by Amy Faye
Through the front section, where that upstart kid got lippy with him. Into her office. Callahan had seen it before, when she brought him around that first day.
She reaches down into her desk.
"I'll be by to transfer deeds in the morning," she says. Professional. Flat. Whatever the hell is wrong with her, she's not damn happy, that much is clear.
"You want to tell me why you're so upset?"
"No," she says. Flat. Like that.
"Alright. See you tomorrow, then."
"Goodbye, Philip."
He lets out a long, low breath. "See you tomorrow."
He knew even as he said it that he wasn't going to.
Chapter Forty-Four
Maybe it was disrespectful. Maybe she shouldn't have done it. But when she sent someone else, instead of going herself, to pick up the deed and transfer the one in Lowe Industrial's name over to Phil Callahan, it was as if she had just had a weight pulled right off her chest.
Like she'd solved all of her problems at the same time. Everything had been about that ranch. About getting ahold of that property. And now she had it. She'd paid a pretty heavy price, but in the end she'd gotten what she came for.
That was what made her a winner, whether or not she liked the way she had to do it, she'd done what needed doing.
What made it less pleasant wasn't that she'd gotten too close. That happened. You make mistakes, you move on from them. No, what was upsetting was that she still didn't really feel bad about it. She still wanted to keep doing the same things.
She wanted to go back to the ranch. She wanted to sit and have a beer with Philip. She wanted to watch a movie with him that she'd probably seen three times back in Nevada. But now, with him, it felt different. It was practically a different movie with him there, because it wasn't about what was happening on the screen, not really.
It was about laying there on the couch with her head on his chest and just. Relaxing, for once in her life.
If she could, she'd go back right now and do it. She'd take that any day of the week.
That was what was worrying her, because she sure as hell couldn't afford to make that mistake again, not knowing full well what it meant.
Not when she knew exactly how much it could damage her—her reputation, both professional and otherwise, how much it could make her look weak.
If she wanted to stay in this business, she had to look stronger than anyone. She had to be stronger than it was possible for a person to be, it seemed like. And this wasn't the way to get it done.
She was just being flighty. Womanish. She was putting the wrong things ahead and making mistakes that a man would never make. That was exactly what she'd been warned about. That was exactly what she needed to avoid to get ahead.
She had a bright future ahead of her, no doubt about it. She'd already done as much in a year as anyone could have possibly asked for. The company was expanding, was building. They were putting more people to work, they were turning more profits, and they were bringing manufacturing back in America.
All of those things were what was important. The important things to remember.
The other stuff? Not that important, in the long run. She could learn to cope. It was just feelings, after all. She didn't need to listen to them, any more than she needed to feel anything else.
Men didn't worry about feelings. They didn't worry about what they were going to do about their precious whatevers. They made decisions based on logic and reason and feelings took a backseat when they had to.
It was only by reminding herself of that, over and over again, repeating it to herself until she practically heard it repeating in her head without even needing to try, that she could stay sane. Because that was the only way to drown out the urge to go over. To see him. To talk it out.
But there wouldn't be any point in that. There's nothing to talk out. The problem isn't inside her, and it's not inside Philip. It's everything else in the world that's the problem.
It's the world where she can't really let herself be herself, because she'd look too weak. It's the violence of the business world. It's how people look at her when she says she runs a factory. The way they look her up and down, surprised.
If she's going to be able to deal with that, she can't have some man in her life who they can immediately look at and say, oh, he probably does it. She's just there as some kind of figure-head. She's just there as T-and-A.
This was her business, her baby, and she wasn't going to give it up. And if she wasn't going to give it up, then she had to make sacrifices. For her father's legacy. For everything.
If she made those sacrifices now, it would be worth it in the end. She'd get what she needed to get. She just had to hope that she didn't screw it up first. She had to hope that she wasn't going to let her weakness get to her over and over and over again.
This time was a mistake. She could recover from it, but it was a mistake, nonetheless. In the future, though? Could she keep saying the same? Could she keep claiming that even though she knew better, she just made a mistake and she'd do better next time?
No. This had to be it. And she had to walk away.
She picks up the phone. It's going to be a couple more days before they can officially cut the ribbon, but maybe it would be a mistake to stay here. Too many risks. Too much temptation. She wants to stay too much.
So the answer is pretty obvious, in the long run.
Just walk away. Someone else can come on up and finish out the job. She's been neglecting the home factories for too long anyways, in her effort to get things taken care of here. So she'll return to Nevada, she'll check out how things are going back home, and when they're ready to open up the factories, she can come back and make a few speeches, cut the ribbon, and get the hell out of here.
A man's voice answers the phone. Her assistant been staying in Colorado the last couple of days. Her eyes and ears around the home plants. He was supposed to head back to Nevada in a couple days. She'll just take his place, and he'll take hers here.
"I need you to get me a plane ticket."
"Anything else?"
"Not really. Send the information to my email."
"Of course, ma'am."
It's a good plan, really. Truly it is, because if she were to stay here another minute longer, she might have to stay for good.
Leaving is the right thing to do. It's the right way to go. And if it hurts… well, that's fine, too. Because sometimes you have to get hurt in business. If it's the right decision, it really doesn't matter if it hurts or not.
You do it, because the right decision is the right decision, and the success of her business is what the real priority is. Not her feelings, and not avoiding pain. You can't avoid pain in a factory.
It comes for you whether you like it or not. Long hours, hard work. The only thing that the average person who works for her doesn't have to deal with is painful decisions, like the one that she's having to make now.
They don't have to make any decisions at all, except when to go to their boss to report a problem. That's intentional. They work their asses off down there. She's done it before, and no doubt she'll have to do it again at some point, if something goes really wrong.
It's because of how hard they work, because of how much effort it costs them, that she doesn't want them having to make hard choices.
Because God only knows, she's not breaking her back every day, and doing the right thing now is about the hardest thing she's ever had to do.
Chapter Forty-Five
The new place still fits like someone else's clothing. He wakes up every morning to find that he's in someone else's house. The stuff's all in the wrong place. It's not where he left it.
Philip Callahan's been working on routine for so long that it's strange and a little bit terrifying to have to deal with a new environment. But there's not much other choice.
There was some part of him that had, at one point, thought that the new place was going to be an adventure. A new place to
explore. New people to explore it with. New work to be done. New horses raised.
That was a mirage. A fantasy. An illusion, at best.
He woke with the sun and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. They stung badly. He should have been asleep hours earlier, but he hadn't gone to bed until late. Why would he? What would be the point anyways?
Deep breath.
The boys would be there in a minute, and he wasn't going to let them see him in a sorry state like this. They'd been good the past two weeks. The move went well. Randy was healing nicely. No more concerns about hospital expenses meant that the mood had lightened considerably.
But even still, there was a cloud over everything, and Callahan knew exactly what it was that rained on everyone's parade: it was him.
It was like he was sucking the life out of the room. He'd been like this before. Worse than this before. Truth was, this was nothing compared to after Sara died. But there was just enough of it there, just a hint that if things went too much worse, then things could go bad.
He shouldn't have felt so bad. It was just a little fling. She was, what, fifteen years his younger? And he'd already had happiness once. He shouldn't have expected it a second time. He shouldn't have let himself think of it as anything but a physical thing. A way to pass the time.
The minute that he'd allowed himself to think of it that way, he'd already lost control of everything. He'd already started down the road to this frustration.
The beat-up truck pulls into the driveway. It's paved, not like his last place, where they'd just pull up on the lawn. Nice and civilized. The property was larger, but so was the house. So was the house, and he got to live in it all by himself.
It was dark and cold at night. The way he'd expected an old house to end up feeling, really. Like there was nothing there for anyone but the ghosts and the memories of people who weren't living there any more.
"Morning," he growls.
James has the gall to look almost concerned.
"You slept alright, boss?"
"I slept fine."
Nobody believed his lie. Randy shouldn't have been in the truck. He's still hurt, and not in any shape to be fooling anyone. But he slips out the side anyways.
"Mornin' boss."
"What are you doing here?"
"Here to work, boss."
Callahan's jaw tightens. "No you ain't. Go on, sit on the porch or somethin'. Busted ribs, and 'goin to work' he says, Jesus H. Christ."
"Hey, I told him not to, but he's here anyways." Michael's got his hands up and spread wide, a symbol of his everlasting peaceful attitude. Which is almost certainly horseshit, incidentally.
"Y'all know what to do. Get to it."
"Hey boss?"
Callahan rolls his eyes at the concerned tone in James's voice. "Yeah?"
"If there's something we can do, don't be afraid to mention it."
"Fuck off, kid. Go get to work."
The eldest leans into the bed of the truck and then shifts a heavy-looking leather bag onto his shoulder, starts moving it toward the house.
"I mean it. You did right by us, I don't want you to think we're ungrateful."
Callahan grinds his teeth together but doesn't say anything. The boy's already doing what he's supposed to be doing. Now if he could do it without the pity and with his mouth shut, that would be an improvement.
The truth is, though, that deep down he likes hearing it. The idea that he could actually get past this.
"You know what you have to do the next couple of days?"
James turns. He's got one eyebrow cocked up. "Yeah, more or less. Place needs a little work to be back in decent shape, so we'll be getting the stables and the fences repaired. That the long and short of it?"
"Sure."
"I got some unfinished business to take care of," Callahan says finally. "I'll be out for a week or so. Don't slack off while I'm gone, and don't let that damn fool brother of yours anywhere near anything heavy."
"No, sir," James says. He tries to hide the smile as he turns away.
That kid was always too god damn smart for his own good. Too smart and too involved in other peoples' business.
There's no way that Callahan can leave things with Morgan. Not the way that they were.
He was up late last night, after all. Nobody to get him into bed or make him go. The damn computer kept him up later than he'd wanted. Took near two hours to figure out how to get times for plane tickets.
Now that the boys are settled in, he's going to have to leave soon. The next plane leaves in a little more than three hours, and he's going to have to be in a damn hurry if he wants to get through the security and be on it.
Chapter Forty-Six
It's still hard to say whether or not it was worth it. The pain is still there. But hard decisions always hurt. And most of the time, in the end, no matter how much worrying you did about it, it's worth it.
That doesn't make it easier in the moment, though. That doesn't mean that sitting in your office feeling self-righteous keeps you warm at night. It doesn't mean that you can take it out to dinner and have a good time.
But in the end, when you do the right thing, you know you did the right thing, at least. It just takes time for the hurt to dull a little bit and for your head to clear.
Well, it had been enough time. She should be feeling better by now. But then again, she'd made hard decisions before, but it had rarely had such a personal effect.
Maybe this was just another growth period. Maybe she'd come out of this stronger, smarter, tougher than ever. The business would thank her. She'd thank herself. In the end, of course.
Right now, she couldn't see the forest for the trees. That was all it was. If she had a clear head, then she wouldn't be questioning her decision to leave without a word every morning, going to bed kicking herself because she couldn't see a single reason that it couldn't have worked except her fears and Andrea's warning.
She was a lonely old woman, and as tough as nails, and all the money in the world didn't change that. It wasn't exactly reflective of the life that the Morgan wanted to lead, having a long line of eighteen-year-old cabana boys who were fucking the maid on the side.
But that was the life that Andrea Neill lead and it was the life she was, apparently, happy with.
Maybe she didn't know what the fuck she was talking about. Then again, maybe she did. Morgan had to keep reminding herself of that. She had to, because if she didn't, then she'd be heading back to Wyoming right then and there.
If that was the right decision in the beginning, she was an idiot for having left. And if leaving was the right decision, then she was an idiot for thinking about going back now. Either way, she'd made her bed, and she had to lie in it.
Which just circled back around to the problem, the one that she'd been dancing around for two weeks now: how to get comfortable with the fact that she already made her decision, and now she's not happy with the result.
She can't go back. She can't decide to have stayed in Wyoming sixteen days later. That's not how life works. You make decisions, you accept the consequences of your decisions. It's simple, it's straightforward, and it's painful for everyone. She's not special in that regard.
She takes a deep breath, checks her phone to see the time. There's an hour until she's supposed to make her next report. There's not a whole lot to report. Sales numbers are up, but it's nothing to celebrate. Growth was slowing, and now they're back on course.
The new factories are getting into things on par with expectations. That's been everything on the business side. Every single thing was 'on par with expectations.'
Well, that was wonderful for the business side of things, because on the personal side of things, nothing was going nearly so well.
But that wasn't going to affect her work, because she wasn't going to let it, no matter how bad she might have wanted to. That would be completely unacceptable. That would be exactly what she'd left Wyoming to try and avoid. And then what a fool she'd look like
.
She answers a knock at the door by reflexively calling out to come in, without looking up.
"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
Brad Lang's got his hands stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans, his shoulders hunched. He looks decidedly unlike the overconfident son-of-a-bitch that he'd been up north. Maybe he figured that taking a week-long vacation hadn't gone unnoticed after all.
"Take a seat," she says. Her voice is even, and to her great pleasure it doesn't sound remotely one bit like she's upset, which makes her a damn fine actor if she might say so herself.
He takes it without a word.
"You know what you did."
"Yes ma'am."
"And you know I can't just look the other way."
"No, ma'am."
"Good luck in your future endeavors, Mr. Lang. You'll get your severance in the mail, and I'd like your office cleaned out by the end of the day."
He looks like he wants to say something, a little glowing ember of something that might be anger. Then he snuffs it out.
"Yes ma'am."
"Go on," she says, nodding towards the door. He stands up and sulks out.
For a minute she's almost sad that she doesn't feel any special satisfaction at seeing him go. He'd been a good employee for her father. It was rare to see a man that young in the position he was in.
At least, that was true in Lowe Industrial. Most of the higher-ups were old hands, people who had been working for her father since they were her age and had practically built the place from the ground up with their own two hands.
The office door opens and Lang steps out, slipping sideways through the door. For a minute, Morgan's almost confused, until she sees him slipping in at the same time.
"What are you doing here?" She shouldn't sound like such a bitch, not right now. Not with him.
"I came to see you."
