by Beth K. Vogt
A four-year stint as an Army Ranger had taught him many things about survival. One of them was: Know your chances for success. No matter what they are—succeed at any cost.
He’d heard through the grapevine that breakfast was Kingston’s favorite meal of the day, so he’d scratched the idea for a lunch meeting. He’d arrived early at Over Easy, setting his sights on one of the few booths in the restaurant. Before Eddie arrived, he’d tipped the waitress, who’d introduced herself as Felicia, to ensure good service and no need to rush. But all of that was merely the backdrop for today’s meeting. Now he had to convince the other man to do business with him—and no one else.
Kade had prepared almost two hours of conversation. Well-thought-out, guided questions aimed to put Kingston at ease. What Mitch called charisma required planning and forethought. Kade was disciplined—had the ability to do the needed work, no matter what it took. His years as a Realtor had honed his natural ability to read people. And despite how things had ended with Russell Hollister, Kade was thankful the man had taught him the importance of taking the time to know his clients. Anticipating their needs.
Once Eddie arrived at nine, it was all about being relaxed. Focusing on the man across the table and keeping the agenda hidden. Like most people, Eddie enjoyed talking about himself. He liked to think Kade was interested in him as a person, not just as a project. Eddie loved his wife and two preteen girls, and owned an extensive collection of Marvel comics. Over breakfast, they talked football, found out they’d both served in the military—Eddie in the air force—and they both liked water-skiing.
They ate huevos rancheros, sharing sides of buttermilk biscuits and sage gravy, and bacon. Kade moved the conversation from personal to professional, first asking about Eddie’s work history and his business philosophy—both of which he already knew, thanks to his research—and then finally outlining how he wanted to partner with him.
“Eddie, I realize you’re talking with other Realtors. I’ll admit I’m not the biggest company in town. But no one will work harder for you during the Tour of Homes than I will.” Flashing a smile and taking the time to thank Felicia, Kade motioned for her to refill their coffee cups. “I’m prepared to cover the entire amount of your entry fee and purchase better signage outside your home on the tour. And if you want, I’m connected with a great home stager. We can work with you to decorate the house.”
Eddie sipped his coffee from the red pottery mug, his scarred knuckles testimony to years of working in construction. Between the two of them, they’d finished off an entire pot of the strong liquid fuel. Once this deal was completed, Kade was going to flush out his system with lots of water and a run along the Santa Fe Trail.
“I like the way you handle yourself, Webster. No denying that. The question is, can we work together? We’ve been talking the Tour of Homes, but let’s be honest with one another. Behind all that, there’s the possibility of a long-term business relationship. Are you the right Realtor to represent Kingston Homes—not just now, but possibly for years to come? I’ve got big plans. I can’t afford to make mistakes that are going to cost me—and I don’t just mean financially.” Eddie placed his napkin on the table beside his plate. “I’m going to have to think on this—”
Kingston was going to walk. And if he walked, Kade knew he’d end up with a polite “no thanks” at the end of the day. He knew the importance of closing a deal.
“You’re right.” Kade leaned forward, holding up his hand to prevent Eddie from leaving. “Of course this is about more than the Tour of Homes. Who thinks about just one home? You’ve got plans for six homes in just that development. We’re businessmen. We think about the future. It’s the way we build our success. The truth is, we could benefit each other—create a bigger vision for both of us. I’ve seen the plans for that house, Eddie. It’s a beautiful home. Spectacular, really. But why not make it more?”
Kade knew he had the other man’s attention when Kingston settled back into his chair. “What do you mean?”
“We’re located in Colorado Springs. Surrounded by the U.S. Air Force Academy. Schriever and Peterson Air Force Bases. Fort Carson Army Base. Both retirees and Wounded Warriors are part of the population.” Kade paused for the briefest of moments. “Why not adapt that custom home of yours so that it’s handicap accessible for our wounded veterans?”
“Is this some kind of joke, Webster? The Tour of Homes opens the Monday after the Fourth of July.”
“I know you’re not afraid of a little hard work, Eddie. You wouldn’t have started your own custom-home business if you were.” Kade forced himself to appear relaxed. This was the moment when he either won or lost Eddie’s confidence. “I’m suggesting retrofitting the master bathroom. Reworking some of the kitchen counter space. The sink. Widening the doorways. Replacing some of the carpeting.”
“Ramps out front and back.” Eddie mirrored Kade’s posture. “I know what it would take. Manpower around the clock. My costs could skyrocket.”
“But think of the impact of this house. Include these changes, and you would be making a statement to every single person who walks through about how our wounded vets, our retirees, should live in a home that is both functional and attractive. That these men and women deserve it.” Kade took a deep breath. “That someone like Mitch Herringshaw deserves it.”
“Who’s Mitch Herringshaw?”
“He’s a Realtor who works with me. We were Army Rangers together. Mitch is a double amputee.” A flash of memory—Mitch lying in a hospital bed as Kade waited for him to wake up. How he’d thought sleep, sleep with every breath, because then he wouldn’t have to tell his friend . . . With a shake of his head, Kade dispelled the memory. “If you want your name associated with that kind of project, then I’m your man.”
Kade sat back. He’d played his hand. Not that any of this was a game. He meant every word he’d said. Soldiers like Mitch shouldn’t have to settle for barely adequate homes. Now all he could do was wait and see if Eddie was all in. Or if he’d gambled and lost.
“Less than six weeks to do everything you’re talking about.”
“You know it can get done. And you know no one else is doing it.”
After a moment, Eddie rose to his feet, stepping out from the booth and holding out his hand. Kade stood, gripping the other man’s hand in his.
“You’re crazy, Kade—and I must be, too.” The other man shook his head, a grin deepening the lines in his tanned face. “I’ve got some phone calls to make to see about adapting the house. My subcontractors are going to have a few things to say about this, and then they’ll start drawing up their orders. And you, Webster—you need to write me a couple of checks. And contact that home stager of yours. I want to hear some ideas. Soon.”
“Yessir.” Kade’s heart pounded in his chest, thundering in his ears so loudly it drowned out the noise of the restaurant. “Thanks for the opportunity, Eddie.”
“This opportunity is filled with all sorts of risks.”
“The more risks, the more potential payoffs.”
FOUR
Maybe she didn’t have what it took to get married. She’d been in almost-engaged limbo for too long. Or maybe a woman shouldn’t go to a bridal fair straight from the airport after an impromptu trip, too much stress, and too little sleep.
Of course, the fact that one of the last things Alex had said to her before she went through airport security was “I still don’t understand why you’re going to Colorado” pulled her between two places. Alex had kissed her. Told her to have a safe trip. But all the while he’d looked as if he wanted to insist she somehow retrieve her luggage from the airline and come back home with him.
And now here she was in the middle of Denver. Not a drop of humidity in the fast-paced city’s air. Mountains that lurked just beyond all the buildings that had been framed by the small plane window during their approach to Denver International Airport.
The bridal frenzy surged around them the minute Margo led her maid of honor
and trio of bridesmaids into the convention center. Caron halted just inside the doorway, trying to get her bearings.
Couldn’t she go sit in the car with her luggage? Check to see if she had any text messages from Alex? Take a nap?
Margo spun around and faced her. “Come on, we’ve got to get shopping! I paid extra for the early-entrance tickets.”
“If getting all the way down the aisle to ‘I do’ requires this kind of attack-and-leave-no-survivors approach to shopping, then I’ll just date Alex forever.”
“Oh, come on.” Margo grabbed her wrist, pulling Caron alongside her. “You’re braver than this.”
“If I’m so brave, then what am I doing playing runaway after I quit my job?” Caron whispered the question to herself.
“What did you say?”
“Lead on. I’m right behind you.”
Within forty-five minutes, Margo had each of her bridesmaids loaded down with a selection of dresses in various shades of purple.
“There’s an empty dressing room!” Margo marshaled them forward, using her minisuitcase of a purse to clear a path through the crush of women. “Those three girls just walked out!”
Caron averted her eyes from some of the bridal expo attendees who, in their search for the ultimate bargain, had abandoned all hope of securing the privacy of a dressing room. Instead, they chose to try on garments in between the racks of sample dresses. Or while friends formed a human barrier around them. Or wherever they found some open space in the convention center.
“Grab that room before someone else does.” Caron tightened her arms around the shifting load of bridesmaid dresses. “I am not changing clothes in public—not even for you, Margo. There was a TV news team interviewing people in here earlier.”
Leslie and Brooke, who carried their own loads of purple-hued bridesmaid dresses, nodded in agreement and murmured an endless litany of “excuse me, excuse me” as they tried to keep up with Margo. Emma, in true I’ve-got-this-under-control maid-of-honor fashion, succeeded first, and positioned herself in front of the prized location of the dressing room with her sister.
“Okay, get in there and start trying dresses on.” Margo pulled back the white curtain.
Caron blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes, but didn’t budge. “All of four us? At the same time?”
Margo waved the curtain like a flag flapping in a strong coastal breeze. “The sooner you try these dresses on, the sooner we find out if anything works, and if we need to go looking again—”
“Be reasonable. Four women and who knows how many dresses in that makeshift space would be a disaster waiting to happen.” Caron shifted the armful of dresses again as the one on top started to slip. “Why not let Emma and Brooke go first? Then Leslie and I’ll go.”
Emma, who balanced her stack of dresses like a professional juggler, nodded. “Caron has a point. No sense in having your bridal party suffocate under a mountain of purple dresses.”
“Fine. But I want to see everything you try on. Everything.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re the bride-to-be.” Emma motioned Brooke into the room as Margo held the curtain open. “You’re in charge today.”
“Three months to plan a wedding. Three months.” Margo settled onto the expo’s concrete floor, which, for today’s festivities, was covered in a bold blue carpet. “I must be crazy. Tell me all this will be worth it so Ronny and I can have the wedding we want.”
“It will be worth it.” Caron joined Leslie and Margo on the floor, setting her selection of dresses to the side, creating a semicircle in front of the dressing room.
“What about you?” Margo ran her fingers through her short-cropped brown hair and then leaned back on her hands, her gaze focused on Caron.
Caron pointed to herself. “What about me what?”
“What about you and Alex? You’ve been dating for almost two years now. You go to the beach. Have dinner every weekend with your parents. When are you going to make life easy on yourselves and get married?”
The clamor of women’s voices seemed to intensify as if someone had found a universal volume control and twisted it all the way up. The air was thick with an overwhelming blend of competing perfumes.
Make life easy. Get married. When were she and Alex going to get married? Good question. One both sets of parents asked with increasing frequency.
“Oh, I don’t know. We’re both so busy with work—”
“Now you sound like some sort of jet-setting celebrity couple who won’t ever set a wedding date. We’re both so busy.” Margo stopped when the dressing room curtain swished open and Emma stepped into view.
“What do you think?” Emma stood with one hand on her hip, the other holding up the too-long skirt of her plum-colored halter dress.
“I like yours better than this froufrou thing.” Brooke hung back in the doorway, plucking at the feathered neckline of her short cocktail dress.
“No to the feathers.” Margo waved Brooke back into the dressing room. “Yours, Emma, is a definite possibility. Next.”
Without missing a verbal beat, Margo refocused on Caron. “So do you want a summer wedding? That would mean waiting another year. Fall? That would be a challenge to pull off. Maybe a Christmas wedding?”
“I haven’t really given it much thought.” Caron played with the zipper of one of the dresses. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up.
“Oh, come on. Every woman imagines her dream wedding. Surely you and Alex have talked about it—”
“A little.”
Or not.
“Margo mentioned your brother, Logan, had a destination wedding, right?” Leslie leaned around Margo to join the conversation, her layered black hair falling over her gray eyes.
“Yes—in Destin, at the Henderson Beach Inn. Logan was living in Oklahoma and Vanessa lived in Colorado.”
“So what about that?” Margo played with the strand of turquoise beads around her neck. “Or you could do something out of the country. Italy. Or the Bahamas.”
“A destination wedding? I don’t know.”
How long did it take for Emma and Brooke to change dresses? And why couldn’t they talk about Margo’s August wedding instead of Caron’s yet-to-be-scheduled one? She and Alex were in a relationship holding pattern: girlfriend and boyfriend. Marriage would happen . . . sometime.
“I read about a couple who dated for twelve years before they got married. Can you imagine? Twelve years.” Leslie shook her head, grabbing her sunglasses just before they toppled off her head. “No, thank you. I would have broken up with the guy long before that.”
“Maybe she did.” Margo stretched her long legs out in front of her, her white capris showing off her tan. “Maybe they were that perpetual on-again-off-again couple, but somehow she always knew he was the one.”
“Or he knew she was the one.” Caron averted her eyes as a woman right behind Margo peeled off her sundress to try on a long, electric-orange gown. “Why do we always assume it’s the girl hanging around, waiting for the guy to make up his mind and propose?”
“Good point.” Margo ducked as a woman walked by, an assortment of dresses slung over her shoulder. “Although, really, you’d think you’d know what you wanted in a relationship after twelve years, right?”
They were surrounded by nonstop noise and motion as Caron searched for some way to change the topic. “Didn’t you mention you and Ronny were buying a house?”
Leslie stared straight ahead, eyes locked on the dressing room curtains, while Margo looked everywhere but at Caron. Something between a laugh and a groan wheezed out of her friend’s mouth. “Funny you should mention that . . .”
“I’m not following. Are you buying a house?”
“We’re still looking.” Margo’s next words rushed over her. “And Kade Webster is our Realtor.”
Kade Webster? Her Kade Webster? Well, not that he was “her” Kade Webster anymore. They’d broken up two years ago—or rather, she’d broken up with him.
“Margo, why didn’t you s
ay something?”
Emma and Brooke stepped into view again, interrupting Margo’s explanation. This time Emma wore a short lavender dress with an Empire waist and a flowing, layered skirt. Leslie wore a long plum sheath.
Margo turned her attention to the other women, tilting her head and tapping her forefinger against her chin. “Yours is fun, Emma. What do you think?”
“This style feels a little young for me. It’s more like a junior bridesmaid dress or something I might have worn to homecoming. I like the one Brooke has on.”
“I like this one, too.” Brooke turned a slow three-sixty, standing on her tiptoes in her navy-blue flip-flops.
“Did all of you find that style in your size?”
Caron couldn’t seem to push past the reality that Kade Webster was in Colorado, too. Of course she’d known that. Still remembered the night her father mentioned the news that Kade had left Florida to strike out on his own in Colorado, starting a realty company with a friend. How had she forgotten he was right here—and why hadn’t Margo told her that she and Ronny were using Kade as a Realtor? Her world suddenly felt small. Too small.
Enough. Today was about Margo’s wedding. This trip had nothing to do with her ex-boyfriend. And Margo didn’t have plans to go house-hunting while Caron was in town. Did she?
“Caron?” Margo’s voice pushed through the haze of questions whirring in her brain.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Do you have the same style of dress as Brooke is wearing?”
“I lost track. Maybe.” Caron riffled through the pile of dresses, the material soft against her fingers. So many purple hues. Maybe if she tried to name them all it’d help fend off any memories of Kade. Dating him was nothing but a momentary stop on her romantic journey to happily-ever-after with Alex.
“Well, keep that style in mind. If we decide we want it, we can look again.” Margo rose to her feet and took a closer look at the dress Brooke wore. “I think it will look good on all of you.”