Page 2 of Ask for Moore

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders to pull her against my side. “Love you, even when you’re being over the top.”

“Is that your adorable way of complaining about me asking you to bring so many bottles of wine?” She bumped her hip against mine.

“I didn’t mind stopping at the liquor store on my way over.” I grabbed one of the bottles I bought and uncorked it. “Although, twelve does seem a little excessive.”

My mom beamed me a smile as she held an empty glass out so I could fill it. “I needed that many so I could help Skylar find a wine that she likes. Now that she’s done weaning—”

“Never mind.” I held up my hand. “I don’t need to know the details.”

She patted my cheek. “You’re thirty-five, Ryland. You should be able to handle a little talk about breastfeeding. Especially since you did it when you were a baby.”

“Love you too, Mom.” I chuckled and shook my head as I headed outside to the back porch, where my dad and grandfather were standing in front of the gas grill. The weather was unusually warm for late February but still cold enough that I shoved my free hand into my jacket pocket and shivered. “Hiding out here while the women get drunk inside where it’s nice and warm?”

My dad quirked a brow. “You don’t have room to talk. You’re out here with us.”

“Maybe I just came over to say hello.”

My grandpa raised the lid on the grill and waved me closer. “Or maybe he wanted to sneak some of my famous grilled turkey before everyone else was picking at the carcass.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive. Both can be true.”

My dad grinned. “That’s such a lawyer response.”

“What else did you expect?” I shrugged as I shot him a grin.

He pointed at my wineglass. “For you to be a good son and bring me a drink, too.”

“I think you’re mixing me up with Ethan.” My youngest brother was bigger than me and tatted up, and contrary to what most people would expect, he’d gotten into the least trouble growing up. Ethan was a gentle giant with those he loved.

“Probably,” he agreed with a laugh before he headed inside.

Turning toward my grandfather, I said, “Now that it’s just the two of us, how about that turkey?”

“I was just about to take it off the grill.” He pulled the meat thermometer out to check the temperature. “I’ll let you sneak a taste before I bring it inside if you do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” I asked, even though his answer didn’t really matter. Neither did the slice of turkey he cut off the bird and offered me. If my grandpa needed something and I was able to help, I would do whatever he wanted.

“Did you hear about the sale of the Sanderson farm?”

“Of course.” The land wasn’t in Mooreville, but a two-hundred-and-fifty-acre farm on the outskirts of the county being sold to a real estate developer was still big news around town.

“The buyer is suing the county planning commission.”

I let out a low whistle. “How did you want me to help? The county has its own team of lawyers. I doubt they’ll want outside counsel to handle the suit.”

“He also wants to try to reverse the sale,” he added.

My head jerked back. “On what grounds?”

“The county planning commission didn’t approve his denial application for preliminary plat approval for a proposed subdivision, and he’s blaming Marty Sanderson. Says he and his agent misrepresented the zoning or some garbage like that.”

The Sanderson farm had been on that land for several generations. The zoning was a matter of public record, and as far as I was aware, it hadn’t changed in ages. “I can’t imagine his case against Marty will go far.”

“Maybe not, but he’s worried they’re going to freeze his assets while they battle it out in court. He’s already found a house in Florida and promised his daughter and her husband the money to buy a place in this same neighborhood.” He heaved a deep sigh as he lifted the turkey out of the grill and onto a platter. “His first grandchild is due in two months. That’s why he sold the farm. All he wants is to be there for his family, but this lawsuit is going to mess all that up for him. Now he has to come back for God only knows how long.”

“You want me to take his case?” When he nodded, I pulled my cell out of my pocket and pulled up the notes app. “Do you have his number?”

“Sure do.”

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