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His eyes narrowed slightly like a snake horning in on his prey.
“Have you made your way into the girl’s good graces?”
“It’s only been a day.”
“A day is twenty-four hours, Max. Don’t forget that,” he responded sharply.
“Things like trust take time, Richard,” I shot back.
His laughter, devoid of any warmth, filled the space between us.
“Find a way.”
I forced my hands not to unconsciously make a fist.
“I’ll need a bit more time. Anna is a proud and determined woman. I can’t rush this.”
He leaned closer, his piercing gaze never leaving mine.
“Remember you proposed this transaction that we both stand to benefit from. And I’d like it to be beneficial to both of us…”
His voice trailed off, then he thrust the file into my hand.
“Take this. It will help you achieve our goal faster.”
With that, he turned to leave, a cloud of dust kicking up around his pristine shoes. I felt an overwhelming pressure settle over me as I watched him get into his car and drive off.
Opening the file, I noticed several documents detailing the terms of the contract between Richard and me and a detailed step-by-step process that would sink Harrington Ranch in debt. I signed some that were fair then stopped, closing the file.
Richard wasn’t just a businessman. He was a vulture waiting to descend.
There would be loopholes and hidden agreements within these documents if I read between the lines. Plus, he must have nefarious plans against Anna.
One thing was clear, I had to find a way to make Anna accept my help. Not just for the sake of the land or my father's wish, but to outwit Richard.
I couldn’t let him lay his hands on poor Anna.
7
Anna
Isatintheliving room, staring into thin air.
The air felt thick as I pondered Max’s revelations. Grandpa had been sick for years? I’d only found out about his dementia some months ago when he visited. He’d said it was fast-acting.
Could Max have been lying to me? I needed answers.
Hearing Beth doing some work in the kitchen, I walked to her.
The kitchen was the heart of the ranch where Grandpa recounted stories over a shared meal.
Old wooden cabinets lined the walls. Rows of gleaming pots and pans hung in nails fixed to the wall. And a worn wooden table occupied the center of the room. Sunlight streamed in through the white lace curtains, casting dappled patterns on the granite counter.
I could still smell baked bread and cinnamon from Beth’s breakfast preparation. As I stepped in, the rhythmic sound of a knife slicing through vegetables greeted me. Beth, with her silver hair neatly tied in a bun, looked up from her task.
Her eyes squinted and she spoke in a soft voice.
“Anna, what’s on your mind?”
