Page 48 of A Jilted Bride for the Cowboy

“Metaphorically.”

“The Sullivans don’t bite.”

“Someday I might believe you. Today is not that day.” She tilted up her chin and swept into the conference room ahead of him.

Graham paused in the doorway. Graham’s parents and aunt and uncle flanked the head of the table, where Grandfather scrolled on his phone, ignoring everyone. Jude poured a coffee for Aunt Nadine, while Tate and his brothers took their seats.

The only space left was between Dad and Weston.

Fine. Graham could sit there. The grouchy cowboy might think he had insights into the clan, but Graham could ignore his opinions for the time being. Mostly, he needed to survive this meeting so he could find Cadence. He wanted — needed — to tell her how much she meant to him. How he wanted to stand by her side for the rest of their lives.

No matter how often he told himself it was way too early to declare himself to her, he kept circling back. Which didn’t make it the right move.

Weston had accused him — he’d accused the entire family, really — of saying the right words to God but then doing what they wanted, anyway, without listening for a reply.

Seriously, how long did a person need to wait when the right answer was obvious and smack dab in front of him?

Weston leaned toward him as he sat down, stroking his chin. “Nice look,” he whispered with a smirk.

Now the guy was making fun of Graham’s attempt at growing a beard? Graham glared at him and flipped open his laptop.

When everyone had taken seats, Grandfather set his phone down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. His gaze took in each person individually: Uncle James, Dad, Graham, Weston, Jude, then Aunt Nadine on the end, then back up the other side of the table: Bryce, Maxwell, Tate, Aunt Maribel, and Mom. “Thank you for coming.”

Graham managed to hold the snort in, but a surreptitious glance at Weston revealed a quick smirk. Apparently, the newest clan members found Grandfather’s controlling nature off-putting. Well, they didn’t have to be here. The Sullivans had managed fine all these years — decades, even — without the Klines.

Conscience jabbed. Maybe the Klines hadn’t fared as well. Maybe they deserved to be here as much as the Sullivans. But why did Weston need to waffle between annoyance and amusement? Couldn’t the cowboy simply be grateful to be included as a rightful heir without judging everything?

Grandfather began his meeting with a scripture and a word of prayer.

Was this ritual what Weston had accused? Simply a way to sugarcoat Sullivan Enterprises and make it palatable to God?

Graham studied the relatives around the table. Every one of them would claim to be a believer, but how many of them actually lived like it on a minute-to-minute basis?

Did Graham?

Not if Weston were to be believed. But how did that dude get off on making Graham doubt his relationship with God? The Sullivans were a decisive bunch. You didn’t get to this level in the hotel industry without a broad understanding of how business worked… or without the ability to pivot at a moment’s notice.

Mom had complained time and again that Graham thought everything to the death and, here he was, doing it again. He refocused on Grandfather as the old man briefed the family on the recent acquisition of Cassel Hotels, a boutique chain with a dozen locations around Lake Michigan.

Tate had inked that deal mere few weeks ago. Good old Tate. Graham’s cousin deserved to be CEO of Sweet River Ranch and to be a valued part of upper management alongside the older generation.

The primary chain was also doing well. Grandfather pulled some numbers and commended Uncle James for the minimal downtime a recent fire had caused in their Milwaukee hotel.

Graham stifled a yawn. So far, there wasn’t anything that couldn’t have been handled easily via video conference. And it wasn’t like Grandfather was afraid of the technology. The man might be eighty, but he’d embraced the digital era like he’d been born to it.

Grandfather tapped his phone, likely to slide down his meeting agenda. “Sweet River Ranch.” He looked up and scanned the group. “We’re holding our own here. There have been some major expenditures aside from acquiring the property. Maxwell is busy spending every penny I’ve allotted for renovations and upkeep.”

Across the table, Max shifted in his chair with an awkward grin. He’d been running a profitable business flipping properties before Grandfather had pulled him to the ranch.

Grandfather glanced at his notes. “The cottages on Dragonfly Lane only required refreshing. They were outfitted with new linens and draperies. They’ve been keeping at about 80% booked since we opened Memorial Day.”

The lakeshore cottages looked inviting. Graham would give the crew that.

“Firefly Lane is nearly complete. Those cabins are fully booked through August, with some reservations into the fall.” Grandfather looked up. “The previous owners had begun renovations there, but they’d honestly left quite a mess. They’d also started to build on Ladybug Lane. Max’s crew will shift there next. We plan to have those ready for next spring.”

Nothing new, so far.

“As you know, Tate and Stephanie are planning to build on the corner of Hummingbird Lane. That offer extends to every one of you, should you wish to make Sweet River your permanent home.”

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