Page 18 of Preacher

The email on Dad’s old computer was clean and final. I wasn’t proceeding under the current terms, all communication would go through my attorney, and no buyer representative was permitted on Curtis Freight property without authorization. I hit send before I could find a reason to second-guess myself.

Luis Ortega looked up from the doorway. “Everything okay?”

I leaned back in Dad’s chair. “Yeah, things just got a bit more complicated that’s all.”

“I heard. You know, your father also enjoyed telling people to go to hell too.”

That sounded exactly like the father I remembered.

Luis had worked for Dad since I was in high school, first as a driver and later as the man who kept the yard functioning. Now in his fifties, he was permanently unimpressed by drama.

He nodded toward the computer. “So we’re not sold?”

“Not today. I’m giving the business ninety days.”

Luis raised an eyebrow but waited for me to explain.

“Ninety,” I repeated. “I’m not promising forever, and I’m definitely not pretending I suddenly know how to run a freight company because I inherited one. But I’m not handing Dad’s business to criminals who lied to me and sent men to break into the place either.”

“Fair.”

“I’ll need you.”

That wiped the amusement from his face and earned me a more serious look.

“I can read accounts and contracts,” I said. “I don’t know which driver can nurse another six months out of Truck Two or which customers pay late but always pay. You do.”

Luis nodded slowly, clearly weighing what that would mean. “Ninety days.”

“Ninety days.” I nodded

“All right, I can work with that.”

Relief came harder than expected. I hadn’t chosen forever, but for the first time since Dad died, the business felt like my choice instead of probate’s burden. The warehouse door opened behind Luis, and Preacher walked in.

“Well, I’m going to check the east truck before either of you drags me into this discussion.”

“Coward,” I called after him, and he lifted a hand without turning around.

He disappeared before I could throw anything at him.

“What did you do?” Preacher asked.

“Why do you assume I did anything?”

“Because I know you better than you think I do.”

I tried not to smile. “I rejected the offer.”

Preacher went still, and I added, “Temporarily. I’m giving the business ninety days. After that, I decide whether it has a future worth keeping.”

His expression changed in a way I couldn’t immediately read, so I narrowed my eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, say it.”

He leaned one hand on the desk. “I’m wondering whether you’re sure, and whether any part of this is because of me.”

The question irritated me enough that I answered faster than I meant to. “No.”

His eyebrows lifted as though he was waiting for the rest.