He strides across my office, commenting, “Nice,” which is a big compliment from him but an understatement if he’d seen the state the place was in when I arrived and stands by the window.
“That him?” he asks, tipping his head toward the pen.
“Yep. That’s Michael Jackson,” Sammy supplies with a bright grin stretching his chubby cheeks.
These two haven’t stopped giving me shit about that since the day I tried to outsmart a four-year-old…and lost.
“Oh, is Jackson out there?” I ask innocently, joining them.
Sammy covers his mouth as if he’s about to whisper, then proves he hasn’t got the concept down yet when he shouts, “We saw you looking out the window when we came.”
Well, shit.
I may be twenty-six and well and truly an adult, but I still confide in my big bro about everything. And these past few weeks, only two things have been on my mind: the sanctuary and Jackson. Wagner’s listened to me prattle on about repairing infrastructure and options for replacing the barn’s long-dead plumbing system, as well as daily updates on Jackson.
For a grumpy bastard, he’s been surprisingly patient as he listens to me, especially since I don’t really have all that much to update him on. I’m sticking to the commitment I made when I took over the center and am giving Jackson his space. So most of my ramblings about Jackson are just that—ramblings. About someone who barely tolerates me.Beyondpathetic, I know.
“Hate to ask again, Mav,” Wagner begins, stepping away from the window. “But I need to take an investor meeting in the city today. Came up at the last minute.”
I nod before he asks what I know he’s going to. Everleigh is three hours away. It’s too much to drive there and back in one day. He’ll spend the night in his condo like he always does, andI’ll get to spend the evening hanging out with my favorite little dude.
I high-five Sammy. “Score. Looks like it’s pizza and ice cream dessert for us tonight.”
“No. It isn’t,” Wagner tuts sternly. “I’ve made grilled chicken with steamed veggies and sweet potato nuggets.”
Sammy folds his arms across his small chest, crosses one leg in front of the other, and scoffs. “Yeah. As if we’ll be eating that.”
Wagner takes one look at Sammy doing a spot-on impersonation of his favorite uncle and glares at me. “Stop being a bad influence on my son.”
“I’m not a bad influence.” I raise my hands to my face. “He probably gets it from all the R-rated movies we watch together.”
Wagner’s jaw pulses as a hiss escapes through clenched teeth. “That better be your piss-poor idea of a joke.”
“It is. I’m kidding.” I clap him on the shoulder and gently usher him toward the door. “We’ll eat dinner. Watch cartoons. And I’ll have him in bed by seven.”
“Eight,” Sammy shouts from the other side of my office.
Wagner turns to his son, his face softening. “Come here, kiddo. Gimme a hug.” Sammy bolts over, crashing into Wagner’s arms. “Love you, Sammy.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
My heart melts seeing them like this. It’s the sweetest thing, and it makes me want to have my own kids one day. Once I get my life sorted.
I walk Wagner out as Sammy returns to the window, ensuring at least one Benson has eyes on Jackson at all times. “Don’t worry about us,” I tell my brother. “Focus on your meeting and securing investors.”
Lord knows he needs it. Don’t know what it is about Silverstone and people mismanaging businesses around here, but this sanctuary isn’t the only place in need of a seriousturnaround. The vineyard’s finances are a sea of red. I can’t believe Dad let the business that’s been in his family for generations get this bad. Then again, there are a lot of things Dad has done that I can’t wrap my head around.
“Thanks, Mav. I appreciate your help.”
“Anytime.”
Wagner takes a look around my office. “You’ve done a good job. The place looks great.”
“Is that a…compliment?”
His lips twist. “It is. You get one a year. Keep my kid safe.”
“I will. Now, go out there and get that money.”
