Page 78 of Brighton

“I know we will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Rangers never say die.”

She pats my shoulder, like one would a toddler. “That’s not the saying.”

“What is it then?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not that.” Her smile is wistful and the heaviness of the last month is written on her face. My beautiful, strong woman is tired—mentally and emotionally.

“Darlin’, I promised you babies. I’m not reneging on that promise. Period. And, if I’m not mistaken, you don’t want those babies growing up in a tract home, on a busy street, learning curse words at a community pool.”

Her face registers distaste as if she just swallowed a mouthful of bitter lemons.

I continue, “Our babies will learn swear words from their uncles while riding horses or mending fences. Or from their cousins while shoveling shit or getting up to no good on that ranch. It’ll be home base for our kids and our kids’ kids. We’ll find a way.”

“Elias, do you have something up your sleeve?”

“Always, darlin’. Always.”

“Gonna share?”

“Not yet. Go take care of Kimp. Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow.”

She gives me a quick peck, that I deepen. “Miss you already, baby. Don’t like sleeping alone.”

“I know. Maybe phone sex later?”

My face must communicate something to her, because her face splits into a wide grin. She turns to sashay away, but not before I give her tight ass one last slap.

Then I do what I should’ve done months ago, I grab my phone and dial Braxton.

“Can you meet me for a beer?”

* * *

“What’s this about, Eli?”Brax sets his beer on my coffee table, looking around from my sofa as if it’s a trap.

It smells stale from my lack of living here, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Everything will be in the open soon enough and I’ll be free to decide what to do with this house. But that’s a distant second to what’s on the forefront of my mind and on the tip of my tongue.

“No easy way to say this, so I’m going to just spit it out,” I start. But I don’t. No clue why, but I take the easy way out. It’s a chicken shit move, and I’m almost embarrassed for myself. “There are developers making a play for the conservancy property.”

His stare locks on mine, and his mouth drops open.

Before he can ask, I continue. “I got some intel and I’ve been working on it for a while now. I think we’re good and I’m hopeful you’re protected, but—”

“Hopeful or certain?”

I pause.

He gets louder. “Eli? Hopeful or certain?”

“Hopeful. Election results tonight were not in our favor.”

“Ourfavor?”

“Dude, I’ve been working on this and doing everything I can for months.”

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