Part 16 (1/2)
Moving forward with a sale is something that Philip Callahan knows well. It may have been a long time since he's done it, but to an extent, it's a lot like riding a bike. The basic rules don't change much or often.
Why the h.e.l.l would they?
But there's something else to consider, in this case, and that is that when the check starts to clear, it will mean things that he's not ready to deal with right now.
Once the ink dries on that contract, he's got to start seriously thinking about moving out of the ranch. He's got to start learning a new route home from town. He's got to start getting used to a whole new set of problems that need to be fixed around the ranch.
He's got to get used to a whole lot of things being different. Sara's not going to be right there any more. She'll be somewhere else. Somewhere respectful, no doubt.
With a hundred and fifty thousand, even after making sure that Randy's got no trouble, it won't be a special struggle to see that she's got a respectful and comfortable place to lay her down.
But some part of him isn't ready. Some part that knows that he can afford to put it off as long as he needs to. After all, the check will still be there tomorrow. The deal will still be there. And with plans already made to see her...
Even then, time pa.s.ses. It pa.s.ses slow when you want it to go slow, but when you want to savor every last drop of time before you have to leave the place you've been living since you got your own place, near twenty years, the sand can't stay in the hourgla.s.s fast enough.
She looks good this evening. Morgan's always looked good, every time he's seen her. She wakes up looking good. His throat feels tight, looking at her.
”Evening.”
She smiles up at him, leaning over her desk. It's strange to see her in those clothes, ready to go out for the night, leaning over the desk in her office. She must have changed in the office, but even still...
”Hey, you.” Her voice sounds nice, too. But still, no mention of the deal. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe it's what she wants. Neither one of them seems to have much intention of getting to the point, right or wrong.
”How was work?”
”Slow. You wouldn't think that I would have something to complain about when nothing's happening. And yet...”
”Sorry to hear that.”
”Don't be.”
She tucks a set of keys into her purse and crosses the room, her arm in his. ”Where are you taking me, Mr. Callahan?”
”I'm taking you? Oh, I get it-you've got my land, now the wining and dining is over, is it?”
She looks at him, clearly unsure, and he keeps a straight face for an instant. Then, as subtle as a train whistle, he winks and smiles, and then goes back to the straight face.
”You're awful.”
”I think I told you that before. When we first met.”
”Oh no, you're not getting out of this that easily.”
”Alright, fine. You're right. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have teased you. How can I make it up to you?”
”I don't know. It's probably impossible.” She's fully in the role now, even as they walk together, arms intertwined.
”Anything. I'll do anything. How's dinner sound?”
”Dinner? Oh, you'll have to do more than just that.”
”In too deep for dinner, huh? Dessert, then, too.”
”You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Callahan.”
”I know, but that's part of what makes me so charming, you see.”
”You're right about that.”
He slips into the truck, and to his surprise she slides into the pa.s.senger seat. It's so strangely unlike her-she's always been in that red speed machine of hers, always been driving herself.
He doesn't ask her about it. If she's decided to ride with him, that's her prerogative. He drives her out. There's no reason to mention that of course he already had a reservation. You hardly need them out here, even if you go into the city.
Of course, if they're celebrating-whatever they're celebrating-then you can't stay just in town, but Wyoming isn't exactly the bustling social scene of a place like New York or Vegas. Does she expect that sort of thing? He doesn't know. But there's no use in getting nervous about it now.
Morgan takes his arm again automatically when they climb down from the truck. It must have been strange, sitting so high up after having her b.u.t.t only a few inches off the ground every day.
”Sir?”
”I called ahead? Phil Callahan, table for two.”
The girl at the front is small, barely five feet tall and she looks like she could still be in high school. Maybe just outside of it. She looks down the list studiously and taps next to where his name shows up on the list, near the top of the page. Maybe he'd called a little early.
”Got you right here, sir.” She picks up a couple menus and tucks them under her arm. ”Right this way, sir.”
He follows her, Morgan only a step behind, to a quiet little section of the restaurant. The place isn't dimly lit-not the romantic lighting that the last one had.
But you can get one h.e.l.l of a burrito here, and to his very great surprise, their steaks aren't half bad either. Maybe if he'd gotten into raising cattle, rather than raising horses, he'd have a stronger opinion on the matter.
Then again, Wyoming territory, they probably have access to the best steaks in the country, and local to boot. So who the h.e.l.l knows, any more.
Morgan picks up a menu, and he does the same. He doesn't particularly need to look it over. He's been here plenty of times.
But his eyes drop to the pages, for a minute or two. Running over everything to see what he can see, and that's probably why he doesn't notice when a man walks up until he speaks.
”Hey, Callahan. Small world. Who's your friend here?”
Phil looks up, a little tired and not in the mood to talk to Glen Brand tonight.
”Glen, this is Morgan Lowe. She owns those, ah, factories going up? I'm sure you heard about 'em.”