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Dinner has gone downhill since he mentioned the conservancy. Even Giovanni’s seafood cannelloni can’t salvage it. And that’s saying something.
“Telling you now, darlin’.”
“Don’t darlin’ me, Elias Finchley! You knew this and didn’t bother to say anything?”
He sits at my kitchen table, saying nothing as I pace and rant.
“How long have you known our home was under threat? How long have they been planning to fuck with our livelihoods? And you’re just now getting around to telling us? Fuck you!”
“Stop.”
Everything I say is sliding right off his unruffled veneer. He’s practically Teflon. And that pisses me off almost as much.
“No, I won’t stop. Why would you even think about hiding this? How could you?”
“Enough, Brighton.”
“Fuck that. My home. Our business. My livelihood. My peace. Our horses. Our heritage. And you just sat on it because…” I roll my hand around and around.
“Bright.”
“Seriously? That’s all you have to say? How could you?”
“Johnny Cash.” It rolls off his tongue matter-of-factly.
I stop dead in my tracks. I don’t know what the man in black has to do with anything. “Huh?”
“Johnny Cash.”
“The man. The myth. The legend,” I say under my breath, before throwing out the rest. “What does Cash have to do with this?”
“How many times did you play Johnny Cash with me on your doorstep?”
“What does—?”
“How many times did I text you? Call you? Stop by? How many times did I try to get you alone at the ranch, Bright?”
His posture is relaxed. The litigator in him knows he’s got me. He’s not leaning forward, making a case. He’s legitimately kicked back in my dining room chair.
“Baby, I wanted to tell you first. I came to you. I did everything I could. You refused to speak to me. So, this” —he extends one arm wide looking around my kitchen— “is me telling you the moment you would listen. You can’t lay this on me, darlin’. I told you the moment you would hear me out.”
“There was last night! You could have told me last night!”
“I could’ve. Maybe over tiramisu?”
The light dawns, and I know I’ve lost. He knows I’ve lost this argument too. Like hell I’ll ever admit it though.
“Well… You could’ve told Pop earlier, at least.”
“Should I have told him before the funeral? Should I have mentioned it when Willa was hospitalized? When should I have done it, Bright? When I had no information? When I didn’t know what the claim could be? That’s like me shouting your house is on fire and standing next to you to watch it burn, but not making a move to help extinguish the flames. That’s not me.” He looks at me, holding my eyes. It’s like he’s willing me to see his commitment to my family. “I’ve spent months researching. Months, baby, looking for loopholes. When I went to your dad, and now telling you, I had to know what was legit, what could happen, what legal precedent there was, what was being exploited, and how we can fight it.” He’s equally calm when he adds, “For the record, Kimp asked me not to say anything to Brax.”
“What?” I gasp.
“And I’m honoring his request.”
My mouth drops open, but nothing comes out. There are no words.
“That said, I’m not going to hold back from you or treat you with kid gloves. I’ll protect you from everything, baby, but I won’t withhold information from you. So, now you know. You could’ve known in March. But we’re three months deeper in research, so at least there’s that.”
