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But his silence hadn’t kept Gray from reaching out and every time he did, Roman felt himself wanting to answer the phone when he saw Gray’s name flash across the screen or answer his texts with something other than declining his invitation to visit or talk. But he hadn’t done either. He’d deleted the voicemails without listening to them and he’d only read the short texts asking him if he had time for a visit or a chat. He didn’t watch or read any of the interviews Gray had done to talk about being a cancer survivor, either.
So then why the hell was he having so much trouble deciding which direction to point his rental car in? He could be the bigger man and accept the olive branch Gray was offering. After all, he wasn’t the same little boy desperate for someone to tell him things were going to be okay. He didn’t need someone to hold his hand while he watched his mother’s casket being lowered into the ground or soothe away his fears when he’d walked through the front door of the massive house that would be his new home. So what if Gray was feeling regretful now? Cancer didn’t give him a free pass for the disdain he’d shown Roman time and time again. Nor did the fact that Gray had only been seventeen when he’d been introduced to the half-brother he hadn’t known existed.
Roman could feel his agitation getting the better of him so he sucked in several deep breaths and focused on the task at hand. He was here for a business opportunity, pure and simple. Whether he pursued it or not had nothing to do with Gray…it was about making money. And even more importantly, it was about making a name for himself which he’d already done a dozen times over. The Hawthorne family had liked pretending he didn’t exist but since he’d managed to secure his own position in their social hemisphere, they wouldn’t likely be able to forget him any time soon.
He’d already made more money than all of them combined and he would never tire of the look of pure hatred that would pass over his stepmother’s features when one of her snooty friends would introduce him as their charitable organization’s newest benefactor. But the best part would be that moment when Victoria Hawthorne stood with bated breath as she waited to see if this would be the one time he would reveal their connection to one another; that he was, in fact, more of a Hawthorne than she would ever be. And then there’d be those few seconds when he played dumb and merely shook her icy hand and murmured a polite greeting that Victoria’s apprehension would show because she knew she was at his mercy this time around.
Until the day he’d take it all the way and reveal all of the Hawthorne family secrets.
So fixing what had been broken between himself and Gray so long ago served no purpose. He’d needed a brother when he was ten. At thirty-two he didn’t need anyone. Not one goddamn soul.
With that thought in mind, Roman wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and pushed down on the gas. He’d come to Dare for one reason and one reason only and it had nothing to do with re-visiting a part of his past that just didn’t matter anymore.
* * *
Roman wasn’t particularly surprised to find that the small town of Dare made Missoula look like a gleaming metropolis. It was what he’d expected considering the town’s small population and remote location. It was also what would make the resort he was considering building all the more successful. After all, the men and women who made up his clientele would be making the trek to the backwoods of Montana so they could “rough” it and a town like Dare would add authenticity. Of course, “roughing it” to people who had every conceivable luxury money could buy meant only having six bathrooms in their seven bedroom homes. And although Dare was a cute enough little spot with its town center surrounding a small, lush park complete with a flock of ducks, it would positively explode with economic success if he ended up moving forward with the deal. It was a fact that the realtor, who also happened be the mayor of Dare, handling the land buy hadn’t missed because he’d been positively drooling ever since Roman’s assistant had called him to arrange an examination of the nearly ten-thousand-acre spot that was part of the overall stretch of land he was considering just south of the town.
Stepping away from his car, Roman glanced at his watch and then headed towards the small realty office at the end of the block. There were a few people out and about and every single one sent him a polite greeting of some sort. By the time he reached the single glass door that readGreene Realtyon it, he was actually missing the rude L.A. commuters who clogged the busy sidewalks.
The first thing he saw when he opened the door was a petite, blonde haired woman at one of three old desks against the side wall. The small space was unbearably hot so the poor woman had a huge fan blowing on her. The rattling fan blades prevented her from hearing his entry so when he reached her desk and cleared his throat to get her attention, she jerked in her chair and let out a startled gasp.
“My apologies,” he murmured as she clutched her chest. Her recovery was slow and she actually ended up knocking her ceramic mug to the ground. It shattered and she let out another cry of distress when coffee splashed over his shoes.
“Oh dear Lord, I’m so sorry,” she said hurriedly as she began yanking tissues from the dispenser on her desk. She was on the ground before he could even say anything and to his shock, she actually ended up kneeling in the spilled coffee and began dabbing at his shoes before doing anything else.
“Ma’am,” he said quickly as he reached for her elbow to help her up.
“Grace, do you have those MLS numbers I asked for!” a heavy voice shouted from a back room somewhere.
The woman at his feet stiffened in his hold and her wide eyes flew from his face to her desk.
“Grace!”
“It’s fine,” Roman said softly as he pulled the woman to her feet and took the handful of tissues from her.
“I’ll be right back, Mr…”
“Blackwell. Roman Blackwell.”
The woman’s eyes widened even farther and her mouth opened enough for another small gasp to escape her lips. She began wringing her hands as she shook her head and then looked at the mess on the floor. Her distress was clear as day but before he could even say anything, he heard her name bellowed yet again.
“It’s okay, go,” he said.
The woman he could only assume was Grace snatched a piece of paper from the printer on her desk and then rushed towards the doorway against the far wall. He couldn’t hear her voice as he bent down to clean up the remnants of the mug but he did hear a loud curse and then the man seemed to have enough sense to lower his voice because everything was muffled after that. Several long seconds passed and as Roman was in the process of wiping up the last of the coffee, he heard the man say, “Grace, what is this?”
Roman glanced up to see a man in his late fifties leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. Grace was standing just behind him, her face ashen. He saw the man send her a sharp look and then she was rushing across the room and taking over the task of cleaning up the coffee.
“Mr. Blackwell, it is such a pleasure,” the man said as he made his way across the room. His tone was bright and cheerful as he added, “I do apologize for my wife. Ironically, grace was never one of her stronger qualities.”
Anger went through Roman at the degrading comment but he bit his tongue. He was here for a deal, that was it. Last night had been a reminder of what happened when he was foolish enough to get caught up in someone else’s problems. Your whole world got fucked up by one kiss…
“Mr. Greene,” Roman said as he forced himself to step past the woman on the floor. He crossed the room to shake the man’s extended hand and couldn’t help but want to wipe his palm on his pants afterwards.
“Malcom Greene,” the man responded brightly, his too white teeth making his thin lips look small. “Welcome to Dare.”
Roman didn’t respond and was pleased to see Malcom stiffen. Good, he already had the man on edge. Ten seconds to get control…a new personal best.
“Well, as you can see, I’ve had a bit of an accident,” Malcom stuttered as he motioned to his ankle which was wrapped in an Ace bandage. He fell silent, clearly waiting for Roman to inquire about his injury but when Roman said nothing, he shifted his weight on the crutches. He guessed Malcom to be around 6 feet tall with a heavier than average build but he looked fit for his age. His brown hair didn’t have even a hint of silver in it so he likely colored it and his clothes were on the higher end in terms of quality. Interestingly enough, his wife’s clothes looked a decade out of date and she wore no makeup. Her hair was pulled back into a simple braid.
