Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) (5 page)

Five

Angela stepped into the attorney’s office. A bell jingled and
the door closed behind her. An older woman peeked over
dozens of potted plants covering the reception area.

Why, it is you, isn’t it?”
“Mrs. Bradley.” Angela looked up at the woman. At a
slender six feet, she towered over Angela’s five feet, four
inches.
“My dear, you don’t look at all like I remember you. You’re
quite stunning, actually. Oh my,” Mrs. Bradley clucked her
tongue when Angela blinked beneath this scrutiny. “I didn’t
mean any offense. Still a bit shy, I see. That’s all right, dear.”
Angela felt the heat rise from her neck to her hairline. She
gestured to a closed door. “Is Mr. Bradley waiting for me?”
“He’s finishing a call upstairs, but he’ll be down in a
moment.” The older woman opened the door. “Cole just got
here a few minutes ago.”
“Cole?”
Mrs. Bradley merely smiled, ushered Angela inside the
room, and then shut the door at her back.
Cole grinned up at Angela from his seat behind the lawyer’s
desk, his feet propped beside Mr. Bradley’s keyboard. His good
hand was tucked behind his neck.
“What are you doing here?” Angela plopped her briefcase
onto the desk.
“Don’t make me argue with you darlin’. I guarantee you’ll
lose and I don’t like taking victory over a lady.”
She stood firm. “This is
my
business, Cole. And it’s
personal
business. I will discuss the details with you later. There’s no
reason for you to be here. I’m asking that you leave now.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Mr. Bradley asked me to be here, too. Since I was your
daddy’s partner, and apparently now your partner, it seems
fitting he wanted us both here, doesn’t it? This affects us both.
I didn’t know we’d be meeting with him together until I
showed up a few minutes ago. I’m just as surprised as you are.
I thought I was just going to sign some papers.”
He countered her frown with a deliberate smile.
“I’m so sorry for the delay,” Mr. Bradley said as he rushed
into the office, his head bent as he sifted through a stack of
files tucked into the crook of his arm. He was a short, thin man
with a pointy nose and glasses that seemed intent on escaping
his face.
He lifted his gaze and pushed the glasses up the bridge of
his nose. They immediately slid back down. He sighed. “Feet
off my desk and butt out of my chair, please.”
When Cole didn’t immediately oblige, Mr. Bradley nudged
Cole’s feet.
Angela lifted an eyebrow and shot Cole a smug smile. She
sat in a chair facing the desk. Cole stood and rounded the desk.
“You still shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
Cole settled into the chair beside her.
Mrs. Bradley walked in with three mugs of coffee. She set
one in front of each of them, and then busied herself with
sugar and cream.
“Just black,” Cole said.
“Same for me,” Angela echoed. She was a latté addict, but
today she needed her caffeine undiluted.
“One and two for me,” Mr. Bradley said, offering his wife
one of his rare smiles.
Angela saw a blush creep into the woman’s skin, and then
she tidied her tray and hurried out of the office. Mr. Bradley
sat tall in his seat and opened a file.
“It’s good to see you, Angela. I wish it were under better
circumstances. How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” She lifted her mug to her lips.
“Good, good. Now Cole, you already know the status of
the arena’s financials. Angela, Cole or I will share the specifics
with you later, but the sum of it is that the weekly circuit events
haven’t brought in even close to the amount of money they
used to. And the annual pro event didn’t even break even last
year. Which, I’m afraid, brings us to this…” Mr. Bradley
paused to take a deep breath. “We have a buyer who’s willing
to give you double market value for the land. Cash.”
Cole swore under his breath.
Angela sipped her coffee. “I don’t understand,” she said,
looking at Cole. “Isn’t that good news?”
“The land, Angie.” Cole shook his head. “Not the arena.
They want the land. It’s the only thing with any value. Who’s
the buyer?” Cole asked the lawyer.
Mr. Bradley fingered the papers in front of him. “You
know I’ve always been straight with you, Cole. I knew your
mama and daddy. Joan and I used to watch after you when you
were a baby. And you know I would never advise you to do
something you were fundamentally against. But this arena’s
being run dry. You’re no businessman. And neither was Henry.
This is a good offer. Now, I know you well enough to know it
won’t be easy for you to do this. But you both need to think
long and hard about this and consider what’s best in the long
run.”
Cole leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Who wants it?”
“The Montana Drilling Coalition.”
Cole jerked as though someone had slapped the back of
his head. “The drilling coalition?! How could you even talk to
them about this, Charlie? You know what that would do to this
town.”
Mr. Bradley sighed. Angela sipped her coffee, and Cole sat
back in his chair, fuming.
“You’re paying the arena workers’ salaries with money
from your ranch,” Mr. Bradley reminded Cole. “How long do
you think that’s going to hold out? Are you willing to let your
ranch – your father’s legacy – get dragged down, too?”
“There’s my winnings. They’ll keep the ranch and the arena
afloat.”
“And how much is that injury going to set you back?” Mr.
Bradley pointed to the cast on Cole’s arm. “It looks like you’re
out for the season. How many missed rodeos does that amount
to?”
“You’re the executor of Henry’s estate.” Cole stood. “How
much commission do you stand to make from this deal?”
“Cole.” Angela set the mug down and stood, her head
pounding.
Mr. Bradley didn’t give her the chance to speak. He slid the
glasses off his nose and laid them on the desk. “I’m sorry, Cole,
I truly am. I’m not advising you as the executor, or even as an
attorney. I’m telling you this as a friend. You have to know
that.”
“What about the circuit boys? Where will they compete ‘til
they’re ready to go pro? And the workers? Where will they go?”
“Oil’s big money,” Mr. Bradley offered. “It’ll bring jobs.”
Cole swore again. Loudly. “It’ll bring a lot more than that.
It’ll change this town. You know that!”
“I’m selling my half to them.”
The lawyer and Cole both turned to Angela, their silence
finally granting her audience to speak.
“It’s the only option,” she asserted. The hopelessness of
the situation bore down on her. The night she had sat on her
foyer floor, after losing her job, her apartment and her
boyfriend, she’d thought that maybe there was something left
for her in Grace. Maybe something could be salvaged from the
recent wreckage that was her life, even if it meant revisiting the
wreckage of the past.
She looked at the faces of Cole and the attorney, and
realized what a fool she had been.
“My father gave the arena to me knowing there wouldn’t
be enough money to keep it going and we’d be forced to sell.”
“It makes no difference,” Cole said. “I won’t sell.”
Angela gathered her things. “I don’t want it going to the
coalition, either, but frankly, it’s not my problem. You can fight
them if you want, but the partnership agreement allows me to
sell my half to whomever I choose.”
“Then what? You take the money and run away again?”
“It’s what I do, isn’t it?” She took two business cards out
of her briefcase.
Angela Donnelly, Junior Analyst –
now a lie. The
phone number was still the same, though. At least until she
could no longer afford to pay the cell phone bill. She laid the
cards on the desk and faced Cole. “This time I’ll say ‘goodbye’.
Goodbye, Cole. Mr. Bradley, I’ll be leaving on the first flight
out I can get. I trust you to negotiate the price, but I’m glad to
assist. Keep me apprised. I’m sure we can handle things via
FedEx and over email.”
Cole picked up her card. “Junior Analyst,” he read. “What
exactly does that mean?”
“I analyze and assess businesses, evaluate problems and
develop strategies for improvement,” she answered
automatically, reaching into her bag for her car keys.
Mr. Bradley and Cole smiled at each other, and then at her.
“Seems to me,” Cole said easily, “what the Bullpen Arena
needs is a Junior Analyst.”
“I concur,” said Mr. Bradley.
“No.” Angela shook her head fervently and moved to the
door. “That could take months and I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”
She hurried out the door.
Cole called after her as she left the room, but she kept
going, already determined to retreat.
“Angie, wait!” He caught up with her as she stepped onto
the Main Street sidewalk. “Just wait a minute, will ya?”
She whirled around and stumbled in her heels.
“Why’d you come back?” Cole demanded.
“Isn’t it obvious? To claim the arena.”
“No. There’s more to it than that.”
“Maybe.” Her chest ached, the air in her lungs stifled by
the wet heat. Cole’s accusing stare forced a knot into her belly.
“But it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”
“I think you’re right. Henry left the arena to you just so he
could make you walk away. And he wanted it to sting.” Cole’s
voice rose. He didn’t bother to curb his temper. “I’d like to
think he pegged you all wrong, sweetheart.”
“He did peg me wrong, but I have nothing to prove to him,
or to you. It’s over, Cole. Accept it and sell your half, too. You
don’t have the money to fight this. Don’t bring down Doug’s
legacy over this.”
“It’s my arena.” Cole gritted his teeth, desperation and
anger steaming in his eyes. “Mine. It always has been, even
before I bought it.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing what I have to do.
You’d be wise to do the same.”
“There she is folks!” Cole said loudly, looking around as
he gestured to Angela and took a wide step back. No one else
was on the street, but he continued speaking as though to a
crowd: “Miz Angela Donnelly, cold-hearted businesswoman
extraordinaire!”
“You haven’t grown up a bit, Cole. You’re as a much of an
immature jerk as you’ve always been.” Angela turned and
walked away, the click of her heels punctuating her steps.
****
Angela had traveled this same road, for a similar purpose,
almost fifteen years ago. But running away never got easier.
This time, New York was not an escape; it was a prison laden
with uncertainties of its own, tainted by the things that had
once drawn her there. Even as the familiarity of her apartment,
her office – her
life –
beckoned her, she was struck by the stark
realization that it was all a ghost of what she once had.
She thought of the things she had given up, and those she
had left behind. A client had given her an aged bottle of merlot,
which she had been saving for a special occasion. Now it sat in
a box in storage, destined to turn to vinegar. There was the
farmers’ market down the block and the coffee shop on the
corner, where they knew her drink by memory. Would they
even know she had left? And there were the choices she had
made. The dirty subway stations; trash on the sidewalk at dusk.
A nearly empty back account and maxed out credit cards.
No job. No apartment.
Jeffrey.
She would not stoop to begging him for her job back.
Maybe she should just move somewhere else entirely. She
had no job, no family, no roots, and one credit card that still
had an open limit. She was headed to the airport where a
thousand different destinations were just a plane trip away. She
could go to L.A. Or Alaska. Or Spain. She knew enough
Spanish to get by.
Angela had just begun to entertain the fantasy of walking
through the
Puerta del sol
when the sign announcing the turn to
the Bullpen Arena flashed in her peripheral.
She slammed on the brakes, coming to a complete stop in
the center of the highway. Her pulse scrambled. Even with the
windows shut and the air conditioning running she could hear
the rusty sign creak on its hinges. The sound taunted her like
an eight-year-old child singing “Na-na, na-na, naaa-na.” A
glance in the rear view mirror revealed another car coming up
fast behind her.
She swore, ground into first gear, and squealed the tires as
she took the turn. The car fishtailed when it transitioned from
pavement to gravel. She knew she was going too fast, and later
she would wonder what possessed her to take that long,
winding road to the arena, but for now she knew only that she
couldn’t not do it.
She needed to see it one last time.
As the car neared its destination the twin pillars to the
entrance rose over the horizon. To the left was the ticket office,
the midnight blue mini blinds pulled down.
She parked and stepped out of the car and onto the gravel
lot. The pungent scent of manure overcame her. Angela
breathed shallowly and resisted the urge to cover her nose with
her sleeve. She walked down the pathway into the open arena,
beneath a roof held up by a circle of pillars.
Air rushed through the open space. It twirled around the
pillars and swept over and through aluminum stands with a
quiet whoosh. The late morning sun stretched shadows across
the freshly raked dirt.
She rested her hand on the steel fence rung, musing on the
oddity of her acrylic nails against the rusted steel. The same
hand had once been that of a girl – with dirty nails – clutching
the rail excitedly as she hung over the edge to catch a better
view of the boys as they practiced, hoping one boy in particular
would catch a view of her.
Angela smiled sadly at the memory and pushed herself on
down the aisle, toward the offices at the far end of the arena.
The animals would be resting now as the crew prepared for the
night’s events. She imagined the cowboys were resting as well,
and the few that ran the offices here would be humming away
silently. There had always been the excitement of silence
before a rodeo. The air waited with great anticipation for the
shouts and blood and pure adrenaline that pumped through
here each Friday night during the summer circuit season.
“I wondered when you’d get around to coming by.”
Reed Sanderson, the arena’s events manager, walked out
from one of the passageways between the stands. He had aged