Oh, crap.
2
Noah
I slam shutthe hood of the black 1954 Mustang that I’ve been restoring for the past eight months.
“It’s looking good,”Jake says, standing next to the driver’s door.
“Where the hell did you come from?” I glance up at the ceiling of the old barn, searching for signs of the rope he must’ve rappelled down, James-Bond style.
“It’s amazing how you can be so oblivious to your surroundings when you’re working on your car. It’s about the only time your concentration is on super mode.”
He’s right about that. “Maybe if school had been about restoring vintage vehicles instead of reading books I didn’t care about, or solving math equations I’d never use in real life, my grades might’ve been better.”
“What difference does it make now? It’s not like you were interested in attending college.”
“But at least then the old man wouldn’t have kept asking me why I wasn’t more like you.” The old man being our grandfather.
“You mean a space nerd?”
I laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I wanted to get a degree in astrophysics. It was Granddad who sat me down for the talk—and I don’t mean the kind that involves birds and bees and condoms. He talked me out of pursuing my dream of working for NASA and convinced me to get a business degree so I could run the ranch. He was hoping that would catapult it to a new level of greatness.”
What the old man hadn’t expected was that TJ—my oldest brother—and I would convince Jake to switch from cattle to horses after Granddad died. It was a risky endeavor because cattle generate more income than horses and because there was already a successful horse ranch in Copper Creek. But Scottdale’s focus is on breeding Thoroughbreds. We focus on quarter horses. Future rodeo champions.
Jake’s gaze travels over the convertible. “It’s looking great. How much longer till it’s finished?”
“Maybe another month.” Or less. “Then I can start work on Charlotte Wilson’s old Thunderbird.” Once I’ve moved it here and once I’ve saved enough money for the parts I’ll need.
“But first I have to determine if I can even restore it,” I add. I’m good at what I do. Frank—my old mentor in Seattle—trained me well. But I’m no Frank, and I’m no miracle worker. “I’ll need to do a cost analysis to estimate how much the repairs will set me back.” Frank taught me how to do the calculations. It was the only time math made sense to me.
The look in Jake’s eyes at what I just said makes me laugh. “Did the cost-analysis part give you a hard-on?”I’ve never met anyone else who gets more excited about business talk than Jake. There’s a reason he’s taken on that part of running the ranch while TJ and I stick with the grunt work.
“Maybe.”
“Well, count me out when it comes to relieving it.”
He grins. “That’s what I have a gorgeous fiancée for. Speaking of which, she was supposed to go over to Charlotte’s and show the new owner how to take care of Scoundrel and Lady. But she got hung up and I volunteered you for the job.”
“First—what new owner? Second—why me?”
“Because you’re the youngest.”
“Dumbass, that line might have worked when I was a kid, but not anymore. You go do it.” I have better things to do.
“How about we do rock, paper, scissors?”
“What are we, like eight years old?”
He chuckles. “I was kidding. About rock, paper, scissors, that is. TJ and I are about to see if Thor can knock up one of the mares. But if you’d rather do that…”
I grunt. “Fine, I’ll go deal with the new horse owner.” Given how long it’s been since I last got laid, I’m hardly interested in watching TJ’s horse get more action than me. “Please tell me the person at least knows what to do with horses.”
Jake shrugs. “I have no idea. Sophie never said anything about that.”
With another grunt, I return to the house, cut up an apple, which I put in a Ziploc bag, then head to the old Wilson property.
