“Come on, Stephen. I’ll read it to you while you drive.” Camila ran a hand over her skirt in a not-so-subtle way of drawing attention to her curves. “Then you can take me to lunch.”
“Fine.” Stephen stood, eager to get moving. He did need to go over Fieldstone. At least it wouldn’t be a total waste of time.
Stephen led Camila to the parking garage and maneuvered the two-seater into traffic. Irritated with the stop-and-start pace, he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, grateful when Camila took a call and he could be with his own thoughts.
Twenty-five minutes outside town, the four lanes narrowed to two, the upscale shops and restaurants gradually gave way to clumps of trees and open fields. He couldn’t imagine why Dave was so interested. Even though the city was always expanding and pushing outward, an office building or shopping plaza this far out didn’t make much sense. But he owed it to his partner to at least look.
Dave had held things together when he could barely hold himself together. Even so, he wasn’t willing to put his signature and a huge chunk of revenue into a bad investment.
He glanced down at the scant information Dave had given him while Camila opened another pocket of her briefcase and kept talking. When he reached the end of the road, he made a left, taking them along the backside of the property.
Nearly forty acres, three-quarters wooded with mostly tall pine, the land rolled gently to the northeast corner, where it rose slightly to the highest point. There were no property line markings to show the exact sale portion, but he got the gist. His answer was still no.
Anxious to get back to the office, he made two more turns and picked up speed along the south side. Wide-open fields flew by on his left, his right was dotted with small houses set back from the road. Winter grass trying to turn green, trees pushing out new leaves, horses, cows—Freedom Farm.
The iron gate whizzed past, but not so fast that he missed the small black-and-white sign. Was that Hannah’s place? He’d half heard the name pass between her and his sister. Something Farm for sure.
He slowed and angled off the pavement, before whipping around in a tight U-turn.
Camila grabbed for the stack of papers sliding across her lap. “What are you doing?”
“Just hold tight.” He slowed and turned through the open gate.
“You know someone here?”
“Maybe.” He followed a gravelly dirt road up a short distance, then down to a weathered barn straight out of a storybook. He stopped next to a shiny, black Suburban parked on worn grass.
“I thought we were going to lunch.” Her full lips pushed up in a pout, but her eyes were all predatory.
They’d had a quick, meaningless something over a year ago. Three times in bed, maybe four. Either way, it didn’t constitute a relationship. Camila had known that was off the table going in. She liked it rough and he’d liked giving it to her. The fire between them had burned fast and furious before going out, though the hand on his thigh said she’d like to strike a new match.
“Make a phone call or something. I’ll just be a minute.” He got out, leaving the car running.
It was eerily quiet; the only sound was the wind with no tall buildings to block it. A chunk of land divided by wooden fences lay to the right of the barn with another larger, open space rolling out behind it. Stephen walked toward the structure, dirt dusting the shine of his black dress shoes. He pulled at his tie and released the top button of his dress shirt.
Three yards short of entering the black opening, a body stepped out of the darkness. A large man about Stephen’s height, filling out a button-down and khakis. His brown eyes studied Stephen like a human lie detector. Not the most welcoming for a children’s riding facility. Of course, this might not be the right place. He held out his hand. “Stephen McKinney.”
Without a word, the man returned his firm grip.
“I’m looking for Hannah Walker.”
Eyes narrowed suspiciously and he dropped his hand. “What about?”
Ahh. So he was in the right place. And he’d bet a cool million the grim-looking man in front of him was another brother. Stephen smiled. “That’s between us.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” The man shifted into a tighter stance.
Stephen tamped down his temper, always at a low boil. It wouldn’t take much. He lived on the edge of wanting to hurt someone. Then he saw her.
“Nick. I can speak for myself.” Hannah came toward him, tightly drawing together the sides of a long-sleeved button-up as she moved, closing herself off. Bit by bit she’d opened up to him over dinner, let her guard down. He hated that she looked braced for another slap.