about the accident while you’re here.”
Confusion lines his brow. “What do you mean?”
I rub the pad of my index finger between my eyes. “Nothing. Maybe everything. It’s so senseless.”
He doesn’t respond, and a sense of dread builds inside me, tightening the muscles in my back. Ransom always told me I’d be taken care of, that I was critical to Jules Creek, but I should’ve secured more of a future for myself. The problem is, I love what I do, and that’s one reason why I stayed, and a big factor in why I came back. And I’m not leaving until I have to.
He clicks on his keypad. I lean over and glance past his broad shoulder to see what he’s doing. Spreadsheets fill both screens. His work information, or did he get a hold of Jules Creek’s data? He half-turns his head, and I spin away just as my toast pops.
My heartburn can’t handle peanut butter this late at night, so I spread some of Holly’s juneberry jam over my bread. Tears poke the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away. I lift my plate, and my gaze lands on the table with the infuriating intruder.
This house may be as much his as it is mine. It could even be more his than mine. Until we know for sure, it’s my home, and I’m not letting him interfere with my schedule. I refuse to eat over the sink.
I carry my food to the table, snag a napkin, and sit in my spot adjacent to his. Heat flushes through my body as his dark gaze settles on me. The back of one of his laptops is right by my plate, but I ignore him.
“This is my normal spot,” I say and take a bite of toast.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, my mouth full. As I swallow, I notice the white-and-gold can of Honey Creek, the brewery’s light-bodied ale made with local honey. I tip my head toward it. “What do you think?”
He stops typing and frowns at me before glancing at the ale. “It was decent,” he says flatly, as if adding inflection might pain him.
