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Dad continues to flip through the paperwork, but he does it more quickly now. It’s obvious he’s not reading anything.
Maybe—just maybe—he’s trying to think of a way to take the deal without embarrassing himself.
Please, God, let that be true.
“Money comes to me in cash?” he asks.
It’s all I can do not to leap out of my chair and do a cartwheel. By some miracle, I manage to not only stay seated but remain calm too, replying, “All cash, in the form of a check made out to you. I can have it to you by the end of—”
“This meeting,” Milly interjects.
My pulse jolts. I meet her eyes. That’s not a promise I can make.
Yes, her steady gaze replies, it is.
I’m just desperate enough—just head over heels in love enough—to go with it. It would only hurt our case to question her. If she says we can have the check ready today, then I guess we’ll hand it over today.
We can figure out the rest later.
I squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.
Wilson sets down the packet on the table and uncaps the pen.
It makes a wet scratching sound as he draws it across the highlighted portions of each page. Initials. Signature. Date. More initials.
My pulse marks a drumbeat in my ears. This feels surreal, all at once too easy and much harder than it had to be. My shoulders slump beneath the weight of all those years struggling and sweating and swearing this would be the last time. This would be the moment Dad finally changed.
But he didn’t change, so I did.
“That’s it?” Dad asks, lifting the last page.
I grab the paperwork from him, unfolding the pages from the staple in the top right corner of the packet. I check to make sure Wilson didn’t miss anything. It’d be like him to try to screw me that way, get us tangled up in some ridiculous fight over a single missing initial.
It all checks out.
My eyes sting. “That’s it.”
“Welp.” Dad claps his hands. “Best be on my way then.” I wait for him to stand. He doesn’t. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I ain’t leavin’. You can force me out of my distillery, but you can’t force me out of my home. This is my mountain.”
Shit. I knew this was too easy.
Milly drops my hand and reaches for her phone, thumbs moving furiously over the screen. She knows better than to call the cops. Then who is she texting?
“Are you kidding?” Silas scoffs. “Dad, you rent an apartment out in Fairview.”
Dad dips his head at me. “Don’t forget who sold you the family cabin at a fair price.”
“Please. You were as interested in the cabin as you were in me. Which is to say, not one damn bit.”
He shrugs. “You’ve got your side of the story. I got mine. But I’m staying.” He holds out his hand. “I’ll take my check now.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Milly
“No check until you agree to leave the state by the end of the week,” Nate growls.
He’s close to snapping. Truth be told, so am I. I have no idea how he put up with Wilson this long without breaking the guy’s nose.
Family. It’s a complicated thing.
My phone vibrates in my hand. Be there in 3.
Hitting the button on the side of the phone, I blank the screen.
Three minutes. I can stall for that long.
“Your check is on its way,” I say. “It should arrive momentarily.”
Nate’s head whips around. His eyes are wide.
“Trust me,” I mouth, reaching for his hand again.
He offers me a small, weary smile. He knows he’s out of options. I just hope he doesn’t give up yet.
“So, Montana,” I say. “Have you watched Yellowstone? I’m a big fan of Rip’s.”
“Ladies do love a cowboy,” Wilson replies, folding his hands over his stomach. He looks pleased as punch to have outwitted us. “What is it? The chaps? The beard? The way he rides?”
It takes every ounce of self-control not to roll my eyes.
What a stupid, sexist scumbag.
“Why don’t you become one and find out?” I manage, pasting on a smile.
He nods. “Like the sound of that. There’s bound to be horse farms somewhere in these parts.”
“The ones in Montana are better,” Nate says.
We all look up at the sound of the voice at the door.
“Knock, knock,” Mom says with a smile. “May I come in?”
Nate gives me a bewildered look before using the arms of his chair to push himself upright. “June! Wow. I’m happy to see you. I just . . . what in the world are you doing here?”
Mom produces her checkbook, which she’s had tucked beneath her arm. “I’m Kingsley Distilling’s newest investor.”
“Stop it,” Nate says.
Laughing, I get up and move to his side, curling an arm around his waist. “Mom is determined to have more fun. What’s more fun than having a hand in crafting the world’s best whiskey?”
