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"I'm not interested," I said, trying to end the discussion.
"One point six," the man countered.
Ashton's hand pressed a bit harder into my back. Evidently that wasn't a number he'd expected. I just shook my head. "A hundred and thirty-five fenced acres? At one point six million dollars, that's not even the raw land value. Never mind the house, barn, and other property improvements, let alone mineral rights."
I turned back for the car, but Mr. Simmons wasn't ready to give up. "Ok, two even."
Ashton shot back, "Not the time or the place, sir."
"It's the best you're going to get." Mr. Simmons was following. "If you don't sell, we'll just have the county change the zoning laws and get your ag exemption pulled. Hasn't been a horse on that place in a long-ass time, and with so many buildings, it'll be hell to get back." He chuckled. "Sell me the land, Miss Dawson, because you can't afford to fight me."
I stopped so fast even Ashton almost tripped. "Is that what you think? Your big plan was to offer me a stupidly low figure for that land, and then try tothreatenme? Do you have any idea who I am?" Then I smiled, but I was sure it looked a lot more like a snarl. "Don't pick a fight with me, sir. You'll lose."
"Don't think so, girl. You'll never get the permissions to re-open that place. There's no way you're bringing in a bunch of juvenile delinquents into this town. Cats Peak isn't real fond of strangers, and I'm the one with all the connections."
"No," I promised. "You see, that's exactly where you're wrong. You know a few people.Iam the one with the connections. Try me. Idareyou."
When Mr. Simmons stepped closer, Ashton put a strong hand into his chest. "Don't even think about touching my girl, cowboy. I really don't care how much you want that land. I certainly don't care if you hate the center Vera Dawson made famous. If you're that adamant, have your attorney contact mine." He finally released me long enough to pull a card from his suit pocket with the hand not holding the arrogant cowboy back.
When he handed it to Paul Simmons, the man's face twisted in confusion. I tried hard not to laugh. Ashton Walker was an enigma. With the massive alpha male vibe he was throwing down, the last thing some country hick would expect was the company he not only worked for, but owned. Even from where I was standing, I could see the pale white card with a vivid magenta script.
Right about now, Paul Simmons was wondering if the rainbow-colored display I brought with me were gay activists. That was exactly what I wanted. Maybe Gran couldn't admit she'd been a lesbian while she was alive, but now that she was gone, there was no reason to be ashamed. No reason at all. The old woman had started a revolution and hidden it with color. My grandmother had given me and my friends the one thing no one else had: respect. She'd taught us that if we tried hard enough, nothing in the world could stop us. The least we could do was make sure it didn't go to waste.
"Take me home," I told Ashton. "Take me home and let me forget all of this for just a little bit?"
His strong arm curled around my shoulder. "Promise, sweetie. Told Gran I'd take real good care of you. That's my job. Yours is to keep this going."
Shades of Trouble
Collide: Book 1
Chapter One
____
Three months later...
Trees huddled over the road, dappling the asphalt with shade as I pushed my Audi into the next corner. I was almost there. The drive from New York had been long and boring, leaving me exhausted and ready to be home. As the landmarks became familiar, I knew I was close. Another coffee would be nice, but I hoped it would be from Gran's espresso machine and not some cheap gas station crap.
Around the next corner, I looked over a pristine pasture, admiring the horses grazing in the sweltering sun. It was only a second. I'd barely taken my eyes away from the road, but when they returned, it was too late. Jerking the wheel made the car lurch to the side, but my tire still smashed right into the discarded two-by-four peeking over the shoulder. For a single breath, I hoped I hadn't ruined anything - then the tire began to thump and the dash lit up.
"Crap!"
I slowed down, limping the car around the next bend to a straight patch with something like a shoulder. Pulling over as far as I could, I stepped out to check the disaster. This stupid town had to be cursed.
When I got to the passenger side, I saw it was just the tire. The rest of the car looked fine, but it would probably need a trip to the shop to be sure. Grumbling under my breath, I reached back into the car for my phone, googling the number for roadside assistance. While the disturbingly chipper hold music played, I leaned back against the door, hoping to catch a hint of a breeze. Late June in Texas was about the same temperature as hell.
"Roadside Service," a woman finally answered.
"Hi, yeah, I'm on Farm to Market 1762, outside Bonham with a flat."
"Mm." The sound of a keyboard could be heard over the phone. "Do you have a spare?"
"Yep."
While the woman kept making thoughtful noises, I again reached into my car and grabbed my hat. Twisting my hair up with one hand, I managed to tuck it under the newsboy-style cap, giving myself some relief from the oppressive heat. The woman on the other end didn't seem to notice. She was still making those noises that said it was going to be a long-ass wait.
Finally, the dispatcher said, "Looks like I can have someone up there in about two hours."
