A good case in point was the San Juan debacle. Carson couldn’t grasp his father’s motives today or on that fateful day over a year ago when they’d taken opposite sides in a family business dispute.
But now, his father had given him a horse? He couldn’t begin to imagine why. The old man must be playing some perverse joke on him.
* * * *
“So, pretty boy, huh?”
Sam jumped and sent the brush in her hand clattering across the barn aisle. Turning to confront her fate, she met Carson’s dissecting gaze.
“Well, it’s the truth.” Sort of. His nose did appear to have been broken once or twice, and his looks leaned slightly more toward the rugged side than the prissy side. Still, if the pretty boy title got under his skin, she’d file it away and use it when needed.
He leaned toward her in an attempt to intimidate. “No one has ever called me that.”
“I see. And what would you like me to call you, sir?” She leaned toward him, demonstrating her own brand of intimidation. She’d grown up in a household of real men; rich pansies didn’t intimidate her.
“With a little respect.”
“You got it.” She bit back a sharp reply. After all, she did want to ride his mare. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
“Good. I want this horse sold. I assume you can handle that task?”
“Sold? She’s your birthday present.”
Carson shrugged. “I don’t want a horse.”
“You can’t sell her. She’s come so far. She trusts me. I’m finally getting through to her.” Sam’s stomach settled in her boots. She closed her eyes briefly. She’d let herself get too attached to a horse that didn’t belong to her. Again. If she wanted to be a professional, she needed to keep her distance from the horse and its owner. Not that she’d ever get attached to that tight ass, even though he was hot.
“If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone else.”
“Well, of course, I can, but are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got to straighten this out with my family; then we can discuss the details later in the week. We’ll formulate a plan to get the optimum return on their investment.”
“Okay.” That sounded like as much fun as a skin graft. No sense getting worked up about it. He wouldn’t be selling the horse in the near future, and he’d soon find that out. Sam knew who owned the horse on paper, and it wasn’t Mr. Personality.
Carson turned to walk away. Tight ass, Sam mouthed the words. Carson whipped around as if he’d heard her.
“Have a nice day.” She grinned at him over her shoulder as she turned back to the horse.
What would a smile do to that humorless face? She couldn’t begin to imagine such a foreign expression on his lips. Did he ever laugh or joke or act like one of the guys? She doubted that, too.
What a shame for such gorgeous looks to be wasted on a guy like him. He should be fat, balding, and short to go with his stellar personality.
Either she’d kill him or they’d end up friends. She voted for murder by slow, excruciating torture.
Chapter 4—To Be or Not to Be
Carson stepped out of the elevator and strode down the familiar hallway. He paid scant attention to the rich dark wood and priceless paintings. Such displays of wealth and power meant little compared to what lay ahead.
His father’s assistant was gone at this late hour. The entire 45th floor was eerily silent. Yet, the security guard had told him that his father was still in the office and to go right up. He was expected. Expected? How could his father be expecting him?
Carson paused as he passed his old office. Strange. His name was still on the door, and it was ajar. Feeling sick, he peeked inside and braced himself.
How odd. It was exactly as he’d left it. A picture of him and his father in hardhats during the dedication of this very building still hung on the far wall, a testament to a moment in time when he’d been on top of the world.
Shaking his head, he continued down the hall. The plush carpet extinguished the sound of his footsteps.
Carson’s hand shook as he reached for the door of his father’s office. He hadn’t been here in months. Sighing heavily, he pulled back his hand, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and grasped the doorknob. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it.
Damn, this was ridiculous. It was just his father, that’s all, a man he’d known since birth. Yet, he’d have been more comfortable facing a full-blown firing squad. Carson inhaled deeply and gathered his courage. Turning the knob, he opened the door, just as his stomach executed a cannonball off the high dive board.
Joe Reynolds stood with his back to the door, looking out the window.
Carson wrung his hands together, a nervous habit he’d never indulged in—until now. He waited and resisted the urge to fidget, knowing that Joe couldn’t be hurried. The seconds ticked to minutes. A rubber band of silence stretched between them, ready to break any agonizing second and snap him with its painful sting. Carson cleared his throat again.
Joe didn’t bother to turn around. Clasping his hands behind his back, he continued to study his million-dollar view of downtown Seattle and Elliot Bay with the Space Needle and Olympic Mountains in the background.
If it was possible to hear silence, Carson could hear it. It thundered in his ears louder than the crowd at Seahawk Stadium during a playoff game. Each second lasted an hour until he swore it seemed time had ground to a screeching halt.
Carson couldn’t stand it any longer. “Dad?”
His father’s back stiffened. “Yes?”
Carson took a tentative step closer. “Dad, I—”
“What took you so long?” Joe didn’t move or turn around.
“Excuse me?”
“In another week, I would have had to track you down.”
Carson wondered if he’d fallen down a rabbit hole. “You’ve been expecting me?”
“Of course. You’re here about that damn horse.”
“You know I am.” He’d get it over with and get out of there.
Joe turned and faced his son. For a fleeting moment, his father’s face reminded Carson of a bleak, gray winter sky. He looked old and tired. It struck a nerve deep inside.
A split second later, Joe crossed the room in strong, powerful strides. Gone was that fleeting impression of vulnerability, if it’d ever been there. The man in front of him was the same imposing, powerful, ruthless man he’d always been.
Joe moved to the mahogany bar next to his desk, poured a scotch for both of them, and turned to face his son. “Sit down.”
“What I have to say won’t take that long.” Carson accepted the proffered Scotch and forced himself to take only a sip, even though he’d rather guzzle the whole thing in an effort to dull the pain and get a little liquid courage.
“Sit. Down.”
Carson sat. When his dad talked in that tone of voice, no one dared cross him.
“I appreciate the gift, but I can’t keep it.”
Joe Reynolds set his jaw and frowned. “Of course you can.”
“I don’t know the first thing about horses.” Carson forced himself to meet his father’s direct gaze.
“You’ll learn. You’re a smart man, aren’t you?”
Carson ignored the jibe. His father was probing for weaknesses. “I have no use for a horse.”
“It’ll get you out of the office.”
Carson kept his voice neutral. Inside, conflicting emotions raged a silent war against each other. “You could’ve done the same thing with golf clubs.”
Joe actually chuckled. “It’ll broaden your horizons. At least, that’s what your mother thinks.”
“I like my horizons just as they are, and I don’t need my family meddling with them.”
“Since when don’t the women in this family meddle? They consider it their form of gainful employment.”
“Yeah, don’t I know. Tell Mom I appreciate her concern, but my business takes all my time. Just like
Reynolds Corporation once did.” A fist tightened around Carson’s chest and constricted his breathing. Even after a year and a half, it still hurt. He searched Joe’s face for a sign of remorse or regret and found none. But then, his father was the consummate poker player.
“About the horse. I—” Carson continued.
“I carry the papers on that horse. She’s yours for the next six months. After that, I don’t give a damn what you do with her.”
“Why are you doing this?” Carson couldn’t fathom why Joe would force him to keep this animal.
“I’m done discussing the horse.” Joe’s face hardened to granite. He regarded his oldest son with the same steely-eyed determination he used when taking over a company. No doubt he was slated to be his father’s next takeover.
“If you don’t want to discuss the horse then our business is concluded.”
“Not according to your mother, it’s not.”
“Let’s keep her out of this.”
“I’d love to if I could. Hear me out, or that woman won’t give me a moment’s peace.”
Carson opened his mouth to decline, but the words wouldn’t form. He missed his family, his father most of all. “I need to get back to work.”
“It’s Friday night.” Joe sighed and rubbed his temples. He blew out a resigned breath. “You are your father’s son.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
Joe met his gaze. “Work. Work. Work. Your life is nothing but work. I taught you too well.”
“Is there a point to this discussion?” Not so long ago, his father would’ve considered Carson’s obsessive work ethic a plus, not a minus. Damn, how things had changed.
“It’s time to end your leave of absence.”
“I’m not on a leave of absence. I resigned when you threatened to demote me, remember?”
“I didn’t accept your resignation. Remember?”
“I don’t work for you anymore.”
“Of course you do. Family always has a place.”
“You accused me of mismanaging the equestrian center project. How am I supposed to take that?”
“Like a man and admit your mistakes.” No one could cut a person down to size like dear old Dad.
“You said I put business ahead of family.”
“You did.”
“You assigned me an impossible task. You know I didn’t believe in that project. How was I supposed to appease Bridget and keep within budget? You gave her veto power over my decisions.” Shit. Did his voice just crack?
“Bridget needed a chance to prove her merit.”
“Yeah, and I bore the brunt of that decision.” His blood began to boil. “Then you said my subordinates complained about my high expectations, my coldness, my refusal to bend or compromise, my rigid adherence to what I believed was the right path.”
Joe raised one eyebrow and almost smiled. “You remember all that?”
Carson nodded. Remember it? He had nightmares about it in vivid, living color. “Dad, you used to consider those my strengths, not my weaknesses.”
His father smiled with sadness. “I used to consider life a game to be won, not a rare gift to be savored.”
Carson stared at this stranger who’d become his father. He wanted that ruthless, unyielding businessman back. At least he understood that man and could relate to him.
“While I was recovering from my bypass, you were in charge. You were conservative, too much so. You didn’t change tactics when all signs pointed to disaster on some of our biggest projects, didn’t use your head to find creative ways to make them work or get out while there was still time. You didn’t listen to your people. Then there’s the San Juan mess. You went against family, and your selfish actions split this family in two.”
That was really the crux of the matter. He’d committed the ultimate sin in his father’s eyes, but he hadn’t done it for himself. He’d done it for the good of the corporation, the family. The old Joe would have understood. The new Joe didn’t see it that way.
“You almost broke the company, Carson.”
“Our other holdings were doing well until you allowed Jake to halt the San Juan resort development. My gamble could have paid off.”
“Possibly, but you drained our other holdings of valuable assets. Even then, you didn’t stop. You blindly forged ahead. You kept throwing good money after bad and never deviated from your bullheaded plan.”
“I would have been fine if we hadn’t sunk most of our liquid assets into Rosehill.”
“Rosehill was an issue, but you didn’t make adjustments when the resort development ceased.”
“Then why do you want to hire me? I can’t do anything to please you. I never could.” Carson started to stand, but Joe put a hand on his son’s shoulder. He pushed him back in his seat with surprising strength.
“Listen. You owe me that.”
“Alright.” Carson cursed his weakness where his family was concerned.
Joe was quiet for a moment. Carson waited and sipped his scotch. He might as well have been drinking lighter fluid, as little as he appreciated it.
“I’m giving you a second chance with the Cedrona equestrian development.”
“There is no development. I saw it. Nothing has happened since I left. It’s a no-win situation.”
“The development needs to continue and fast. We can’t absorb another loss like Rosehill. Even worse, we have several contracts for horse shows on the grounds starting a year from this summer. If we don’t fulfill them, the lawsuits alone could be our undoing.”
“Who solicited contracts for horse shows on show grounds that don’t exist?”
His father gave him that look.
“Don’t answer that. Bridget?”
Joe nodded. When she had a mind to, his sister could sell sagebrush to Montanans.
“Of all the irresponsible, stupid—”
“Carson. It’s done.”
“Maybe, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“You know there’ll be no peace in the family until your mother and Bridget get their way, and Cedrona is a reality.”
Carson was beginning to see the light. “Jake can’t deal with Bridget, can he?”
“She’s a little difficult.”
Carson snorted. “A little?”
“Bridget isn’t happy with Harlee and Jake’s management of the old farm. For starters, she wants Samantha MacIntyre fired, and she wants you to do it.”
“What? Me? Tell Bridget to fire her.”
“No one has ever been able to tell Bridget anything.”
“Yeah, no joke. I can’t work with her either.” And he wouldn’t—couldn’t—work with his father.
“You handle her better than anyone.”
“The equestrian center was her brainchild. She’s going to butt in at every moment, but she won’t want any responsibility. All talk, no action.” Like that was any surprise. “Sorry, I’m not interested.” Carson crossed his arms over his chest.
His father’s face grew rigid. Pale blue eyes, so like his own, radiated the warmth of a Mt. Rainier glacier. “Let me explain this in professional terms instead of personal terms. I know what shape your business is in. You’re hanging on by a shoestring. This could be the edge you need.”
“Of course you know what shape my business is in because you put it there. Every move I make I hit a roadblock. No one wants to deal with me because they don’t want to face your wrath.”
“Are you accusing me of undermining your business?”
“I’ve been suspicious of it for quite a while now. I feel as if I’ve been blackballed.”
“That would be ruthless and underhanded of me, especially considering I’m your father.” Joe shrugged. “Why don’t we work together instead of against each other?”
“You can’t influence everyone. I have some lucrative prospects in the works. I don’t need the Cedrona project.”
Joe shook his head. “Don’t bullshit me. I make it my business to kn
ow your business.”
“Don’t waste your time.”
“Your mother and sister think you can make this work. I have my reservations. Personally, I don’t think you’re up to the challenge. After all, you’d have to show exceptional creativity—a trait you sorely lack—by pursuing alternative sources of financing and scaling down the plans.”
Carson opened his mouth to take the bait then clamped it shut. No, he wasn’t going to bite, not under any circumstances. He didn’t need to prove anything to his father. Not today or any day. Carson rose to his feet, and this time his father didn’t stop him. Instead, he walked him to the door.
“You have a week to make a decision,” Joe said.
“I don’t need a week. You have my decision.”
“One week, Carson. Don’t quit on me again.”
“You gave me an impossible task made even more impossible by Bridget’s involvement.”
“Last year when things got tough, you quit. I never would have labeled you a quitter.”
“I’m not.”
“Really?” There was a calculating gleam in his father’s eyes? “Prove it.”
Carson hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. He closed his eyes for a moment. “All I want to do is get rid of that damn horse. I’ll be back in six months.”
“You’ll be back within the week.”
“Take care, Dad.” Without a glance back, Carson walked out the door.
He hurried to the elevator, and took it to the parking garage. Once in his car, he slammed it into gear and screeched onto the street. Guilt and regret sliced through him, leaving an ache in his heart. He missed his family. He missed working side-by-side with his father to continue the legacy built by generations of Reynolds men and women.
What would happen to Bridget if Cedrona weren’t built?
God knows; Bridget certainly couldn’t hold down a real job. She flitted from one thing to another. Riding horses was the one thing at which she excelled, along with shopping, spending money, and collecting retired show horses.
Then there were his father’s recent health issues. Shit, did his offer have to do with that? Was his father really sick or dying?
The Gift Horse Page 3