“I’m sorry,” West said, his voice sounding flat. “I’m going to have to reschedule. Scarlet will give you a call.”
“Of course. We’ll meet next week.”
“Thank you,” West said as he turned and suppressed the urge to run from the restaurant. He needed air. His chest still felt tight, and his breathing was constricted. West took a deep breath, trying to process everything that just happened. Watching someone die was a shocking reminder that life could change in a fraction of a second. His grandfather, the man in the restaurant, their hearts beat one moment and the next, nothing.
West felt a vivid pang of grief for the man’s family. He knew what they would feel upon hearing the news. West wondered who he was. What things were left on his list to do? What promises had he made that would go unfulfilled?
There were things West wanted to see and do. Every day he told himself he’d have time later, but what if he didn’t? What if he never got around to spreading his grandfather’s ashes in the way he vowed he would? He’d amassed quite a large amount of money over the years—more money than most people would know what to do with—and yet, was he happy?
Deep in his heart, he knew the answer, but it was so ugly, until now he hadn’t dared to allow it to fully form in his head. He spent so much time building his empire, he neglected the things that were truly important. Despite the fact that his grandfather had been gone for five years, he neglected him and the promise he made to him as well.
West dialed his office number and waited patiently for Scarlet to pick up.
“Forge West Ventures, how may I direct your call?” Her voice was clipped yet professional.
“Scarlet, it’s me. I need you to move all my appointments for the rest of the day. Actually, I need you to move them for the rest of the week. And next week. Anything urgent can be sent to Helena and Alex to oversee.”
“Of course, Mr. Weston. Is everything all right?” Her tone of voice said she knew he sounded completely batshit right then, but he couldn’t summon the wherewithal to care.
“Yes. Everything is fine. I’m also going to need you to book me a hotel.”
“Certainly. Which hotel?”
“Not sure yet. I’ll get back to you on it as soon as possible.”
“Not a problem. Do you need the jet arranged as well?”
West thought about it a moment. “No, thank you. I think I’ll drive.”
“Okay, then. Will there be anything else?”
“If you could please call Marshall and let him know I’m downstairs. I’ll need him to take me home so I can pack. I’ll call you again with the details once I get going. Thanks, Scarlet.”
“Of course, Mr. Weston. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
He thanked her once more and hung up. He could tell she thought he had lost his mind. Maybe he had. Perhaps if he retraced his steps, he’d find it in the elevator. He wasn’t sure he actually wanted to find it again, though. His last-second decision to blow off work for the week left him feeling lighter than he remembered feeling since he started the company. He was doing the right thing.
MARSHALL ARRIVED
a few minutes later in the town car, and West jumped in and rode the short distance between the office and his house. When he arrived, he dashed quickly inside, grabbed his suitcase, and threw it on his bed. He stood in front of his closet, his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. The last few years were filled with work six days a week, so his weekend attire was woefully lacking.
His closet was one solid block of black and gray. Suit after suit after suit, which was practical for business but not so much for travel and a day at the beach. His weekend clothes consisted of one pair of jeans and three T-shirts. He decided to worry about it later, then stripped out of the clothes he was wearing, pulled the single pair of jeans on, along with a blue T-shirt, and threw the other two into his suitcase. He’d need to do a little shopping, but that was fine. He was actually looking forward to buying some new casual clothes. It was about time for him to take a break.
He added his toiletries, then zipped up the mostly empty bag. After rolling it out to the car, he flung his suitcase into the trunk and slammed it shut. He made one last trip into the house for the urn and carried his grandfather with him out to his garage.
His Ferrari F12berlinetta sat gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He purchased the luxury car the year before, but he put fewer than a thousand miles on it. It was time to take it out on the road and really enjoy it. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became to leave Chicago behind for a few days. His fingertips tingled with excitement as he climbed in, his hands wrapping around the steering wheel.
It was time to hit the road.
RUSH WHISTLED
for Casper. The dog obediently jumped out of the truck and came bounding toward him. Rush patted his head with an affectionate “Good boy,” then rounded the back of the truck and lowered the gate so he could get at the seedlings in the bed. He’d spent the last week grooming and marking out the rows for planting.
Even with three months having passed since Christmas, he still hadn’t quite fully recovered from the last season. He was tired, and he’d barely begun, but now was the best time to plant. If he waited too long, the weather would be too warm, and he’d risk the seedlings going into thermal shock. This was the life he chose, though, and he was happy with it. Only two years into running his own business and he’d come to love it.
It was more successful than he originally anticipated. Recently he’d decided to expand. When he had bought the land, the previous owner had only planted on a portion of it. There was plenty of space for additional crops. It was manageable, but at the same time, it meant changes.
Change wasn’t something Rush was necessarily bad with, but since he retired from the Marine Corps, he liked to keep life as uncomplicated as he could manage. He got up, dressed, checked on his crops, perhaps made a little dinner, and puttered around the house until it was time to do it all over again. Maybe it was boring, but boring was certainly welcome after some of the things he saw during his time as a CH53 Echo helicopter pilot.
Two tours in Afghanistan and he was more than happy to wake up to nothing more complicated than two acres of evergreens and a dog who loved him more than life itself.
With more than three thousand trees to plant, Rush knew it was going to take him several weeks. He could have called Sebastian and asked for help, but he was busy at the realty office, and Rush was actually looking forward to tackling the project on his own. There was a high probability he’d be feeling differently a thousand trees in, but for now he was excited about getting dirty and working with his hands.
He worked his way down the row, systematically digging, planting, watering, and ensuring each little tree was cared for. It was mindless and methodical, and Rush felt strangely satisfied with each successfully situated plant.
As he stood at the end of the first completed row, he placed his hands on his hips. Casper sat dutifully at his side, and a warm sense of fulfillment at the small accomplishment spread through him.
FIVE HOURS
later and he’d gotten most of one section completed. It was more than he expected to do that day, but his hands were beginning to blister, and his arms were beginning to tire. He really needed to work out more. When he left the Marines, he was in peak physical shape, but now, after living two years like a civilian, he was beginning to get soft. He made a mental note to make use of the weight bench in one of his guest rooms.
Rush tapped his boots on the side of his truck to loosen the mud before he climbed in. It was a wet day, but he was on a schedule. His busiest time of the year passed months ago, but there was still work to be done. Casper, his Tamaskan Dog, sat on the seat next to him, his tail wagging furiously. He patted Casper’s head before he put the truck in gear. He needed to get something to eat, but more desperately than that, he needed a shower. He stank.
When he got inside, he noticed the light on his phone flashing, alerting him to a voice mail. He clicked the button and put it on speaker as he stripped down. It was Sebastian calling to see if he wanted to grab a beer later. Why yes, yes he did.
He jumped into the shower, quickly scrubbing off the sweat and grit from the day before turning off the water, climbing out, and drying himself. He ran the towel over his head, reminding himself once more that he needed a haircut. He grew it out, but now it was verging on floppy. That, along with the beard, made him look like a somewhat burly vagrant. If his CO could only see him now….
He picked up his phone and dialed, droplets from his hair still falling on his shoulders as he listened to it ring. Sebastian picked up a moment later.
“Hey, Rush,” he said, his voice warm and friendly.
“Hey, I got your message. Beer sounds good. Definitely good.”
Sebastian chuckled. “The Pour House? Six o’clock?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you there.”
“You bet.” And with that, Sebastian hung up.
Rush was happy to have a reason to leave the house, and Sebastian was good company. They met while Rush had been on his last furlough and returned home to look into the possibility of purchasing Black Mountain Farms. Sebastian worked full time as an assistant at the real estate office, and Rush took an immediate liking to him. He was quiet and polite and had an air about him that invited you to feel warmly about him.
When Rush returned home for good, he took Sebastian under his wing and eventually into his bed. Their relationship had been short-lived, only a couple of months, and afterward they managed the impossible—staying friends. Once they decided they worked better platonically, the rest fell into place. Sebastian kept his job with the real estate office, and during the holidays when no one was buying houses, he came to work for Rush.
THE POUR
House was already packed when Rush arrived. It was one of the more popular places in town, and with good reason. Bert, the owner, was a genuinely good guy who knew most people not only by their names, but by their orders as well. The food was amazing, and they had a pretty decent selection of beer.
Rush scanned the room. Sebastian wasn’t there yet, so he grabbed a booth by the window to wait. Cherie, one of the usual waitresses, came right over to take his drink order.
“Hey, Rush, we haven’t seen you in here in a few days.”
Rush laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been working on a project that’s got me stuck out in the yard all day. But maybe I should rethink my alcohol consumption if I’m missed after a couple of days,” he joked.
Cherie smiled. “It’s good to see you, is all. You’re one of my best customers.”
“There’s that implication of alcoholism again.” He winked at her, making her blush. He had been embarrassing her by flirting with her for the last two years. She knew he was gay, but that didn’t stop the blush that crept into her cheeks every time he teased her.
“So, club soda, then?” she asked.
Rush laughed again. “An Irish ale for me please, and an oatmeal stout for Sebastian.” He’d had enough beers with the guy to know what he liked.
Cherie nodded. “You got it. Are you guys eating too, or just drinks?”
“I’m starving. But I’ll wait for Sebastian to get here before I order.”
“Sure, no problem,” she said. Then she turned and hurried off.
Rush looked over the menu while he waited, even though he probably could have recited it. It was good home-cooked food, and his belly grumbled. After spending a full day doing hard labor, his body craved something rich and satisfying. He was waffling between the Irish stew and the prime rib beef dip when Sebastian arrived.
He collapsed into the chair across from Rush, his blond hair standing on end, as though he’d been running his fingers through it.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he tucked himself in closer to the table. He was out of breath, and the apples of his cheeks were pinker than usual.
“You’re not. I was early,” Rush insisted. “Were you at the office?”
“Yeah. We have a new guy at the firm, just moved here a couple weeks ago from Phoenix. He’s still getting his bearings, and he asked me to stay late and help him with something.”
There was a strange quality to Sebastian’s voice. Rush couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but there was something different.
“He a nice guy?”
Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t really know the guy all that well… I mean, I’ve only worked with him for a few days, and most of that time he was out meeting clients with Roger. It was just him and me today, though. We were going over all the client files, so we missed lunch.”
“You must be starving.”
“Yup. I could eat a whale.”
Rush laughed. “Let’s get to ordering, then. I already asked Cherie for your beer.”
As though she’d been waiting in the wings for Rush to announce her, she glided in, the frosty pint glasses balanced expertly on her tray. “Do you boys need a minute, or are you ready to order?” she asked as she placed the beers in front of them.
Sebastian glanced quickly over the menu before closing it. “I’m ready if you are.” He gestured to Rush.
“Go ahead, then,” Rush said, weighing the options once more while Sebastian asked Cherie for a jalapeño cheeseburger.
“I’ll get the Irish stew and the beef dip, please.”
Neither Cherie nor Sebastian batted an eye at the order. They’d known Rush long enough to know he could pack away more food than a grizzly preparing for winter. Cherie nodded, not bothering to write it down, and then she was gone again, sweeping her way over to the table in the corner to look after the couple who were clearly not from around there. That was the thing with living in Canyon Creek. There weren’t many towns around, and the interstate ran right through the middle of town, so a large portion of the business for the pub and the three gas stations in town was people who were passing through. Usually Rush paid them no mind. They didn’t factor into his daily life much.