“That’s an abrupt change of subject,” he said. “Are you sure you want to sell it?”
She took a long sip of her alcoholic beverage. “I want to spend whatever time my dad has left with him. Besides, I can’t keep up with what it takes to manage the land, deal with this place, my job, and my father. It’s just too much for me. I bit off more than I can chew when I bought that place anyway.”
“Was it a good offer?”
That was an understatement. Almost too good to be true, but it was a seller’s market. “Better than good and with an escalation clause, with no contingency, but it’s being bought by an LLC and that makes me nervous.”
“Why?”
She studied Boone as he dunked one of his fries into a blob of ketchup and plopped it into his mouth. He looked like a sophisticated hippie, if there was such a thing. At first glance, with his long hair, ripped jeans, and rock band T-shirt, he looked like he belonged on stage belting out a country song. But there was something more refined about him.
Educated.
Like the Whiskey brothers.
They might be cowboys. But they were highly intellectual individuals who had more class in the palm of their hands than most people.
Paget got the impression that there was more to Boone than he let on, and she so wanted to peel back that onion, but she didn’t have time right now to get involved with anyone.
Especially a mysterious bartender.
“I don’t trust people who hide behind things.”
“But does it really matter who buys it?”
“Actually, it does,” she said, setting her Styrofoam plate on the table. “I wouldn’t want anyone who had plans on changing the landscape of my community or who wants to buy up property and turn it into condos. That isn’t what Buhl is all about.”
“Well, I’m sure you can ask the agent what your buyer’s intentions are and hopefully get an answer, but at the end of the day, if you want to sell, and it’s a good offer, I’d suggest you take it.”
He was right and she had every intention of selling. She swallowed the lump in her throat. If whoever bought her cabin didn’t have good intentions for the property, she’d feel like a shit, but she couldn’t concern herself with that right now.
She needed to be selfish and take care of her father.
And herself.
“I plan on it.”
“So, did the doctors say when they will be transferring your father?”
“The plan is to move him on Wednesday,” she said. “If that happens, I’ll take the rest of the week off, help him get settled, and hopefully make sure he doesn’t kill any of the staff.”
“Henry can certainly be ornery when he wants to be.” Boone let out a slight chuckle. “I’d like to go see him tomorrow. Actually, I can go every day for a few hours this week, and before you start in on how I don’t have to do that and you don’t want me to feel obligated, you need to understand I want to. Is it so hard to believe that I really enjoy spending time with your dad?”
“No. It’s not and I really appreciate it. I do.” She stuffed the garbage into the plastic bag and leaned back in her chair, sipping the best damn whiskey sour she’d ever had. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head toward the setting sun. Growing up she had big dreams about working on Whiskey Ranch. She used to fantasize about marrying JB. That thought nearly made her laugh out loud. While he was hot and sweet, by the time she’d turned eighteen, she realized he wasn’t the man for her.
From there, she focused her attention on her career. She never wanted to compete in the rodeo circuit, but she wanted to master all aspects so she could teach those who came to Whiskey Ranch.
But her real passion was training horses and working under Annette and JD had been a dream come true. She’d learned more in the last year since Annette had taken over than she had in her entire life. Being promoted to Annette’s assistant not only had been a shock, it had been all that Paget had been working for, and she didn’t want to do anything that would destroy the opportunity.
She would have to suck it up and let Boone help.
“Wow. I’m shocked you’re not arguing with me about this.”
She blinked and turned her gaze. “I don’t have any fight left in me and while, according to my father, I’m as stubborn as a mule and more prideful than him, I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t do this all by myself.” She held her hand up. “This is me waving the white flag.”
“Letting someone in doesn’t have to be seen as a sign of weakness.”
“I know.” It wasn’t that she didn’t believe she was a strong, independent woman, but she did feel a fair amount of shame for not knowing how bad things had gotten before her mother died, especially considering her mother’s fierce need to be in control. Her mom had been a poster child for feminism. Molly Sour didn’t need a man to do a single thing for her, and at the end of the day, her mom was in charge of her own destiny.
But she’d got taken for a ride and been too damn ashamed to tell anyone what had happened. Worse, had Paget been in tune with her parents, things wouldn’t have gone to shit, and that was on Paget’s shoulders, not her dead mother or her sick father. “But do you like relying on others?” Her mother always told her a strong woman didn’t need anyone.
But she would allow people in when it served a bigger purpose.
So, why hadn’t her mother let anyone in right before she died? Why had her mother broken her own golden rule? Those were questions that Paget might never find the answers to.
“Not particularly, but when my mom was at her worst, I had to let some neighbors and friends do things for me and her in order to make life a little easier all around.” Boone stood, snagging the garbage with one hand and holding out his other. “Grab your drink and come with me.”
“Why? And to where?”
“My place. I want to show you something.”
She curled her fingers around the frosty glass and followed him down the sidewalk and to his rented house. She’d always admired the cute Cape Cod next to her folks’ home. For years, it was owned by a cute older couple, until they moved into an assisted living facility, and now their children rented out the place.
Boone had been the first tenant, and he took care of everything, according to Leah and Ray Noonan, daughter and son-in-law of the current owners.
Everyone in town had nothing but great things to say about Boone, yet no one really knew anything about him or his past.
“As long as you’re going to make me a second one of these, then I’ll follow you to the moon and back.”
Boone tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Oh, I’ve got enough of that mix to get you good and drunk.”
“I could kiss you right now.”
He paused on his front porch and turned. Reaching out, he brushed her long hair over her shoulder. “I won’t pass up a good lip-lock with you.” He leaned in, keeping his intense, smoldering gaze fixated on her eyes as he licked his lips. Before she could protest, he’d wrapped his arms around her waist and heaved her to his chest, crashing his mouth over hers, commanding she participate.
Or daring to push him away.
Her drink sloshed between their shirts, dampening her skin, but she didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to be bothered as he deepened the kiss. His hands roaming up and down her back, slipping under her shirt, his warm fingers tingled her skin, sparking a flame in all the places she’d been neglecting.