Page 9 of Sweet Deal
“Anytime.” Her voice was softer now.
Amy reappeared, triumphantly holding the ornate belt buckle he’d eyed earlier. “Almost forgot the finishing touch. Every respectable Texas man needs a statement buckle.”
Before he could protest, Rachel stepped forward. “Actually, Amy, I think this one suits him better.” She held up a simpler, cleaner buckle from the display—brushed silver, classic western engraving, solid without being flashy. She showed it to him. “What do you think?”
He took it, the metal cool against his palm. It was more him. Or at least, more the him he wanted to be now. How did she know that after all these years? He looked from the buckle to her face, catching that flicker of something deep and knowing in her eyes again.
“Perfect.” He handed the buckle and his credit card to Amy. “Ring it all up.”
“Do you want to change back into your other clothes, or should I bag them up for you?”
He shook his head. “I’ll wear these. You can bag… no, you know what? Just donate them.”
Amy’s gaze darted over to the dressing room where his California clothes hung, and thousand-dollar leather loafers rested. She was probably wondering who the heck around here would need those, but with a gentle nod, smiled up at him and hurried back to the counter.
Standing at the register, in comfortable silence, waiting for Amy to ring up the sale, he wasn’t thinking about hedge funds or bottom lines or profit ratios. He wasn’t thinking about the life he’d walked away from, or the possessions he’d left in California. He was feeling more himself, more grounded, and more real than he had in over a decade.
Sale complete, credit card back in his wallet, he opened the shop door for Rachel, and standing on the curb, turned to face her. “So, am I suitable for a game of corn hole now?”
Turning her wrist, she glanced at her watch and her bright smile slipped. “I’m sorry. It’s getting late and Mom is expecting me back. Rain check?”
Doing his best to hold his own smile, he nodded. “Of course. My folks are probably wondering where the heck I am too.”
They stood awkwardly for another moment or two before one of them, he wasn’t sure which, finally took a step back, putting distance between them.
“You won’t be a stranger now, will you?” Her voice was softer, almost timid.
“Not a chance,” were the only words he could form that made any sense. “I have a rain check coming.”
And on that, she laughed again, pushed to her tippy toes, gave him a kiss on the cheek and hurried back to where her truck was parked.
Of all the things he’d done wrong in his life, now more than even yesterday, he was absolutely positive coming home had not been one of them.
Chapter Five
Charlie Sweet’s office was the one place in the house that usually grounded Rachel. Tonight, though, it felt heavy, thick with unspoken tension. She leaned back in her favorite chair, the one that surrounded her like a warm hug, watching Preston with a sheaf of printouts clutched in his hand. His wife Sarah Sue leaned against the wet bar, a pained expression on her face as she watched her husband pace.
Across the room, Carson and Jess sat close together on the small sofa, a silent testament to their unlikely success story. Beside her, Jillian fidgeted, tapping a nervous rhythm on the armrest. Even Garret and Jackie seemed less relaxed than usual, their easy affection underscored by a shared seriousness. They were all here, the full contingent minus Kade, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Preston finally stopped pacing and sighed, dropping the papers onto the desk. “Okay, brief update,” he began, his voice tight. “Still pinched financially. We knew the three trust payments wouldn’t be a magic bullet, but even without ranch hand salaries, operating expenses are still eating through the little income we’re getting.” He shook his head. “Basically, we’re like a pack of dogs, running in circles, chasing their tails.” He met each of their gazes. “We’re looking at a significant shortfall again. I’ve tried everything I can think of, borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, and I still can’t make the math work. And this afternoon,” he sighed, “the hay bailer croaked. Clint was working on it a bit ago, but this is beyond juggling. We need another miracle.”
A collective sigh seemed to ripple through the room. Another miracle. Otherwise known as another wedding. Rachel’s stomach twisted. The weight landed squarely, heavily, on her and Jillian.
“Right,” Preston continued, running a hand through his hair. “Before we brainstorm, Kade is finally somewhere he can talk, and I promised I’d loop him in.” Quickly he initiated a video call on the computer screen.
A moment later, Kade’s face filled the screen now turned to face the people in the room. Their brother looked tired but smiled. “Hey! Good timing, was just about to hit the rack.”
“Hey, bro,” Preston greeted him. Quick pleasantries were exchanged—inquiries about his deployment—though Rachel had no idea why they bothered asking as he was never at liberty to say—reassurances were given about how Mom was holding up well considering the circumstances, and, of course, updates shared on their new nephew Mason’s latest antics. Then Preston gave him the financial rundown, keeping it direct but maybe slightly less panicked than he’d sounded moments before. “Bottom line, Kade, margins are still razor thin. We’re managing, but we desperately need more breathing room.”
Kade’s expression tightened with familiar frustration. “Wish I could do more from over here. Feels useless just watching.”
“You being safe is what matters,” Carson interjected firmly. Then, almost as an aside, he added, “Speaking of watching, you’ll never guess who blew back into Honeysuckle. Jimmy Henderson.”
Kade’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What in the world brought him back? Last I heard he was wiping the West Texas dust off his boots and never coming back.”
“More like Italian loafers,” Jillian muttered not quite under her breath.
“So, he’s doing well?” Kade’s expression shifted to something teetering on curiosity and approval.
