“Let me close out.”
“You got it,” Hank says, but he doesn’t move from his position. I lay a twenty on the bar top and spin on the stool when my knees nearly collide with long legs in a short pink kimono. My gaze drags up the bare skin, over the silky hem, and collides with familiar eyes.
“Hannah?”
“Hey. Mr. Flemming, right? Is there some place we can talk?” Her hand comes to my shoulders as she leans toward my right ear. Instantly, I glance at Hank who straightens even taller behind the bar. A dark expression covers his otherwise friendly face.
“I’m not interested,” I say to Hank, while addressing Hannah. This has all kinds of trouble written on it, and I don’t need what this girl is offering. Raising my right hand to remove hers from my shoulder, I’m a little surprised she’s touched me as Hank has a strict no-touching on the premises policy.
“Not for that,” she scoffs, pulling back repulsed. Her eyes leap to my prosthetic. I should be offended, but I’m not. It’s a force of nature to stare. My skin is pretty thick. “It’s about my mother.”
My head swings back to Hannah, and Hank lowers his elbows to the bar.
“Eavesdropping much?” Hannah asks him in a snappy tone, which surprises me as he is her boss.
“Damn stubborn,” Hank mutters, pressing off the wooden counter and stepping a few paces away. With his back to us, pretending he’s busy with his computer cash register, I return my attention to Hannah.
“I’m listening.” I’m more than listening. I’m twitching with anticipation.
“Can we meet somewhere? Too many ears here.” Hannah inclines her head toward Hank. “How about Daisy’s Nut House?”
A half hour later, I’m sitting across from Hannah in the Valley’s famous donut shop. It’s more of a diner, but its claim to fame is these delicious donuts which I’ve eaten one too many of in the past week. Daisy Payton, the owner, hasn’t recognized me. Too many years have passed since I’ve last been in Green Valley, and I’ve changed quite a bit—most noticeably, my arm. Still, she’s friendly with a smile and a polite word.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Looking like Michelle Obama, and dressed nearly as professional, she’s not working the tables as a waitress but present as the business owner.
She recognizes Hannah and asks about her mother.
“Momma’s the same as always. Taking it day by day.”
Daisy nods in sympathy. While I wait for Hannah’s attention, I take a bite of the pumpkin spiced delight before me.
“You tell your momma I’m thinking of her,” Daisy says, closing out their conversation.
“Always,” Hannah says, smiling sweetly at the diner owner. As Daisy walks away, I notice a group of men in leather vests and bandana skullcaps off in the corner. The Iron Wraiths, perhaps. Is this who Hank was referencing? Too often, veterans like me are sucked into groups like them, looking for solidarity and brotherhood, filled with disappointment after returning Stateside. I have nothing against finding your people, but the looks of some of these men concern me.
“Momma mentioned you tried to proposition her,” Hannah starts, drawing my attention back to her.
“I did not—”
“She didn’t tell me all the particulars, so I’d like to hear what you have to offer.”
My head tilts in question. The cautious look in Hannah’s eyes is similar to her mother’s, and she glances down at the table to avoid meeting my gaze.
“Does your momma know you’re talking to me?”
“I’m my own person, Mr. Flemming. I’d like to know what your interest is in our land.”
“I’m told it’s not for sale.”
“Momma mentioned you didn’t want to buy it.” Her brows lift, surprised and concerned.
“Interesting. What else did she tell you?”
“You had a proposal. Our land for the use of raising horses. You’d build a room in the barn and do repairs around our place.” Hannah pauses before adding, “And Momma tells me everything. We don’t keep secrets.” There’s more to what she’s saying, but I don’t question it.
“I’m interested in negotiating a percentage of the profits, once I have the horses and begin breeding. I have a silent partner who is fronting some of the money I’ll need for supplies. Lumber. Feed. Equipment.” My investor friend wishes to remain anonymous for his own reasons, but we mapped out a detailed business plan. He wants me to breed horses. Rodeo horses, specifically. It’s going to cost a pretty penny, but in one year, the return on investment could be huge. It’s not that I need the finances—I’m set through military disability and award winnings over the years—but I want this new adventure. A nomad by nature, I’ve been itching for stability in the past year. I need a purpose.
“I can offer you ten percent for the use of your land.”
“Ten percent?” Hannah’s voice squeaks again. “No deal.” She shifts on the booth seat and reaches for her purse, telling me with her body language that she’s finished with this conversation.
“Look, I just want to raise horses,” I say, my voice coming out desperate, which is how I feel. I’m this close to getting what I’ve always wanted, so if I let this girl slip out of the booth, it could be the end for me.
“Why?”
How do I explain to her how I grew up around these creatures and always felt an affinity for them? How do I explain that a special ops program with horses kept me in the military when I didn’t think there was any reason to come home? How do I tell her all the ways horses have saved my life after my injury?
“I’d be good at this,” I begin, taking a deep breath. “Ever want to do something just because you know you’d be good at it?”
Hannah lowers her head, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Is she good at stripping? Is that why she does it? Does she get some kind of personal fulfillment out of it? Or is there something else she knows she could do, be better at, but just hasn’t gotten the chance?
“Who’s the investor?” Distrustful eyes eventually meet mine.
“I’m not at liberty to say.” The deal moved rather quickly from the first proposition. Most of my partner’s business is a mystery, and it baffles me, but it’s his life.
“Hank?” Hannah questions. Is he the local investor? This is the second time his name has been thrown out as a financier type. When I don’t immediately reply, she states again, “No deal.” Her purse makes it to her shoulder, and her legs swing out of the booth.
“Listen.” I reach for her wrist to stop her. Her eyes narrow in on the possessive touch, and I remove my fingers. “I’ll swear on the graves of honorable men that this deal is solid and doesn’t involve Hank.” What’s her hang-up with him anyway? “I wouldn’t be risking myself for something I didn’t believe in, and I’m very committed to this venture. I know you don’t know me, so I’m asking for blind faith here. I can even offer a contract. Look, your land needs me as much as I need it.” I pause and glance toward the darkened window along our booth. “Have you ever been down on your luck?”