Page 3 of The Marriage Deal
BRIGGS
“All right.” The sound of dusty hands rubbing together grabs my attention as I signal into town. It’s Nash’s signature ‘let’s get to work’ move. Even though I can’t see him, I know him well enough to know he’s doing it. “We starting something here or what?”
“Early projections look promising.”
“Fuck, yeah.” I’m pretty sure he fist-pumps the air.
“I’m not sure how receptive the town will be.” I pause, wincing at the thought of yesterday’s lunch atFalls Diner, and the not-so-subtly unwelcoming way I’d been served my burger and fries. I wonder if they have a bowling league in Sunset Falls. If so, with the arm on Eugene, she should be on it.
Eugene is the waitress at the diner, and not one I see myself winning over anytime soon. Too bad for me, I don’t have the same easy charm that Nash possesses.
“They’ll get over it,” Nash says easily. “People always do.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“About people or the town?”
“Both.”
There’s a pause. It’s not long, but it’s long enough. I pull into one of the few angled parking spaces in front ofThe Tasty Riseand turn off my truck. If there’s one thing this town has going for it, it’s the long parking spaces designed for farm trucks. The town might be small, but a large number of its population own homes on the outskirts of town with land that ranges in acre size and use.
There are more than a few hobby farms. Most supply the weekend farmers market, usually held in theSunset Falls Hall, or the garden surrounding it under pop-up tables and tents. It’s walkable from most anywhere in town. On weekends you’re sure to see more than a handful of people making the trek through town with their wagons either to or from the market.
“We doing this or what?”
“It won’t be easy.”
“We don’t do easy,” Nash says honestly.
I laugh, but it sounds tired even to me. “Isn’t that the truth?”
There’s another pause, then, uncharacteristic for Nash, he says, “You can come home. Sell the winery, the house and land, and be a few million dollars richer.”He laughs. “God knows you don’t need it, but the option is there. Probably save you some headache, too.”
“Shit.” I let my head fall back against the headrest. He’s right, it’d save me a doozy of a headache. “I can’t.”
“You don’t owe the bastard anything.”
My jaw pops as an image of Daniel Alder flashes in my mind. Tall and dark…Mom says it was what lured her in. That, and his ability to smooth talk before the talk got whiskey-tinted and mean. Oh, and she’d been young and dumb, something she often warned me away from in my youth. It’s probably why I’m so levelheaded. Always assessing risk verses reward.
I’ve always been afraid of becoming him. Becoming less than she wanted me to be.
Becoming anything other than the good and solid man who raised me. The man I called Dad.
“I’m not doing this for him.” I make to nab the hat I’d tossed onto the front seat of my truck and freeze at the sight ofher.
Words snag in my throat. I swallow the burn that rises at the sight of her dropping into a low squat. Frayed jean shorts hug thick thighs, and a tight white ribbed tank rides up to show smooth tan skin at the small of her back.
I feel a sudden and unexplainable urge to haul ass across the boardwalk, yank her up by the loop of those man-eater jean shorts, slam her against the lilac paint ofTara’s Trinkets,and taste her sharp mouth.
The visual in my mind pulls a curse from the depths of me. I scrub a hand down my face as something silver catches my eye.
Scissors. The little lunatic is cutting flowers from the pots of businesses for the bouquet I now see she’s assembling in her other hand.
She stands and I’m slammed with a full frontal. The woman has got to be the prettiest damned woman I’ve ever seen in my life. That only adds fuel to the flame of my already pissed off fire. As pretty as she is, she’s still bat shit crazy.
“Fucking woman.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken the words aloud until Nash’s unexpected, “Who?” echoes from the Bluetooth.
“Gotta go.”
