"Why?" Reuben asked, voice more suspicious than incredulous. "You've got your own money. I know it isn't that."
"No. I mean, it really is a lot of money, but no. That isn’t the main reason. It's more about... knowing I could do it. Showing up my dad, I guess.” Chet huffed a laugh. “Petty, I know. But I feel like I need to prove I was never the useless fuck up he told me I was. That I could run the farm on my own if I wanted to. And be better at it than him."
"Be better in general than him, you mean, which you already are." Reuben sighed. "I get that. You need to prove it to yourself and not to him, right? 'Cause you know he'd dead."
"To myself,” Chet confirmed. “I don't care about him. Really. But I want to know for me. Is this crazy? Am I being ridiculous?"
Reuben sighed again. "Chet in all the years I've known you, ridiculous is a word I would never once have applied. If this is something you feel like you need to do, do it. We'll figure out the business side here. We will get it all sorted out. And you'll make it work."
Chet was smiling now, feeling a lot less lost. "Thanks, Reu. That's what I needed to hear."
"Now, about this hot boy you don't wanna talk about...."
Chet hung up the phone.
8
Nick was surprised to get Chet's voicemail, saying he was accepting the inheritance, despite its year of residency stipulation. He had hoped, of course, that Chet would stay, but he hadn't really believed it would happen. He tried not to let the excitement he felt bleed into his voice when he returned Chet's call and told him he was on his way to bring the papers. When he stepped out of his office to go find his dad, he found his father already standing in the hallway.
"Hey, Nick! Feels like we've missed each other all week.” His dad squeezed his should affectionately. “Thanks for handling that Barnaby thing. I still wanted to meet with Chet at some point, but this Laramie case is killing me right now. Has he told you he doesn't want the farm yet?"
"Actually, I was just coming to find you. He's gonna take it. He's gonna stay here a year and run the place." Nick knew his father's incredulous expression was somewhat mirrored on his own face.
"You gotta be kidding me! Well, I will be damned. Good for him! If anybody ever deserved an inheritance, I think it's that kid. Walker Barnaby was a—hey there, Ms. Barnes, how are you today?"
Nick hadn't even heard the bell over the door before she walked through it, so he was glad his father had noticed her before spouting off about a prominent and very dead citizen that somehow most people were still snowed by. The law firm was pretty well-established, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t still be hurt by bad opinions.
"I'll see you later, Dad. I have to drop these papers off for Chet. Good to see you, Ms. Barnes."
Nick stepped past Ms. Barnes and out the door, into a mild February morning. The sky wasn't the deep blue of October, but it was still bright and clear. He thought back to how it had been the day he'd walked down Main Street with Chet last and he felt like the weather might be better, but he missed the company. He got into his car, shaking off the idea of Chet as a romantic possibility.
The drive to Chet's farm seemed to take no time at all, and before Nick knew it, he was walking up the porch steps. Chet yanked open the door before Nick could even knock. Chet was smiling, but it looked a little manic and Nick looked at him, eyebrows raised in question.
"Am I crazy?" Chet blurted.
"Well, generally speaking, I can't say," Nick said calmly. "But are you crazy for wanting to take over the farm for a year in order to receive your inheritance? An inheritance which should have been yours anyway, without any ridiculous hoops to be jumped through?" Nick waited a beat to let his words settle. "No. I don't think you are."
Chet's whole body relaxed visibly, tension apparently leaving him in a rush. "Thank you. I was so sure when I sent you that voicemail, but then ever since your phone call, I've been pacing, my brain trying to convince me I was a nutjob who'd made a grave error—and I haven't even signed the papers yet, so who knows how I'll be once the deal has been struck."
Nick reached out and took Chet's shoulders in his hands, leaning forward to look him squarely in the eye.
"Chet. You're going to be fine. You're making arrangements to cover your main business, right?"
Chet nodded.
"And you know you can leave for up to two weeks at a time without breaking the rules of the will, should anything come up or should you just need a break, right?"
"Yes, I know," Chet said.
"So then what do you have to lose, Chet? If you don't know about some aspect of the farm, there are managers and other people on staff who can help you. Plus, didn't you watch your old man run this place for your entire childhood? Weren't you expected to know the ins and outs, even if you weren't old enough?" Nick asked, as kindly as he knew how.
Chet blew out a breath. "Okay. Yes. You're right. The worst part about this is going to be living in this house. So I just need to find a way to make that more tolerable and calm my ass down, right? Right."
"Right," Nick agreed. He held up his briefcase. "I've got all the paperwork, whenever you're ready to sign."
When Chet looked up from the papers a few moments later, he said, "Thank you, Nick. You've helped a lot."
As Nick stared down into Chet's pale green eyes, he knew that Chet was making the right decision for himself. The question was, was having Chet around a good thing for Nick? Or would he fall for his unattainable high school crush all over again?
9
As Gallagher—Nick—led him around the side of the converted barn that served as a farm office, a few stragglers were heading into the building more slowly than the rest. A few snippets of their conversation floated back to Chet and Gallagher.
"—ungrateful son thinks he's gonna boss us around—"
"—give him a chance, Pete. He might—"
"—worked here ten years, never seen him once—"
Chet frowned. He knew how the town had always viewed Walker Barnaby, but apparently when one drank the flavored sugar water, it could extend to poisoning them against Chet as well. This was going to be harder than he'd even expected. He sighed.
"Don't let it get to you," Nick said, stopping Chet outside the door. "Pete Richards loves to complain more than he loves cholesterol. And if you've ever seen him eat at the diner, you'll know just how much love that is."
Chet laughed, as he had no doubt been meant to, and also relaxed. He nodded and Nick opened the door.
It took a few minutes to get everyone quiet and settled enough for Chet to speak. Everyone had questions, but Gallagher finally convinced them to hold them until the end and let Chet speak. Since there were no seats for the majority of the employees, Gallagher found Chet a small wooden box to stand on, so he could be seen and heard. Chet still hated public speaking, but he'd gotten really good at it over the years, so he wasn't as nervous as he'd have been back in high school—but he could feel the flop sweat, still.
"Everybody, I appreciate your patience. As most of you know," Chet said, glancing at Pete Richards as he spoke. "I'm Chet Barnaby, Walker's son. You may or may not have heard that I'm going to be taking over the running of the farm." He paused with a hand up, waiting for the murmur to die down. "I know you all have questions, and I will take them one at a time at the end, but I have a couple of things I want to say first."
Pete muttered something Chet couldn't hear, but the rolling eyes and annoyed expressions of the people around Pete told Chet it hadn't been good.
Chet stared directly at Pete as he continued speaking. "I realize that some of you don't trust me, and that's fine. I will either prove myself to you over the next few months or I won't." He turned his gaze to the rest of the crowd. "I'm not going to make empty promises here or feed you platitudes. But I do want to reassure you of two things. The first is that no one is losing their job just because I've taken over. I'm not here to clean house. I'm going to be going over the books and taking stock of everything o
ver the next several days, and as long as everything is running as it should be, I don't foresee any major changes to how the business is going to be run for the next year, at least. And while I have been gone a long time, I do know more about farming and business than some of you—" Again, he looked right at Pete. "—might believe I do."
Nick walked up with a bottle of water and he gratefully drank from it. "All right. Now, in order to keep this from devolving into chaos, I'm going to ask anyone who has questions to raise your hand. When I call on you, please limit your time to a single question. And please don't shout out new questions while someone else is speaking. Raise your hand and wait to be recognized. I want everyone to have a voice and if you're yelling over each other, no one gets one. All right?" Chet saw nods around the crowd and a few hands went up.
He pointed at a woman near the front.
"You said we're all going to keep our jobs, but what if the shareholders say different?"
"Yeah, hotshot, what about the shareholders?" Pete muttered just loud enough to be heard.
Chet frowned, ignoring Pete entirely. To the woman, he said "I'm sorry—what's your name?"
"Rachel Jones, sir."
"Okay. Rachel, I'm not sure what you mean. There are no shareholders. My father left me as the sole proprietor of this farm."
She looked distressed, glancing around at a sea of faces who shared her obvious confusion. "But... Mr. Barnaby—your dad, I mean—he was always talking about the shareholders."
Chet frowned again. "Talking about them in what capacity?"
"Well, whenever we asked him about making changes—buying new equipment, selling off livestock, whatever—he always had to run it by the shareholders. Sometimes they approved the changes and sometimes they didn't. Did he buy them out before he died?"
Chet looked back at Gallagher, who was likewise frowning. Gallagher stepped forward.
"Since Walker Barnaby was technically my father's client, I will have to check in to this. To my knowledge, Walker was never anything but the sole owner of Barnaby Farms, but I may not have all the information. Regardless, I do know that Chet here is the only one making any decisions about the future of the business. There are no shareholders at this time."
Chet put a hand on Nick's shoulder—ignoring the tingle of awareness in his fingers as he did so—to silence him, and Gallagher nodded and stepped back again.
"Everyone, once I've had more of a chance to look over the books, what I'd like to do is have another meeting to discuss the changes that you've asked for in the past. So if anyone who has questions like that can put your hands down for now, we will have a lunch meeting in the dining room at the house tomorrow."
The majority of the hands went down. As Chet answered the few other questions that remained—mostly about pay and scheduled vacations—he noticed that Pete had run out of sarcastic comments, but he kept staring at Chet, as if trying to figure him out. Maybe he'd get through to him after all.
10
Nick was impressed with how Chet had handled himself at the farm, but he knew better than to say so. It wasn't that he hadn't assumed Chet was capable of leading a business—his own business in Tennessee was proof enough of that—but Nick still remembered Chet as he'd been in high school. It was more than apparent that the move to Nashville had been good for him. He'd gained a level of confidence and poise that he hadn't possessed back that.
Nick tried not to think about the role he himself had played in that lack of confidence.
"So, another meeting tomorrow, huh?" he said as Chet walked him back to his car. "I'm going to assume you won't need me for that one."
"No," Chet said, obviously distracted. "Um, you'll check on those shareholders, right?"
Nick paused in the act of unlocking his door. "I will, but honestly, I mostly said that to buy time and stave off a revolt. Your dad never had shareholders as far as I know. It was always a sole proprietorship."
Chet sighed heavily. "Yeah, that's... pretty much what I figured." He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up crazily. "My father really was some piece of work. It really wouldn't shock me if I found out he bilked all those charities somehow too. I mean, you know he only donated for the tax write-offs and the fame, right? But if he could have found another way to benefit from it, I promise you he'd have taken it. Shareholders," he said through gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry, Chet. I had to deal with him a few times when my dad was busy. He was always all smiles and handshakes, but there was always something... off about him to me. My dad told me some stories too." Nick hesitated then said, "Growing up with him must have been pretty awful for you to stay gone fifteen years."
Chet was quiet for so long that Nick had decided he wasn't going to answer, so he started unlocking his car again. When he put his hand on the handle to open the door, Chet finally spoke in a barely audible voice.
"I'm glad he's dead. I wish it had happened sooner."
Nick chewed his lower lip before responding. "My parents were both pretty decent to me, overall. But there are a couple of people I feel that way about. I wish you hadn't had to go through all the things you did back then."
Step one, Nick thought. He forced himself to hold Chet's gaze. "Especially my part in it all. I need you to know that I deeply regret my actions toward you in high school. I have some very weak excuses, but I know they aren't enough. I know I caused you a great deal of pain at a time when you were probably already in a world of it... and I just want you to know that I'm sorry. I know it doesn't fix it. I know it doesn't erase it. But I am sorry. And if I could go back and do things over, I'd change it all... but I can't."
Chet stared back in silence, his expression unreadable. Finally, after a long moment, he stared off into the distance toward the barn. He took a deep breath and turned back to Nick, whose heart was in his throat.
"I realize how difficult it must have been for you to make that apology just now. And I appreciate that you made the effort. I do." He sighed. "But right now, all of this," he said, gesturing around at the farm and house. "Well, that's about all I can handle as it is. Maybe sometime you can tell me what those weak ass excuses were and I can decide whether or not to forgive you, but today, I think I've probably had enough stress and drama, okay?"
"You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up now—"
Chet held up a hand. "No. I'm not... angry about your timing. Like I said. I appreciate that you apologized again. I just can't deal with processing it yet." He frowned and put his hands in his pockets, dropping his gaze. "I'm gonna head on in. I'll see you in the next few days, I guess."
With that, he walked off toward the house without a backward glance. Nick watched him all the way until he disappeared inside. He wasn't sure how to feel. Step one was complete. Now what?
11
Chet had spent the evening poring over the books and learning all the ins and outs of the business. He figured out where the weak spots were—at least on paper—and how much money there was for upgrades and expansions and salary increases. Before he approved any of the latter, he'd need to go over personnel files and look at people's performance reviews, or possibly just watch them over the coming weeks before he made any decisions.
He sent out an email to all the employees, letting them know to be at the house at twelve-thirty for the luncheon. Then he sent Gallagher a text, asking who his best bet for last minute catering was. He didn't expect or receive an immediate reply. So with nothing more to do for the moment, he grabbed a bottle of scotch from his father's liquor stash and a tumbler from the cabinet. He didn't bother with ice, just poured three fingers in the glass and swirled it around before holding the glass in the air in the direction of his father's urn.
"Fuck you, old man. I'm drinking your good scotch and you're hopefully burning in hell somewhere nice and hot. Enjoy that."
Chet took a decent slug of the scotch as he walked upstairs to his bedroom. It was smoky and complex in a way he didn't altogether enjoy, but he figured it
would pair well with something or other. He'd have to do some research and find out just what. Right now, he just wanted to drink and let his mind take a break. He grabbed a paperback from his suitcase upstairs and climbed into bed with it. His phone dinged.
Gallagher: That would be my mom
Gallagher: Want me to ask her for you?
Chet: Could you? That would be great
Chet: Just something simple, set up no later than 12:15 tomorrow
Chet: Sandwiches and easy sides for 50
Gallagher: There are only 30 employees
Chet: Yeah, but I'm willing to bet a few of them are big eaters
Gallagher: Fair
Chet: Oh and drinks too!
Gallagher: You mean cokes? ;)
Chet: When I lived here, we called them "cold drinks" :P
Chet hadn't forgiven Nick yet, but the silly interaction made him feel better, anyway. He really did want to hear Nick's reasons. "I had some issues" just wasn't good enough. Not by a long shot. But the more he got to know Nick, the more he suspected there was a lot more to it than that. Enough to forgive him? That remained to be seen.
He set his phone down and picked up his book. The story was interesting and the night was technically still young, but Chet was exhausted and he found himself nodding off in the middle of chapter three. He closed the book and started to set it aside and get ready for bed when his phone chimed again.
Gallagher: I didn't know my mom could swear that much
Gallagher: But she'll do it if you can pay upfront.
Chet: Great! Thank her profusely.
Chet: Payment upfront is no problem.
Gallagher: Cool. I'll text you the invoice and the billing info and you can transfer the funds.
Chet waited for the image to load and then pulled it up for a closer look. The price was a lot cheaper than he was used to paying already and then he noted there was a discount on top of that. He frowned. On the one hand, he liked a bargain, but on the other hand, last minute catering usually cost a lot more than preorders and he was already getting out cheaply without the discount. Paying so little didn't feel right at all.
Home to Stay (Southern Boys Book 2) Page 4