Randi briefly wondered how many times he’d been forced to have this conversation with other customers. Decker beer was one of her best sellers, so canceling her order was out of the question. Which meant something else would have to be sacrificed.
“I understand. Tell Avery that I’ll have the bill settled within the week.”
Jed smiled. “Will do.”
After Jed left, Randi stood motionless, her arms hanging like useless iron weights at her side, her gaze inward, frozen by the images of failure scoring her mind. Fingers gone numb rubbed her temples again, fighting off the building implosion. She had to get control of this situation. So much more than her livelihood was at stake.
Blues, Brews, and Books employed fourteen people besides herself. She paid her staff well. Some said too well, but Randi believed in rewarding extraordinary performance. She asked a lot of her employees, with having to become familiar with different product lines and, for that matter, clientele. They juggled many hats and deserved to be paid for their efforts.
Everything had been going great. In the last six months, profits had exceeded the projections she’d established in her long-term business plan. Blues, Brews, and Books had become the hangout place.
Then she’d made a fatal decision, one that had gone against her gut, but she’d trusted someone she shouldn’t have. Now she would have to tread water until this mess with Britt Steele was sorted out. And look forward to many more awkward conversations like the one she’d had with Jed.
The entrance door to the bar side rattled. A man in a tailored suit set down his briefcase to cup his hands against the glass and peer inside.
She held up a finger and made her way to the front of the bar. Unlocking the bolts, she opened the door and was momentarily stunned into silence. The guy was Henry Cavill gorgeous. Expensive suit, broad shoulders, and emerald green eyes set off by the blackest hair she’d ever seen. Blacker than Kris’s. Neatly trimmed dark curls were kept under control with just the right amount of hair product.
“Good morning,” she finally managed. “Are you looking for the coffee shop?”
“In a sense,” he said in a deep, velvety voice. “I’m looking for the owner, Miranda Shepherd.”
Her day just got a whole lot brighter. “I’m Miranda.”
He flashed her a megawatt smile. “Then I’m at the right place.” Holding out a business card, he said, “I’m Keith Gaviston of Gaviston and Swink. Am I calling at an inconvenient time?”
Randi debated sending the handsome lawyer away; she was completely unprepared for this conversation. However, her curiosity had her opening the door and gesturing for him to enter. “Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Gaviston?”
“Thank you, no. Please call me Keith.”
She led him to a booth and scooted into one side.
“Given your response to my name, I assume you received my firm’s letter.”
“Yes.”
“When I didn’t hear back from you, I feared the envelope went astray.”
“I only received it yesterday. It’s a lot to absorb.”
“Indeed, it is.” He drew two file folders from his briefcase. “Perhaps I can set your concerns to rest, if you’d care to share.”
“Well”—Randi fidgeted with her watchband—“for starters, what type of organization is Carolina Club?”
“A club that caters to the refined tastes of some of North Carolina’s most influential gentlemen.”
Refined tastes? “Your first attempt to set my concerns to rest has failed, Mr. Gaviston. I watch enough Criminal Minds to know that refined tastes can cover any number of perversions.”
“Don’t you get nightmares from watching that show?”
“Oddly, no. Not sure what that says about me.”
“Tremendous intestinal fortitude, I suspect.”
“Sounds like a fancy way of saying I have guts.” She sent him an I-know-what-you’re-about smile. “Are you trying to distract me with compliments?”
“Do I look like a man who would resort to such underhanded tactics?” He rounded the question off with a grin that would have stopped the most dedicated of wives’ hearts.
Although Randi wasn’t immune to his smile’s effect, she’d worked in and around bars since college and had either seen, heard, or been the recipient of sexy smiles, sensual once-overs, and even a body brush or two. She knew how to shrug it off and get down to business.
“Refined tastes, Mr. Gaviston?”
“Keith, remember?”
“I remember.”
“The Carolina Club’s primary interest is in wildlife conservation and education. Something your mother was quite passionate about, as I understand.”
“How did you come by this fact?”
“Word travels fast in these parts. Especially when the owner of such a large parcel of pristine land passes away.”
“How much property does the club currently hold?”
“In North Carolina?”
“Yes, and in total, I guess.”
“The club holds title to approximately thirty-five hundred acres in the state and a little over twenty-five thousand acres in other parts of the world.”
World?
“And you’re preserving all this land?”
“Yes. The membership is quite passionate about conservation.”
“A private club stowing a large amount of land away,” she mused. “There has to be some benefit to the club.”
“Are you always this suspicious?”
“Only when something has a bit of stink to it.”
He slid a crisp white sheet of paper in front of her. The expensive vellum carried the same Gaviston and Swink letterhead as his previous communication.
“This is the amount I’ve been authorized to offer for your property. As you can see, the figure is more than fair.”
Randi stared down at the zeros that seemed to go on and on and on. Sweat broke out on her palms and prickled heat rushed up her neck. Blood pumped in her ears, drowning out logic, lifting up hope. She had no idea what the fair market value was for her mother’s property. But the club’s offer far exceeded anything she’d considered.
However, her bullshit detector was firing off the charts. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with calling Virgil this morning, she would have done a quick Internet search on the club. Randi stared at the zeros rolling across the paper. The desperate side of her mind wanted to accept so she could get a full night’s rest for the first time in weeks.
But something seemed fishy about the offer—and the organization. The idea of a group of rich men, with refined tastes, banding together to set aside tens of thousands of acres for protection didn’t ring true.
Guys weren’t that altruistic. Although there were exceptions, most men expected a return on their investment. Something besides warm and fuzzies.
“Do you not agree the club is offering a fair price?” Gaviston pressed.
“More than fair. Maybe too fair.”
“Is there such a thing?”
Irritation simmered beneath the surface of her play-it-cool facade. “Do not mistake my gender or hair color as signs of weakness, Mr. Gaviston. It won’t bode well for our continued association.”
He did that chin-roll thing men did when their necktie was too tight. “You’re right, of course. I took our banter too far.” He closed his briefcase. “Why don’t you take some time to consider the club’s offer? I’ll check back with you in a few days.” He slid out of the booth. “How does that sound?”
Randi thought it was a great plan. She hadn’t spoken to Virgil yet, so she didn’t even know what her rights were, related to her mother’s property. With a little time and breathing room, she could make a sound, logical decision. She really disliked doing anything on the fly, especially with something so important.
Standing, she held out her hand. “I’ll review the club’s offer and have an answer for you when you return.”
On the way back to her office, Randi’s b
est friend and sometimes employee, Carlie Beth, caught up with her. “Hey, Randi. Register three is low on ones.”
“Already?”
“What can I say? Coffee business is brewing this morning.”
“Clever. Thanks for filling in again for Amy.” Randi opened her office door. “She sounded horrible over the phone.”
“Any time. It’s good for me to get out of the forge and talk to actual people rather than scraps of metal.”
Randi produced a limp smile. Normally, Carlie Beth’s wisecracking could pull her out of any funk. But not today. Too many worries weighed on her mind. “I’ll replenish register three in a second.”
“Something wrong? You seem distracted.”
She debated whether to share her current debacle with Carlie Beth. Any other time, she wouldn’t have hesitated. However, Carlie Beth’s being engaged to Griffin Steele made Britt her family. Randi didn’t want to put her friend in a position of having to choose sides.
“I’m fine, thanks. Just a lot on my mind.”
“You always have a lot on your mind. Running a coffee shop, bar, and restaurant has a way of keeping your brain in hyperdrive.” Carlie Beth rested her bottom on the edge of Randi’s desk and gave her an I’m-not-leaving-until-you-tell-me look. “Spill it.”
“I can’t. Not to you.”
Hurt speared across Carlie Beth’s features. “Why not?”
“Because part of my dilemma has to do with one of the Steele brothers. I don’t want to put you in the middle.”
“Is it Grif?” Carlie Beth asked.
“No.”
“Then spew. I have experience navigating through all that testosterone. Let me help you.”
Randi hesitated only a second more before laying out the details of her and Britt’s encounter in the woods. For self-preservation purposes, she left out the ass-eating mosquitos and squat-catching humiliation. After she finished her story, Carlie Beth remained quiet for several long, thoughtful seconds.
“Have you spoken to Virgil yet?”
Glancing at the clock for the hundredth time, Randi said, “No, I’m waiting until nine before calling him.”
“You’re a better woman than I am. I would’ve called him over and over until he dragged his hungover butt out of bed.”
“Believe me, I was tempted.”
“What are you going to do if your mother cooked up some deal with Britt?”
“I don’t know.” Randi chewed on her bottom lip. It was dry and peeling in places. She grabbed her purse and dug into a side pocket for her little tub of cherry Vaseline. After dabbing the pad of her ring finger into the petroleum jelly, she smoothed a thin layer onto her lips. Better already. She recapped the tub and dropped it into her purse. “Under normal circumstances, I would be relieved not to have to worry about what to do with the place. But my financial situation has changed and I could use the influx of capital.”
“I’m sorry, Randi.” Carlie Beth squeezed her shoulder. “I wish I had a magic solution. Let’s hope Britt soaked up too much fresh air and it affected his recall of his conversation with your mom.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Who? Britt?”
Randi nodded. “Although he’s a regular on Friday nights, I’ve probably only said ten words to him in all that time.”
“From what Grif has told me, Britt spent his teenage years and twenties making sure his mom and siblings had what they needed. I suspect that kind of sacrifice has a way of making a guy grow up quickly.”
“He’s not exactly approachable. Does he resent the lost years?”
“I don’t know about the resentment. At family functions, they like to poke at each other until they make their target crazy. But they’re a loving, protective bunch.”
Randi tried to envision a carefree, joking Britt, but the only image that came to mind was his stern, watchful expression. Until she recalled his comments about her show in the woods. His unsmiling features had softened the teensiest amount, enough to give her a glimpse of the true man beneath.
Even so, Randi had a hard time believing her mother would give her birthright to Britt Steele. “What about his integrity? Could this be an elaborate scheme?”
“To do what? Steal your inheritance?”
“I know it sounds farfetched. But I can’t figure out why my mother would put me in this position. We weren’t close, but we weren’t enemies either.”
“For Britt to engineer something so elaborate, he’d have to be in league with Virgil. Would you trust your mother’s cousin to pull this off?”
“Hmm, you have a point.”
Carlie Beth’s voice took on the soothing tone of a mother trying to calm a distraught child. “Britt seems like an honest guy. Don’t think the worst until you hear it come out of Virgil’s mouth. Positive thoughts.”
Artisan to the core of her being, Carlie Beth survived potential disasters by not giving them a lick of her energy. But Randi couldn’t operate that way. She needed a backup plan. A plan B and sometimes C and D. Having something to focus on in times of crisis was essential to her peace of mind.
“I shall fill my mind with rainbows and fairy dust…and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Let me get those singles.”
Randi took care of the cash issue, then headed back to her office to call Virgil. He didn’t answer. “Virgil, this is Miranda Shepherd. Please call me when you get this message. We need to talk about my mother’s will.”
Ending the call, Randi propped her head in her hand, rubbing at the tightness in her chest and fighting the despair pulling at her mind.
6
Triple B supported the region by serving top grade, locally brewed beer and farm-raised fruits and vegetables along with hosting talented, homegrown bands. All of which entertained Britt, but none of which kept him coming back, week after week after week.
Masking his interest in the woman across the room, he sipped his favorite adult beverage, Defiant, a locally distilled whisky. Wearing a red wraparound top and skintight black jeans tucked into a pair of short-heeled black leather boots, Randi Shepherd lifted up on her tiptoes to draw down a blue bottle of 1800 from a high shelf behind the bar. Her top stretched with her, revealing an expanse of silken flesh and a round, firm bottom.
Britt stuck the red straw back into his mouth and resumed his chewing while eyeing the other guys in the bar. Men ranging from twenties to sixties gawked at her curves, some openly and some more discreetly. The latter included Deke.
His tumbler hit the wooden table with a hard, dull thud.
“What’s got your undies in a bunch tonight?” Deke asked.
“How about I give you something to worry about besides my undies?”
An inch taller than Britt’s six-foot-three frame, but slighter of build, Deke had one of those deep masculine voices that made every woman—and some men—take notice. They’d been friends since grade school. Deke had gone on to earn a master’s in wildlife biology and then nabbed his dream job with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.
Britt was jealous as hell of his accomplishments, but that didn’t stop him from being proud of Deke. His friend had pulled himself out of a rough childhood, then worked two side jobs while going to school full-time. He deserved every bit of his success.
“How many more Friday nights is it going to take before you get up the nerve to ask Randi out?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’ve been struck stupid by her since the first night we arrived.” Deke’s attention dropped to Britt’s mouth. “If you wind that straw up any faster, you could power up a car engine.”
Britt tossed the ratty straw onto the table. He couldn’t argue with Deke’s blunt assessment. Before walking into Randi’s bar six months ago, he’d only met her on one other occasion, though he’d seen pictures of her dotting Barbara’s living room. Most were of her as a small child, a few rev
ealed a young teenage Randi, none captured the adult she’d become. She had…matured in the intervening years.
“I don’t feel right about dating Barbara’s daughter.”
“I figured that’s why you were playing it cool.” Deke dipped a chip into a bowl of salsa. “Look man, I’m not trying to be an uncaring hardass, but Barbara’s gone. The coast is clear, though I never thought you dating your friend’s daughter was much of a roadblock.”
“It was for me. Besides, given our current predicament regarding the property, I don’t see us hooking up any time soon, if ever.”
“You’ve got to get out of your Dr. Doom and Mr. Gloom funk. It’s Friday night. We should be dancing.” Deke caught the eye of a brunette. She sent him a slow, welcoming smile. “Behold, my moody friend. I’m about to show you what fun looks like.”
Britt watched Deke stroll away, a devil-may-care smile on his face. Deke loved chatting up folks. His easygoing charm could win over the most closed-minded, cantankerous farmer. Unlike Britt, who found most social interactions painful and annoying.
He made a mental note to have Deke sweet-talk the conservation area’s neighbor, Harvey Griggs. The sixth-generation farmer had a cargo load of complaints that could line the French Broad River. Anything from the conservation area’s deer eating his wife’s flowers to the Steele family’s takeover of the town to the effects of the barometric pressure on his joints.
He finished off the last of his whisky and looked around for their server. A few were working other tables, but he found no trace of the lanky redhead named Tiffany. Or was it Tricia? Tina?
Shifting his attention back to Randi, he debated all of three seconds before heading in her direction. He needed another whisky and they needed to talk. He parked himself at the end of the bar, straddling the last open stool.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Another Defiant and a chat with your boss.”
Older than Britt by a good ten years and sporting Mr. Clean muscles, the bartender asked, “What do you need with Miss Shepherd?”
Britt held the man’s gaze. He’d been in enough visual pissing matches to know how to hold his own. “A chat.”
Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series Page 4
