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But for all that he acts like this dirty-minded charmer with a silver tongue and flaming filth in every word…there’s a real man under there, too.
And somebody hurt that man.
Maybe not too long ago.
He’s been nice enough for me to go poking more than I need to.
But before I can think of anything to say, to offer even a word of sympathy, he smiles and shakes his head, raising a hand to signal the bartender.
“So,” Holt diverts. “You wanted to ask me about the ranch and the dispute with Sierra?”
I wait while he orders a beer on tap—I’m one of the few heathens who’d order a can at Brody’s—before I nod.
“Yeah. We got into it pretty bad earlier. I tried to talk about payment plans and selling off some of the old farming equipment for a little liquid cash to make that work, maybe even see if I could make a dent in buying her out.” I shake my head. “But it got crappy real fast. I think at this point she’s gonna sue just to spite me.”
He whistles softly under his breath. “We need to find a way around that.”
“How?” I whisper.
Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
“Libby, first I’ve got to ask. The only solutions I can think of would make sure that land can’t ever belong to Sierra, and half of it’s rightfully hers. You okay with that?”
I turn my head slowly, dragging a look over him.
“She’s part of what I’m trying to protect it from.” I grind my teeth. “She’d probably dump it in a short sale for half of what it’s worth. Or else sell it to people who won’t do anything but use it for a landfill or something. She doesn’t care about the land, the ranch, our home. She just wants money. So I’ll make sure she gets plenty of cash for her trouble, one way or another.”
It’s always been about money.
The taxes, the bank, my sister.
It’s all anyone ever wants from me.
“Home means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Holt watches me discerningly, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
The question catches me off guard, enough that it feels like he’s struck me in the chest with it, hard and hurtful.
I hesitate, breathing shallowly, then admit, “Home doesn’t leave you.”
My throat hurts. I stare down at the open mouth of my beer can.
“People leave. Home stays with you as long as you stay with it,” I say.
“Just like your ma left,” Holt tells me, his voice gentle with understanding. With warmth. “Then Sierra…then your old man.”
Damnation.
How can he see through me like that?
I grit my teeth.
There’s a hot anger burning through me—what else is new?—but for once it’s not at him.
It’s aimed at me.
For letting myself get so hung up on my feelings that I’m not focusing on the problem, and now this man’s pitying me for all my regrets over things that never were and never could be.
I clear my throat, forcing a smile.
“Maybe,” I say neutrally. “What’s your idea for saving the land, though?”
Holt looks at me with those knowing eyes that say he knows I’m deflecting.
Bless his infuriating butt, he lets me.
He takes a slow pull off his beer. “There’s always the option of having the entire place declared a protected site.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, sure. I’ll just ask the state real nicely to put a rubber stamp on it.”
He chuckles. “Hear me out. If we can find some reason your place has any historical significance either in American history or the history of Heart’s Edge, we just might be able to get the city council to sign off on protected land status. Then we can use that to petition the higher levels of government. Even if it doesn’t work…it ties shit up in the legal pipeline. It buys a lot of time.”
Hmm. So maybe it’s not as ridiculous as it sounds.
“That kind of petition takes forever to go through. We’re talking years,” he continues. “Years where the bank can’t touch it while you figure out your next step. The only other way to get the land legally declared off-limits is if it’s considered a toxic HAZMAT site, but then they’ll force you to move. I don’t think that’s an option.”
“You’re damn right it’s not. Dad never let any of those crazy Galentron bastards on our property, anyway, to mess things up like that,” I say. “But tell me more about this protected land thing. What kind of historical significance are we talkin’?”
“I’d have to look into it more. It’s not something I’ve dealt with much in the past, mostly heard stories from other developers. It hit me on the way over here.” He turns away from me as the bartender slings a fresh beer down for Holt, dark and foaming and nearly spilling over the mug.
Holt spares a thankful nod, then takes a slow sip, his brows setting in a stormy line.
