Fine. Let him be stubborn. I had work to do, and I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of watching me wobble.
The cold hit me full in the face the moment I stepped outside. I might have been used to the elevation in Denver, but this place sat another thousand feet higher, and my lungs knew it. The air punched hard, stole my breath, burned on the inhale, as snow skittered across the yard, driven sideways by a biting wind that pierced straight through wool and skin, sinking deep.
Discomfort didn’t mean danger, but the path was treacherous, and I regretted wearing the wrong boots. I paused on the step, then forced myself to move because this was day one, and I had numbers to run and land to evaluate. I made myself look around properly—yard, outbuildings, tracks, where the wind was coming from. If I was going to survive this place, I needed information.
The cold followed me all the way across the yard to my car. Snow had drifted hard against one side, packed tight up to the doors. I brushed at it for a second, then gave up and went around to the other side instead, dragging out everything I needed and piling it in the snow. Then bit by bit, I took it into the house and collected it together.
I will not be broken. Not by the cold, and not by Jesse Knox.
My phone buzzed in my pocket as I placed a box in thehall. I ignored it at first, fingers numb, breath fogging, then gave in and checked the screen.
DALTON: Are you still alive?
I snorted quietly and typed back with my thumb.
LUCAS: Barely. Snow, ice, hostile eggs. But the land looks promising. Better than expected.
That part was true. Or true enough. The reply came almost immediately.
DALTON: WTF is a hostile egg?
LUCAS: Long story
DALTON: Bet I can beat it, cos it’s messed up here.
LUCAS: What?
There was a delay this time. Long enough for the wind to cut through my coat and remind me I was standing with the front door open like an idiot. I went and shut it, shivering.
DALTON: We lost the Madden account.
What? That account was everything to Hadley & Maine and probably accounted for half of the staff’s hourly work. It didn’t bother me now. I was done with that place, but Daltonwas still there, and I hated bad things happening to someone I called my friend.
LUCAS: Lost it how?
DALTON: They pulled it. Effective immediately. No appeal. Auditors found errors in the last two Qs. Billing inconsistencies. Logan is shitting himself. Looks like he’s in the frame.
Logan Palmers—Dalton’s boss, my ex-boss, and all-around asshole. I leaned back against the wall.
DALTON: They’re talking about layoffs. Real ones.
I closed my eyes for a second, jaw tightening.
LUCAS: It’ll be okay.
Another pause, because how lame was I sending that fake reassurance? I didn’t know it was going to be okay. When I sold the ranch, I’d have more than enough cash for the charity to hire Dalton.
DALTON: Fuck this anyway—how’s the ranch?
LUCAS: Assets. Land. Options. Enough to fund a heap of charity work
Typing dots appeared, vanished, then came back, and I could imagine Dalton wondering how to word whatever question camenext.
DALTON: You’re definitely selling then?
LUCAS: Yep
DALTON: I miss your face
