When I See You (27 page)

"Something like that," he says evenly. "Come along, Mrs. Holloway; let's talk about the estate and this paperwork you've refused to look at." He undoes his walking stick and accompanies me back toward the main house. "There might be a few surprises." He looks uneasy.

I force myself to look away from him and concentrate on the uneven path of the road for both of us as we make our way inside. I fight the sudden foreboding feeling that I'm not going to like everything Brock has to tell me about this curious surprise of Ethan's.

≈ ≈

Growing apprehension beats a steady rhythm in the pit of my stomach as I study the paperwork that Brock has handed to me. We sit opposite each other in his father's study again, though I don't recall much from the night before.

"Where is the Lazy J?" I finally ask.

"It's a property about five miles from here. Ethan, Tate, and I bought the land years ago. We worked on the plans for the main house, the two guest houses. It's only been in the last eighteen months that we began construction. We bought the land before he met you." Brock frowns and begins to look even more uneasy. "He didn't tell you about the land?"

"No."

My one word response doesn't hide my distress in learning about this property now. This building anger at Ethan begins to work its way through me. Why did Ethan withhold this vital piece of information?

"What?" I ask with derision. "We were just supposed to pick up our life in L.A. and move to
Austin
?" I say Austin like I would a swear word.

Brock winces when he hears me say it. "I
told
you all of this last night." He runs his hands through his hair in notable frustration.

"I had the flu. I didn't
hear
you."

His fingertips move over the paperwork which is covered in raised dots. Braille, I presume. He's obviously intent on finding something specific. I sit in silence, seething inside, while he sifts through the documents and finally hands one of them to me.

It's a deed of some kind. My eyes scan the pages. It's a deed for the land and a business contract for a company called WHM Oil Productions.

"Oil?" I ask, getting even more confused.

"There are a couple of rigs on the site. We incorporated years ago. Tate. Ethan. Me." He looks uncertain.

"Any luck?" I ask in a low voice.

He won't look at me now.

"No. That's the problem. We aren't having very much luck in discovering oil. I just can't believe that the land is no more than sand and gravel and clay. You know? My father has had an abundance of luck. I was hoping. We were hoping to have the same thing, oil, just five miles away." He winces and tries to smile. "But, like everything else, nothing turns out according to plan."

"WHM?" I ask slowly, looking down at the document again.

"Wainwright. Holloway. Matthews," Brock whispers.

"So what's with the paperwork you've been nagging me to sign?"

"We need to sell it. To make you whole, we need to sell it."

"Sell your dream? Tate's too?" I ask, incredulous.

Brock nods. "Tate understands. He knows we need to make this right."

"What exactly is wrong?"

"It's hard to explain. You really need to see it first."

"Okay. Show it to me."

We look at each other. Me, all seeing but not understanding. Brock, unseeing, but understanding everything. A part of me doesn't want to know what he's really trying to say. Somehow, I know I won't like it. I start to shake and try to focus on getting enough air to breathe.

"What's really going on?" I ask.

"I'll tell you after you see the place."

"Momma," Max calls out as he races toward me down the hallway. His borrowed cowboy boots are a size too big, and he's scattering clops of mud wherever he steps.

"Max, you're traipsing mud through Miss Janie's hallway," I say, suddenly weary. "Stop where you are. Go back outside and take off those boots and leave them on the back porch."

"Okay," he says with an impish smirk, which turns to worry as he sees me wipe at my face. "Momma, are you okay? You look sad. Are you sad?"

"I'm not sad," I say with an airy wave and force myself to smile. I push at the tendrils of my hair that have fallen and try to compose myself.

"Brock and I are just talking about some plans Daddy made. Run along back outside and take off those boots."

"Okay," Max says. "I'll take them off, and then, I''m going to tell you about the cattle and the horses!"

His boots make a faint echo along the wood floor in a regular thumping pattern as he leaves. I follow my son's retreat for a moment and then go in search of a broom and dustpan to clean up his dirt trail now littering the hallway. I leave Brock standing there, looking unsure of what to do or say next. I take solace in his confusion, knowing that because he can't see me he doesn't know what I'm thinking about the whole situation or how to respond. I decide to let him stew in my silence while I go to clean up the mess.

A few minutes later, he's right behind me. "We'll talk later," Brock says softly. "You need to see the Lazy J."

"Let's go as soon as I get Max settled. I want to see it."

"I want you to see it, too," Brock says quietly.

He looks more and more uneasy. His face is etched with sadness, and I can only wonder why.

"What's wrong?" I ask putting my hand on his forearm.

"You'll know soon enough. Come on; let's get some lunch, and then, we'll take a drive out to the Lazy J."

His hand touches the small of my back as I straighten up from sweeping the last of the mud from the parquet floor. I set aside the broom and dustpan and fold my arms across my chest and step back from him.

"I'm sorry he didn't tell you. About the land. Everything," he says.

"Yeah. Me, too." I nod and start to turn away and then turn back to him. "I was just beginning to think I was moving on with my life; now, it feels like I''m just starting all over again." My tone sounds bleak. He must hear it because he reaches out and trails his fingertip along my jaw line. His tender touch brings unwanted tears, and I blink rapidly to hold them back.

"I know that feeling," he says gently. "It's going to all work out. We'll figure it out. I promise."

Unseeing, he doesn't discern my doubtful expression as he pulls me in close for a hug. His arms are long. He folds me into them as if I am no more than a child. He's taller than Ethan; wider, bigger. My body longs for his comforting embrace while my mind rejects this kind of closeness from an almost stranger—someone I've practically hated these past months, someone who is not Ethan. I step back away from him and hear him catch his breath.

I'm too vulnerable. I shouldn't be doing this. I steel myself from giving in and going into his arms again and fight the sudden urgent need to be held and told everything is going to be all right, even if it is exactly what I want him to do.

Max saves me. He's skipping through the hallway in only his socks, looking triumphant.

"See, Momma?" He grins. "I took my boots off like you said. I
love
it here."

I kneel down and gather him into my arms for a hug. "I know you do, baby, but we're going home in a few days."

"I don't want to."

"I know. But, we are." I hold him close and sniff his hair. A mixture of sweat and dirt and baby shampoo greets me. "You need a bath, bud. Now. Before Mommy leaves with Brock to go take a look at some land."

"Land?" Max wrinkles his nose in disgust. "That sounds boring. I want to stay here and ride Lucy. Henry promised to take me fishing, too, at the pond."

"I don't think you can get that all done in one day." I stand up and hold him close in my arms. "You're getting too big. Almost four, Max."

"I want to spend my birthday
here
. Can I, Brock?"

I glance over at the silent man beside me. He half-smiles and inclines his head.

"It's up to your mom. We'll see."

"We'll see means
no
," Max says unhappily.

"It means we'll see," I say. "Mommy needs to get back to work. I can't play all the time, like you."

"I don't want you to work. I
never
see you."

Brock gets a curious look when Max says this.

"That's not true. I see you all the time." I sweep my hand through his hair. "Right now, it's bath time."

"It's lunch time," Max whines. "I''m starving."

"I'll get your lunch while your mom gets your bath," Brock says.

I watch Brock's retreat as he makes his way down the hallway. He touches the wall markers along the wall so he knows where he's at.

Max pulls at my arm, vying for my attention. I glance down and smile.

"Momma, can we stay? Can we stay forever?" Max asks.

"We'll see," I say with a laugh. I glance back at Brock, just before he disappears through the kitchen doorway. "We'll see."

*≈*≈*

Chapter 16. Chasing cars

Jordan

"Can you drive a stick?" Brock asks me an hour later.

"Sure. It's been a while, but my dad taught me when I turned sixteen. He said driving a stick could come in handy."

Curious, I follow Brock out to the huge garage. He punches in a code and the wide doors open, revealing a sporty metallic grey 911 Porsche.

"My dad drove one of these. We still have it. Ethan always wanted to drive it, but we rarely took it out." My throat constricts in remembering one of our fights about my father's car. "I'd always been so protective of my parents' things, trying to preserve the mementos of my childhood, my time with them. Ethan didn't always understand that about me," I say quietly. "Is this
yours
?"

"Yes," Brock drawls. "It needs to be driven. It's been sitting too long. My father hasn't been able to get to it. Tate's been busy, too."

Brock tosses me the keys. I catch them one-handed. It's unlocked and we slide in from either side. I adjust the seat and he turns to me with this expectant look.
He trusts me with his car.
I'm surprised and honored at the same time.

"We could wait for your mom. Or, take the truck." I glance at the other vehicles in the humongous garage. It must be able to hold ten cars.

"Nah. This is mine. Let's take it. I want to ride in it, at least."

"You know, when you get that wistful look, I almost feel sorry for you." I smile wide. He laughs and turns his head toward me.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Mrs. Holloway. I might take advantage of your sympathy." He raises a quizzical eyebrow and gives me a leering glance before donning his sunglasses.

"And, here I'd thought you'd changed," I say with a nervous laugh.

"Nobody changes that much." His hand reaches for mine and he guides it to the stick shift. "Put in the clutch. Down and out for first. Let's see what you've got, woman," he says softly.

I do as he says and start up the car. The power of the engine roars right away. This surge of excitement travels through me.
I'm driving a Porsche 911.
It's been years.

I let out the clutch and we sail out of the garage and into the blinding light. I circle the fountain and head out the drive. Brock rattles off directions for the main road and I try to keep up with all the gears as we race along.

"You got it," he says as we edge out onto the highway. "Slip it into the 6th gear. No grinding. Pretty good, Holloway."

"Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to drive. I'd forgotten that. My dad and I used to drive up the 101, sometimes, all the way to Mendocino to see my grandfather. We''d call my mom and tell her we were going to be late for dinner." I laugh at the memory and look over at Brock in time to see him smile. "I'd forgotten about those road trips with my dad. I've buried those memories for so long; I never allow myself to think of them."

My heart feels a little lighter just sharing them with Brock. I glance over at him again. He looks peaceful, completely relaxed, for once, and rests his head back against the seat.

I refocus on the open road and accelerate the car. It zips along the road at a fast clip.

"Slow down to thirty-five for a moment," he says a little while later.

When I do, he presses a button on the center console and the roof folds back and disappears into a compartment in the back.

"Nice!" I speed up again.

"Let me know when we reach milepost 29," he says.

"Got it."

The open road and the continual wind feed the building exhilaration inside. I can't help, but smile. It's freeing. It's the best I've felt in months.

Maybe, Louis was right. I need to
feel
it, feel
something
anyway. I think of Ethan and, for the first time in a long while, I'm not sad when I do. I''m happy. Maybe, it's the car. Maybe, it's my passenger. The whole thing is liberating at a soul level. "When are Tate and Ashleigh coming again?"