Sawyer: Which one? McBossy, McNerdy, or McModel?
Meredith: McBossy, and he lives up to his name. Molly thinks he eats souls.
The problem is, if he does, a girl might enjoy giving hers up.
I caught some real emotion from McBossy up in the office. Anger, naturally. Surprisingly, some remorse when he recalled his words about Holly. For an instant, I even caught a flicker of grief. He may feast on souls, but he also possesses one, whether he acknowledges it or not.
Sawyer: Need me to come over?
Meredith: No. He tried to take the laptop.
Sawyer: Good. He can shrivel his balls.
Why do I feel that losing those balls would be a shame for much of womankind?
Meredith: He’s not budging on the funeral.
Sawyer: Jackass. Did he say when the other princes are showing up?
Meredith: No. Did Ransom tell you they talked?
Sawyer: He’d get calls and texts sometimes and wouldn’t tell me who.
Calder said his dad would’ve mentioned something about changing his will. Were they talking? I would’ve been happy for Ransom, but why didn’t he tell me?
Ransom was in his head before the accident. He’d pop off during the day, be on his phone—which he usually hated—and field calls in private. He was normally the guy who answered calls in the middle of the bleachers at a ball game, making sure at least three rows around him heard the conversation. He’d keep his phone on speaker in the grocery store.
It would have been his and Holly’s twentieth anniversary this year. He must’ve been planning something big, but also compartmentalizing, to keep his sons from holding it against him. Perhaps that was the case.
Steady footsteps echo on the stairs as I shrink into the shadows. There are no valves back here for me to check, so I’d obviously be hiding if he caught me. The steps grow fainter, and my relief cools the heat left behind from the office confrontation.
Molly’s singing stops when the front door opens. “Have a good day,” she says cheerfully.
It goes quiet. I sneak out. Did he glare at her and incinerate her on the spot?
I peek out from around the tap wall. Molly’s scratching the back of her neck and spots me.
“I do believe that man is an asshole,” she says.
“Yeah.”
I rush to the window closest to the recessed door to peer outside. He’s already in a big SUV, the sun gleaming off the black paint. His confidence in me having no say in the brewery wipes out my confidence that Ransom secured my position as brewmaster and manager at Jules Creek before he died.
But I’m the much younger sister of his second wife. Not one of his kids. “I’m afraid that man is going to be the ass in charge now.”
FIVE
CALDER
Staring out the window of my Cadillac Escalade, I take in the towering red barn housing the brewery. Although it was a fruitless yet informative visit, I don’t drive off immediately. I stroke my gaze over the patio to the side. Grief pushes at my conscience, but the guards hold firm. Still, I can’t tear my attention away. The same pergola my brothers and I toiled over one summer still stands. It’s been stained a darker, trendier shade of brown. The change makes my molars ache. Mama and I picked out the original stain.
I intentionally relax my jaw. It’s surprising I have any teeth left after facing Meredith Winslow. It’s surprising I can think straight after catching a glimpse of yellow peeking out from a hole by her back pocket. Hell, I need a vacation.
The wide-eyed girl who used to hide in her room when my brothers and I were home from college is taller now. At least, I didn’t get a kink in my neck looking down at her when she told me to protect my junk from Dad’s ancient computer. The memory of her comment almost elicits a smile.Goddammit.
“What the hell, Dad?” I mutter. “Why’d you have to roll that damn car and leave me with this mess?” I kick the Escalade intogear and turn onto the short gravel path that’ll lead me to the highway.
I take the all-too-familiar road to the outskirts of Scandal. Five miles outside of town, I turn west toward Crossroads Ranch.
