Page 41 of Hotshot Mogul

“Bruce?” I sat up. He handed me a half-full bottle of water from his backpack.

“What just happened?” I asked, shaking my head to clear it.

“You went still and stiff, then pitched forward. I caught you and lowered you to the ground. I called your name. Your face—you looked like you were in agony.”

I drained the water like I’d sprinted a mile. “Soldiers and people who live through terrible things, rape and assault, describe their flashbacks. That’s what it was like. Except I wasn’t me. But it was here. The oak tree was a lot smaller. There was a war party. And a woman, she had dark hair and eyes. I wanted her for my wife. She was with me when I was shot with an arrow.”

Dad stood and paced. “Holy hell. You went still and stiff. Then you pitched forward. I caught you, lowered you on the ground and called you back. Your face… Let’s get a handle on what happened here—I mean historically. Then maybe then Maria Rosa’s words will help.”

They were carved in my brain. The great tree in the glade. It holds your heart. Look close for what is true.

Footsteps and voices drew close. Mom, Callie, and Rufus headed to the benches. “There’s a hive,” Mom laughed. “And lots and lots of bees.”

Callie arched an eyebrow. “We’ll need to post a sign, maybe cordon it off and hire a beekeeper. You should really hire someone, besides me, to oversee this.”

“Then you can get back to the hotshot mogul stuff,” Rufus said. “Have to say, folks are wondering what you will do next.”

I had to leave at some point. I was leasing space in Chicago. I hadn’t left Oakdale since Anneliese left.

Dad looked up from his phone. “Callie, we want to do some research on the Native Americans and the French fur traders who lived near here in the sixteen hundreds. Where is a good place to start, besides online?”

“Michigan State University,” she said. “They are sourced most often as I’ve been looking into it.”

Holy shit. She knew. Anneliese must have told her. Why didn’t I think of that before? Maybe she had answers. “Callie?” My tone was sharper than intended, drawing Mom’s concerned gaze.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing, Mom,” I said. “Just conservancy stuff.”

“What say we meet for coffee after our meeting tomorrow night?” Callie asked. “Sound good?”

I nodded and muttered “thanks.” More hope I was afraid to grasp.

The cool breeze fluttered through the huge, supple leaves of the oak tree. I wiped away the drop of sweat dripping down my temple. Rufus and Callie stepped to the pine trees. I followed. I wanted to smell them.

Dad threaded his fingers through Mom’s and sung a Beatles song in his clear, baritone that I grew up hearing. It grounded me, like always.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bruce

I gulped my coffee too fast. It burned my mouth. The caffeine jolt nudged me alert after a long day looking over construction specs.

Chilly air hissed and blasted from a vent overhead. Donny, the fry cook, had burned something in the kitchen. Callie was in there, helping to set things right, since the kitchen was supposed to stay open for another hour.

Livvie stood close. She leaned in to slide me a menu, giving me a shot down her neckline and her pink, lacy bra. “Some of us are meeting up at Luigi’s later.” She dropped her hand to my shoulder. “You should come.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, snapping out my habitual refusal. Livvie’s hand was still on my shoulder when Callie returned.

Callie’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “I’m going as soon as I get off, after I go home and change, if you want to come with me?” Livvie asked.

“Maybe I’ll stop up there later,” I said. Why not?

Callie shot me her Bruce-is-a-jerk look as Livvie left. WTF? I tensed up.

Did Callie think I was being disloyal to Anneliese? Could she possibly know where Anneliese was? She balled her hand into a fist and tapped it on the table. I forced my words past the lump in my throat. I thought Callie and I were getting to be friends. What did they say—chicks before dicks? Part of me was glad that she was loyal and protective of Anneliese. But that warred with my seething anger over my suspicion that Callie might have known where Anneliese was, how she was—and kept it from me all that time. Even after it was generally known in Oakdale that I was not the father of Beth’s son.

It came down to trust. I knew that, logically. Callie didn’t trust my hotshot ass. Keep it together, Clynes. Play the long game.

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