Her expression got serious, like she was frustrated, but also ready to fight. I recognized the professional, calculating business woman in her and I respected it. “Listen, I’m trying to help you and my uncle, Cody. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I will not personally benefit from this sale beyond the commission I make from your end of the deal. Another realtor, from a different firm, is handling the selling end of the deal.”
“If that’s true, why did you call your uncle directly, instead of calling his realtor?”
“Because he wants me to handle everything,” she said. “He’s eccentric and it’s best if I talk to him, but I won’t see a penny of the money or the paperwork for his end of the deal.”
I had no reason to believe her and every good reason to run screaming from this shady deal. Except that I really, really wanted this land, and I believed her. She and I might not agree on much, but I trusted her. “Okay,” I said. “I’m willing to try it your way, but if I get a hint of anything underhand going on, I’m out.”
“And you should be. But you have to understand that I’m taking a risk here, too. If this goes bad I could get in real trouble, maybe even lose my license.”
A huge, rusty red truck pulled up next to Mary Ellen’s car and a man, in overalls and a shirt as red as his truck, with a white beard to rival the members of ZZ Top, and weighing nearly as much as his truck, stepped out and narrowed his eyes at me through the windshield.
Mary Ellen walked over and hugged the older man. He placed a kiss to the top of her head, but he didn’t take his eyes off me for a moment.
I walked over and held out my hand. “Sir, I’m Cody Reynolds. It’s nice to meet you.”
He took my hand and shook it, squeezing harder than necessary. “Bartholomew Gregory. Why don’t you come on inside and we’ll have us a little chat.”
He lumbered toward the house and I followed. I looked back to see Mary Ellen pulling bags out of the truck with the logo of a local diner on them.
Bartholomew led me through a small, dirty living room to an enormous kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been touched since the 1960s. Mary Ellen was right that it needed to be updated, but the size of it was perfect for hosting events. Bartholomew took a seat in a chair and a half that had been pulled up to a table that was covered in piles of what appeared to be junk mail and old newspapers. Bartholomew gestured for me to have a seat and Mary Ellen went to work clearing the mail and the papers off the table so we could eat.
“Well, boy,” Bart said. “My Mary Ellen tells me you want to buy my land and make a winery out of it. Is that right?” he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, like he might be some sort of human lie detector.
Mary Ellen set out buckets of barbecue, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. “Yes, sir,” I said. “It’ll be small to start off. I’ve already got a few wines that another winery makes for me. I can sell them here until I’ve got my own vineyard and winery, and I’m hoping to add events and make the place a real destination once we’re up and running.”
Mary Ellen set three plates on the table and poured three glasses of iced tea, Bart loaded up his plate and took a bite of food before he spoke. “So, you’re telling me you have no plans to lie to me, buy this land under false pretenses, and then sell it to a natural gas company that will destroy this land and this town?”
My heart sank and my stomach dropped. “You’ve heard of me.”
He smirked. “I’m not so old or so backward that I don’t know how to use the internet, young man.”
This was beginning to feel more and more like a set-up, since clearly Mary Ellen had mentioned me to him before she’d brought me out here to see the property. I didn’t know anything about this guy, except that he was eccentric, but I knew his type. One thing my father taught me was how to read people, how to identify what they wanted most, because that was how you made the sale or the deal. I knew I wasn’t going to charm my way out of this or flash some money and impress him, even if I did have money to flash. Only the bald truth was going to convince him of my good intentions. Unfortunately, the bald truth may just be what caused this deal to fall through. “As you know from your internet search, my family is in the hospitality business. We own several hotels and destination properties.”
Bart gestured for me to get on with it.
“My father was of a mind that he was ready to slow down and spend more time with my mother, and he’d found his dream property. Fifty acres of prime real estate in South Carolina where they could open a horse farm that would keep them just busy enough not to die of boredom and would allow them some time together to relax and travel.”
Bart settled into his chair. “Your daddy sounds like a good man.”
“He was. In order to get my mother this property and build her the place she wanted, he needed some cash. My brother and sister were more than ready to take over the family business and he didn’t want to take any money out of the business or out of his retirement stash to fund this new venture.”
“Didn’t your Daddy have any cash set aside?”
I stifled the anger that rose at the implied insult to my dad. “My father worked hard all his life, Mr. Gregory. But he didn’t start making real money until I was fifteen and my brother joined him in the business. My father had a business to grow and six kids to put through college and he didn’t put aside much cash other than what he put into his retirement fund. He bought the retirement property assuming he’d have no problem selling another property and cash-flowing the whole deal.” I rubbed my temples. I really hated telling this story. “He sent me and my brother to negotiate the sale of a hotel in the southern part of South Carolina to an old friend of his. I’d gone to school to be an enologist and my dream was to add a winery to our family business, but my father wasn’t interested in that sort of undertaking, so I was biding my time and working for the family business in whatever capacity he saw fit.”
“Can’t imagine you’re making excuses for yourself, son,” Bart said.
“No. I’m not making excuses for myself. I’m just explaining where my head was at. I didn’t take the job as seriously as I should have and when the daughter of our buyer made eyes at me, I bought her a drink and I made a bad choice.” Bad choice was a nice way to put it. “That bad choice destroyed the deal. Payments were coming due on the new property that my father couldn’t afford and he had to let it go. He sold it to the first person to offer.”
“A fracking company.”
“Yes sir,” I said. “My father died two days after the deal fell through and my mother never got her horse farm or the years she should have had with my father.”
Bart was silent for a long moment and my heart raced as I awaited his verdict. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said. “But how do I know you won’t do the same thing to my property? How do I know you’re even qualified to run a winery?”
“Before my father died, he fired me from the family business. I’ve worked at three different wineries over the past six years and I’ve learned everything I can about every aspect of running one. I’ve already got three wines with my company name on them and I’ve been selling them in town here. I can’t promise my winery will succeed, but I can promise that if it doesn’t I won’t sell it to a fracking or mining company.”
“That’s a bunch of pretty words,” Bart said. “You seem like a good kid, but I would feel a whole lot better about this deal if I knew you had some connection to Catalpa Creek, some tie here that meant you were truly invested in the town.”
“I’m not sure I—”
“For instance,” he said. “Are you dating anyone?”
“I hardly see how who I date—”
“Because if you were dating someone here or had family here or were planning to marry a local, I’d be a great deal more inclined to sell to you. I’d feel you were truly invested in this town.”
“I’m not sure I—” I now had no doubt this was a set-up. I looked over at Mary Ellen, wondering if she was the bait, but her
wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and frown suggested she’d not been privy to this part of the plan.
“I heard you’ve been real friendly with Carrie Harrison,” Bart said. “I’d be a lot more inclined to sell you this property if you were serious about someone like her, someone who’s got roots in this town.”
I just stared at him, finding it hard to believe what I was hearing. “Are you suggesting—”
Bart waved a hand in my direction, flinging fried chicken crumbs across the table. “You just think on it.” He shoved back from the table. “I’m going to watch me some T.V. You two wouldn’t mind cleaning up, would you?”
“Sure, Uncle Bart,” Mary Ellen said.
I stared at her, my chicken untouched and congealing in its own grease. “Is he actually serious?”
She nodded slowly. “He’s not one to joke about something like this.”
I studied her for another long moment. “Any chance you’d like to date me?” He might want me to date Carrie, but she’d made it clear that she hated me.
She grinned. “I’m not one of those women, Cody, who says one thing and means another. I’d be glad to warm your bed for a few nights, but I don’t do relationships, and I’m not going to lie to my uncle for you.”
I wasn’t surprised. “I had to try,” I said. “You think he’s serious about me dating someone?”
“Yep,” she said. “He’s serious as a zombie apocalypse.”
Her words fitted my situation perfectly.
***
I was on the phone to my oldest brother before my front door had fully closed behind me. It was almost three, but Carrie usually worked at the school after the kids left and didn’t get home until five, so I didn’t go to my breakfast nook to watch for her to pull into the driveway. It had become a bad habit of mine to keep track of her comings and goings. I fully understood that I was as nosy as my elderly neighbors, but it quieted something in me to see her arrive home, to get a look at her face and know she was doing okay. Noah picked up on the third ring. “Code Red,” he said. “How is my favorite black sheep?”
I snorted. “You remember how pissed you were at me for banging Goldman’s daughter?” That was the part of the story I’d left out when I’d told my story to Bart. I’d ruined my father’s deal by sleeping with the daughter of the man buying our property. I’d thought she’d understood it was just a fun, one-night deal, but I’d been mistaken. She’d gotten pissed when I refused to date her and she’d told her father every detail of our one-night stand. I was lucky the man had just canceled the deal and not killed me.
Noah groaned. “Please tell me you haven’t banged another crazy woman who thinks a night of decent sex is going to be the deciding factor that makes you want to settle down with her.”
“Uh, no. But it sounds like you might have shit to work through. Want to talk about it?”
“One word,” he said. “Deirdre.”
“Oh, holy hell. I thought she’d moved to L.A.” Noah had dated Deirdre in for six months two years ago. It had taken him far longer than it should have to realize she was a few liters short of a gallon, and she got a wee bit stalkerish when he dumped her. Truly stalkerish, not like me watching Carrie’s comings and goings.
“She did,” he said. “But she’s back. She says she’s missed me and she’s willing to give me another chance.”
“She is truly insane.”
“No kidding. But it’s okay. Aubrey moved in with me to protect me.”
Aubrey was my brother’s personal assistant and best friend. She was also drop-dead gorgeous, but Noah didn’t seem to see it. “How is Aubrey going to protect you from crazy?” Aubrey was smart, organized, and capable of keeping Noah in line, but she was only five feet tall and about ninety pounds soaking weight. The idea of her protecting my six-two, two-hundred-pound brother was hilarious.
Noah groaned. “It’s a long story. Things may be just a touch out of control here. Get back to why you’re bringing up Rachel Goldman.”
“I found a property, the perfect property, Noah, but the guy who owns it won’t sell it to me. He’s worried I’ll sell it to a mining company the way Dad sold the Westridge estate to that fracking company.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“I always knew that shit would come back to bite us, I’m just happily surprised it bit the one who most deserved it.”
“Thanks for that, asshat. What should I do? Is it legal for him not to sell me the property over this?”
“It’s his property,” he said. “He can do what the fuck he wants. Has he given you any options?”
“None that are reasonable. I was hoping you’d have another angle I could work.”
“Nope.”
My doorbell rang. “Someone’s at the door. I’ll call you later.”
“No problem.” Noah hung up and I went to the door.
Carrie stood on my porch, and something like relief swept through me to see the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about. Except her eyes were red-rimmed and she was sniffling like she’d been crying.
“Carrie,” I said, her name leaving me on a sigh. I cleared my throat. “Come on in. Is everything okay?”
She walked past me into my house and dropped onto my sofa. “Apparently the whole town knows I got drunk at Philistine’s and stayed the night with you.”
I sat next to her. I didn’t really see the problem, since I didn’t give a shit what people said about me, but I could see that it bothered Carrie. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself at the club.” I reached out and rubbed her shoulder, unable to not touch her. “You were having a good time. No one can fault you for that.”
She leapt to her feet and started pacing in front of me. I could see that she was visibly upset, but I could also see that her dress hugged her curves and showed off more leg than her usual outfits and I was having a hard time focusing on the words coming out of her mouth. Something about her principal having it out for her and her career being over. She turned to face me, her whole body shaking. “What should I do?”
I had no idea why she’d come to me for advice, but I wasn’t about to turn her away. “Let’s look at this rationally,” I said. “Why does your principal care what you do in your free time?”
She threw up her hands and let out this sexy little growl of frustration that nearly brought me to my knees. “Have you been listening to anything I said?”
“I’ve been trying,” I said. “But your legs in those heels and the way your breasts bounce when you pace…It’s all a bit distracting.” Sue me, I’ve never seen the point in lying or sugar coating anything.
She stood a bit straighter and her cheeks pinked, then she shook her head and stormed for the door. “Why am I even here?” she muttered.
I leapt to my feet and blocked her path because, now that she was finally here, I wasn’t about to let her leave. I definitely wasn’t going to let her go home and be sad by herself. “Please.” I took both her hands in mine. “Stay. I’ll cook us dinner and you can tell me everything. I promise to be a better listener.”
She wasn’t buying it. I could see her measuring the distance to the door and I knew she’d run if I gave her a chance. “Remember our bet? You owe it to me to let me feed you dinner tonight.”
Her shoulders slumped and she sniffled, all the fight going out of her. The sight of that made me so sad I wanted to piss her off just to see her perk up again. “What are you making?”
“Your favorite,” I said.
She sniffed again, her eyes filling with tears for no reason I could figure out. “You know my favorite?”
“No. But you’re going to tell me and I’m going to make it for you.”
“Fettucine Alfredo with seafood.”
“Italian,” I said, with a grin. “My kind of woman. I don’t have any seafood, but I could make it with chicken.”
“Okay.”
I resisted the urge to do a victory dance - a manly one like the football players do when they score a touchdow
n — and led her into the kitchen and a seat at the bar. “You like wine?”
“Sure,” she said. “White if you have it.”
“I do. A nice Chardonnay will go really well with the pasta.”
Her eyes widened and she looked at me like I’d just grown a second head.
“You really do think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
“No,” she started, but stopped herself. “Well, kind of. Yes. Where’d you learn about wines?”
“In college. I’m a certified enologist.”
She grimaced like I’d mentioned something gross. “A what?”
“It just means I know how to make wine.”
I pulled a bottle from my wine fridge, poured a glass, and set it in front of her. It was one of my wines, but I didn’t see the need to brag. Plus, I wanted her honest opinion. She took a long sip and sighed, her eyes closing. “This is really good.” I turned and got what I’d need to make dinner from the pantry and the fridge.
“So, are you looking for work around here?” she asked. “The nearest winery is over an hour away.”
I put a pot of water onto boil and a cast iron skillet to heat and placed the raw chicken on a cutting board. I sliced as I spoke. “I know. Which is why I want to start my own winery here.”
“Where here?” she asked.
“You know a guy named Bartholomew Gregory?”
“His son, George Gregory, was in my class at school. Are you buying his property? It’s beautiful. It would be a great site for a winery.”
“It sure would.” I didn’t want to get into my problems until I’d helped her get a handle on hers.
I focused on making dinner, which didn’t take long, and she sat and drank her wine, seemingly lost in thought. She helped me set the table and then we sat down to eat. Normally, I would have made a salad to go with the dinner, but I thought she needed comfort food. “Okay,” I said, as soon as she’d gotten a few bites into her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“The principal, my boss, is only a year older than me. She and I went to school together and I may have gone out with her boyfriend my junior year before they were officially broken up.”
The Deadbeat Next Door Page 10
