Page 29 of The Mountain Echoes
“Good, good.” He nods.
Candace can feel the air between us has changed, but she’s going to keep playing the good wife.
“I know Otis thinks you’re sentimental, Mav, but I think it’s romantic.”
This is her attempt to change the mood? Just shoot me now and end my fuckin’ misery!
I sip my wine slowly, give myself time to tamp down my irritation. “I’m not sentimental, Mrs. Jessup, I’m strategic.”
She looks flustered.
Across the room, Aria glances up.
Her eyes catch mine.
They’re flat, like her face. There isn’t even a hint of a smile to acknowledge me.
She holds my gaze for just a beat, then goes back to whatever Amos is saying.
When the senator and his wife are ready to leave, I walk them out of the restaurant and wait until their car shows up.
Once I get rid of them, I make a beeline for Aria’s table.
I’m going to crash her meeting with her accountant.
I’m looking forward to it.
CHAPTER 7
aria
“Tell me exactly how things stand,” I request.
Amos gives me a measured look, as if he’s deciding whether to tell me I should run or saddle up and fight.
We’re in Blackwood Prime, which I found out from Nadine, who gave me a ride here, is Maverick Kincaid’s place.
It’s polished, heavy with money, and smells like garlic butter and charred ribeye. I’m not unfamiliar with places like this, after all, I work in the wine industry in Napa. But it is interesting to see it in Wildflower Canyon.
When I was growing up, the fanciest place in town was the Horseshoe Diner, where you could get a bourbon and milkshake for ten dollars.
I wonder if the diner is still around.
Amos insisted on meeting here and taking me out to dinner. According to him, it was quiet enough, and the food didn’t taste like horse feed. Winning features for anyrestaurant, and where I’m going to find out the debacle that is Longhorn Ranch.
Our server comes by.
I order a Napa Valley red. I mean, Amos is paying, so why the hell not? And a ribeye to go with it. Amos asks the server to double the order and adds some sides.
Grilled artichoke? Mashed potatoes with truffles?
My, my, Wildflower Canyon has come a long way, indeed.
Amos makes small talk until our wine is served. My question about Longhorn’s finances hangs between us. He knows it. I know it. Our wine probably knows it, too.
It feels like when you’re at the doctor’s and he’s screwing around to avoid telling you that your condition is terminal.
“Amos?” I queryafterwe clink our glasses of wine and toast to absolutely nothing.
