I shake my head. Great idea, Blackwood. Throw a girl who has nothing to do with anything into an enclosed space, at sea, with the people you need to impress most. But I don’t have much choice. I said I was bringing a date, so I’m doing it.
When I get to my Range Rover, I see that Grey has already loaded his board on the rack, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Damn it.” I lift my board up next to his, snapping it in.
When the shit hit the fan back home a few months ago and he came to live with me, I promised myself I wouldn’t become his parent. I’m not starting now. I’m his brother, not his dad.
Grey’s a result of a “timeout” my parents took the year I was four. Dad hooked up with Grey’s mom, Lois, and nine months later Grey was born.
Dad never made any attempt to hide Grey when he and my mother got back together. For years, I had this vague awareness that I had a half-brother out there somewhere, but Grey didn’t become real to me until Lois flaked out on raising him when he was five. When he showed up at our house in Newport with a Spiderman backpack, my life changed. I’d been an only child, and suddenly I had a brother and I loved that. Him. Right away. But it wasn’t like that with my mom. She’d never planned on a son who wasn’t hers, and Grey’s never been easy.
Their relationship has been tense since the beginning, but something big happened between them in August that drove Grey out of the house. Mom hasn’t told me what it was, and neither has he. One day, Grey just showed up at my door and told me he was done with “your mother.” Done with all the Blackwoods, except me. I let him into my house. Gave him a home, and haven’t pushed him on it. I’m the last person who should judge a guy for being secretive, but I do wonder what happened.
I climb into the Rover and start the engine. In less than twenty seconds, Grey comes crashing into the passenger seat, out of breath like he just hauled ass. He has a beer in his hand and he smells like weed.
“Jesus, Grey. I left you for ten goddamn minutes.” So much for not being his parent.
“I got bored. Then I met some nice people.”
“Get rid of that.”
He jumps out of the car, finishes the beer and tosses it into a trash can. “Hey, did I tell you Julia texted me?” he says before he’s back in the car.
“No. Why did she text you?”
“She’s done with rich business owners. She wants to try out nineteen-year-olds with huge—”
“What did she say, Grey?”
“She didn’t want to bother you at the office or something, but she can’t go to your boat outing tomorrow. She’s got a callback for some role she really wants.”
Awesome. This is the only time Julia’s ever backed out on me—when I need her. “Were you ever going to say something?”
Grey shrugs. “When I remembered to, and I just did. Anyway, what’s the big deal? You’re not even into her.”
“I told Alison I was bringing a date, Grey.”
“Who’s Alison?”
I can’t believe this. I stare at the waves in the distance. I can’t show up dateless. I need a buffer between Alison and me.
“Adam.” Grey shoves my shoulder. “Who’s Alison?”
I put the car in reverse and back out of the parking lot. “Someone from work. From the people who’re going to invest.”
“Ah . . . Got it.” Grey laughs. “She must be a really hot investor.”
If he only knew.
Chapter 11
Alison
My father and I pick our way across an expanse of parched scrub, following our ranch manager and groom, Joaquin, to a squat tin shed out in what feels like the middle of nowhere. Really, we’re a half hour north of Santa Clarita, in a town with a population in the double digits—just a long stretch of dirt paths leading off the highway, and ramshackle farms resting in dusty valleys.
It feels good to be in jeans and boots. To have survived the first week on the job with Adam. It didn’t take long to get used to having him nearby, to stop stealing glances at him, at the way his hair curled over the pressed collar of his shirt, at the way he pushed away from his desk whenever something required real consideration, like he needed space for his thoughts.
The work is easy, at least. His records are impeccable. As Nancy says, “You could eat off them.” And everything looks good. He makes sound choices, building an enterprise slowly but being brave enough to leap at the right times.
Still, there’s something there, a caginess. A need to control the script. Just like at the restaurant. A couple of times I caught him looking out the window, and his expression looked so far away and sad. But when he caught my eye, the mask snapped into place, and he gave me a practiced smile that seemed worse than his sadness.
The sky is a brilliant blue with feathery clouds hanging near the horizon. The white sun bleaches the ground and angles off the shack’s roof to create a blinding corona. I reach for my sunglasses, trying to tamp down the prickles of anxiety and excitement building in me. I never know what we’re going to find, how damaged a horse will be, whether it will be filled with promise or too far gone to save.
“What do we know?” my father asks. For a second, I think he’s asking about Adam, but I’ve already done my debriefing.
“Not much,” I reply. “Missy from Horse Rescue just said the owner’s had an ad on Craigslist for a couple of weeks. Selling two horses, a thousand dollars each.”
My father frowns. “Too cheap.”
I nod. “Her guess is that the owner is old and that it might be a problem of neglect rather than abuse.”
“Let’s hope so,” Joaquin says. He lifts his baseball cap to wipe perspiration from his brow. “I don’t know if we can house another angry horse. Not with Persephone still needing so much work.”
“That one’s unreachable,” my father grumbles.
“I just don’t believe that,” I say. It’s true the little palomino quarter horse is a hard case—but she’s young, little more than a yearling. Already, she has the bearing of a champion and thoughtful amber eyes that follow my movements around the paddock. I’ll reach her. “She just needs time.”
“Her time’s costing me money,” my father says. “If we can’t get her to do what we want, she’ll have to go.”
“Wow, Dad, I’m glad you don’t have that philosophy about your daughters,” I tease, but he’s already straightening up and plastering on the wide, disarming smile he uses on people he doesn’t know.
I follow his gaze to a heavyset older man who leans against a rusted cistern a few yards away. He’s got a gleaming sunburn-pink scalp under thinning silver hair and wears coveralls and heavy work boots. “You Quick?”
“Depends on who’s chasing me.” My father’s standard line.
We introduce ourselves to the man—Mr. Hance, who gives me a dispassionate once-over and says, “Suede’s not much of a riding horse. No energy these days.”
“How old is he?” I ask.
“Five.”
That surprises me. A five-year-old horse is young, still. Energy shouldn’t be an issue, which makes me think Missy was right about neglect.
“Why don’t you show us,” I suggest.
He leads us into the outbuilding, which has a bowed aluminum roof and no floor but rocks and scrub. Inside, a couple of flimsy partitions separate the place into makeshift stalls. There’s barely any hay in here. No tack. And it’s dark and full of cobwebs.
But it’s the odor that gets to me most of all. The smell of animal waste and ozone, which means fear, mixed with the sickly sweet odor of infection. I’m scared of what we’ll find.
“That’s Suede,” Hance says, pointing into the shadows.
My father puts a hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you let Joaquin in first?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I say, though of course I’m not. This part, the anxiety before the seeing, always gets to me. Still, I need my father to stop protecting me. He has to know I can handle the difficult parts. That I’m up to the challenge.
I draw a breath and move toward the stall. Joaquin, my father, and Mr. Hance follow.
Inside, a horse stands in the corner—a beautiful Appaloosa with an ebony base and a gorgeous white and black spotted patch over his rear back and flanks. Right away, I see that his ribs show, and his tail is tucked in tight to his body. He’s in some pain.
I assess for a moment, trying to get a sense of the horse’s level of agitation. But I want to throw myself at him and put my arms around his neck, brush his matted black mane from his face, take away whatever’s hurting him.
“Suede won’t cause any trouble,” Hance says. “You can go on and have a look.”
“Looks sick to me,” my father says. I hear dismissal in his voice, and it digs at something inside me. I prepare myself for a battle, knowing I’ll have to give him logic, not emotions, to make my case. “Why are you selling it?”
Him, I think.
“Just can’t keep up with it anymore,” Hance says. “Too much to feed. Can’t run him the way he needs to be run. And to be honest, he’s sickly.”
I approach the horse carefully, making sure my steps are quiet, relaxing my posture and trying to slow my heart rate. Suede’s shoulders bow, and his flesh jumps, but I don’t see any flies or anything else pestering him.
“Look at the hooves,” Joaquin says.
Gently, I lift the horse’s front leg. He’s shoed, but his hooves have grown over and are deeply cracked and pitted with hay and pebbles. I see what looks like the start of an abscess. That same sickly odor rises from the inflamed spot.
“Poor thing,” I say.
Joaquin nods, and we spend some time examining Suede for other defects. He’s got another, deeper abscess on his back right hoof, and heat rises from his flesh, making me worry that he’s feverish. He’s all skin and bones; but his ears are pert, his eyes gentle, and he nuzzles my flat palm, breathing out a puff of dry warmth. He needs to be rescued. By me.
I beckon to my father, and he comes over, already shaking his head.
“Not this one, Ali,” he says softly. He frowns sympathetically, but the regret doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “His owner lost the other one. Thinks they might have some kind of anemia, too. It’s going to be too much to care for him. And you’re going to be too busy with Blackwood and our investment.”
“I’ve got Joaquin to help,” I protest. “And I can take care of him in the evenings and on weekends. Let me at least try. I can pay for it out of my own money.”
“Need I remind you that your money is my money?”
“No,” I say quietly. “But this is a young horse, Dad. He just needs a little care. You’ll make back your money. I’m sure of it.”
“That’s what you said about Persephone.”
“And I’m still sure of her, too.”
“Alison, you need to have your head in the game. I’m trusting your judgment where this Blackwood is concerned. And your judgment’s still on probation. We’re not talking about pocket change here.”
I’ve lost track of whether we’re talking about Suede or Adam, so I split the difference. “I promise you I can handle both.”
“If that’s the case,” he says, “you’ll have to bring me something meatier than the same obvious financials I can dig up for myself. I need to know about Blackwood, the man. Is he stable? What are his habits? I have Simon and Nancy to give me the dry basics. I need you to go deeper.”
I’m glad the building is dark, so my father can’t see me blush.
“What do you mean?”
“You need to suss out his character, not his ledger. Get personal.” He rests a hand on Suede’s flank, and the horse shudders. “Something scared those investors away, and it’s not the way he does business.”
“Adam said he turned them down because they wanted too much control.”
“Well, that’s his story. But there’s more there. I know it.” He leans against a post and scrapes mud out of his shoe with a stick. “We’ll be out on the boat all day on Sunday. That means cocktails. Getting loose.”
“Dad.”
He sighs. “I’m not asking you to drug and seduce him, for Christ’s sake. Just look for inroads. This isn’t throwing around money, Alison,” he says. “We have to use our heads. And protect the family interests above all. You get that, right?”
I nod. “I get it. And I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“All right. We’ll give this a try.” He turns to Hance and says, “We’ll take him and all the tack and other equipment you have for him. I’m not paying for a sick horse, but I’ll give you eight hundred for the supplies, and you can throw Suede in for free.” He holds out his hand. “Deal?”
The old man gives my father a vigorous handshake. “Deal.”
But my father’s expression as he looks over Hance’s shoulder tells me that the deal’s really between the two of us, and he expects me to deliver.
Chapter 12
Adam
The blender is going on Sunday morning when I step into the kitchen.
Rhett stands beside my brother, dumping protein powder into the glass pitcher by the shovel-full. He wanted ten minutes to go over some changes to this year’s team-building retreat.
We’ve been slammed at the office, and with the Quick Investment team there, I’ve had even less time during the week than normal. Rhett was doing a ten-mile run this morning on Zuma Beach, so I told him to stop by afterward.
Because it’s Rhett, he’s already showered in the guest bath, cleaned up the kitchen and brought in yesterday’s mail and set it on the counter. Brooks—my best friend, ex-roommate, and partner in Blackwood Films—is the same way, totally at home here. Always coming and going. I wonder sometimes why I have locks on the doors.
Rhett shuts the blender off when he sees me.
“Morning, Adam! I thought I’d make you guys some delicious breakfast shakes.”
“Hey, Rhett. Morning.” Grey is leaning on the counter beside him. He has his favorite Union Jack t-shirt on, and he’s in jeans, which he doesn’t wear unless he’s leaving the house or just returning. “Did you just roll in?”
Grey takes down half of his smoothie in two gulps. “About half an hour ago.”
He’s been hitting clubs and bars since he was seventeen. He has a fake ID but, at six foot two, ripped, and inked up, he never gets carded.
“To be young and single again,” Rhett says, but he’s grinning and doesn’t mean a word of it. I’ll be shocked if he and Raylene haven’t tied the knot by this time next year. He grabs glasses for me and him and brings the shakes to the table.
“What are we discussing this morning, gentlemen?” Grey says, in his version of a businessman’s voice. Apparently, in his mind all businessmen have bad British accents.
“The marketing retreat in Jackson Hole,” Rhett replies.
“Which I get to go to this year, correct?” Grey says.
“Wrong,” Rhett and I say together.
“Bloody bollocks!”
“I think ‘bloody hell’ is what you’re going for.”
“Let me bloody hell swear the way I want to, Adam. Okay, please? And all you guys do during that retreat is ski. I’m awesome at that. I should totally go.”
“Believe it or not, it’s a work event,” Rhett says.
“Then that’s the kind of jay-oh-bee I want.”
This could go on all day if I let it. “Guys, I’m on a schedule,” I say, and Rhett shifts right into work gear, filling me in on the location change. Usually, we stay at a resort, but this time we’ll be at a rental home. Still on the resort property, but it’ll give us more privacy and better common areas. It’s a great idea and I tell him so, but Rhett didn’t need my approval to go forward. He just wanted to talk. The camaraderie retreat in Jackson Hole is his Christmas.
I check my watch, and Grey notices.
“Adam has a boat date with some girl,” he says. “Wait. Rhett—you probably know her. Alison. Is she hot?”
I reach over
and smack the back of Grey’s head, which only makes him laugh.
“You’re going boating with Alison Quick?” Rhett asks. He doesn’t sound surprised, which means the office grapevine has been working.
“No,” I say. “I’m going on a social outing with Graham Quick, his wife, and his daughter. It’s relationship-building. So I can earn their trust. So I get the money we need.”
Rhett frowns. “Adam . . . maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“You don’t think I can earn their trust?”
“No. Of course it’s not that. Look, I don’t how to say this but . . .” Rhett casts an anxious glance at Grey. “You don’t exactly stay with girls.”
“How is that relevant to boating?”
“It’s relevant to Alison Quick,” he says. “And she’s relevant to Graham Quick. What happens when you move on? What happens to the investment money then?”
“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions, Rhett. Believe it or not, it’s a work event.” As I say this, I think of how many times he walked by my office and saw me and Alison talking—about Boomerang. I spent all day with her last week. But I had to. So what if it turns out I liked it?
“Come on, Adam. I know your type, and she’s—”
“I’m not going to lose this deal. For anything.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to move on. I do, man. Just pick any other—”
“Did Cookie put you up to this?” I ask before I can stop myself. Rhett and Cookie have never pried this much into my personal life. I mean professional life.
He frowns. “Cookie? No. She didn’t say anything to me. Did she come to you?”
I know I’ve just made him even more nervous about Alison.
“She might have mentioned something. And you’re wrong, Rhett. Alison’s not my type. On the surface, maybe. Other than that, she’s totally different.”
My words hang in the air for a few seconds.
Grey’s eyebrows draw together slightly, a rare seriousness settling in his expression.
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