“What do you mean?” Nita demanded.
“You know me—my love life’s always been a fucking sideshow. Plus all the girls I date wind up being crazy, and Abilene’s perfectly normal. So maybe it’s just not in the cards.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Are all these ex-girlfriends of yours in junior high?”
He frowned. “No, of course not.”
“Then you’ve been dating women, Casey.”
“Okay, fine—all the women I date wind up being crazy.”
“Sounds like the common denominator might be you.”
Casey rolled his eyes. Nita smirked, wrecking her snooty poker face. Though actually, when he thought about it . . .
“If I am the common denominator, then it stands to reason I’m probably the last thing that girl needs in her life.”
“You’re not used to being there for people, are you?” she asked. “Not used to being the man a woman sometimes needs, when she’s struggling.”
“No, and that’s exactly my point.”
Nita smiled kindly. “You’re so unused to it, in fact, it seems you don’t even realize that’s exactly what you’ve become.”
He blushed again, brain scrambling to figure out if that was true.
“I won’t make a big deal of it,” she said, “but I’d be remiss not to say I’m proud of you. And how much you’ve grown, these past few months.” With that, Nita looked at her watch, then stood. “I’d better check on your mother.”
He eyed the microwave clock. “You just don’t want to miss Wheel of Fortune.”
She laughed. “Well, maybe not.” She paused halfway to the door, turned back to him. “Why don’t you join us, Casey? If you can spare the time. Vince and Kim are due back any minute.”
Seven thirty? He’d miss out on a hot dinner at Three C, but fuck it. Christine had freed him up until nine.
Plus, wonder of wonders, Casey kind of felt like hanging out with his family, just now.
Chapter 19
Miah dragged himself up the porch steps and through the front door close to eight, beat to the bone. His workday had started at six, after staying up until past two dealing with the previous evening’s episode with the burglar. And while he’d thought a steer caught up in a length of barbwire fencing—in need of disentangling and a visit from a vet—had promised to be the headache of the day, he’d been wrong.
When the animals caused trouble, that was just the job. But when it was people who showed up, looking to lend you a headache . . .
He’d swung by the house around three, in search of something to appease his growling stomach, just as an unfamiliar luxury SUV had rolled under the arch and into the lot. He’d paused by the front door, already knowing what it would be about, but praying he was wrong.
He hadn’t been.
The property scout—a different one than earlier in the week, though no less pushy—never made it past the porch, but he still managed to eat up twenty minutes of Miah’s time, hinting at outrageous figures but not producing any until Miah was on the verge of kicking him back down the steps. The man hadn’t matched his shiny wheels. He’d been well dressed but greatly overweight, and sweating in a way that no healthy person did, not in February, in one of the driest patches of the country. Miah spent too much time around animals to enjoy the interaction; he could sense nerves in a steer or a dog or a person, and they set him on edge himself. He’d wanted the man gone, and fast, but even forsaking the thinnest veil of courtesy, it hadn’t come quick.
“Maybe we ought to take this inside,” the man had suggested. Miah had suggested he was perfectly happy with his feet planted right where they were.
How many ways did you need to tell a person you weren’t interested? In the end the scout had written a number down, all discreet and conspiring, like he was letting Miah in on the deal of the century. And in truth, the number had given him pause. More than Three C was worth—acreage and infrastructure and stock included—and the guy had claimed he worked for a hospitality outfit, interested in turning it into a dude ranch. They’d way overvalued the place, for their purposes. Miah didn’t doubt that such a venture could do well, once the casino had tourists paying attention to this quietest corner of the state, but even so. The number had been ludicrous, if all they intended to do was throw up some imitation-rustic luxury cabins and hire horseback-riding instructors. Granted, eighty percent of the land in Nevada was owned by the government, but they could still find a decent chunk of property elsewhere in Brush County and build it all from scratch for a fraction of that price.
Ludicrous or not, no number scrawled on a business card could ever change Miah’s answer, nor his dad’s, nor his mom’s. He didn’t even need to consult them. The answer was no, and always would be, no matter how long they stood on the porch.
“That’s a shame, Mr. Church. A real shame,” the man had said, frustration finally cutting through his cheery magnanimity, reddening his already pink cheeks. “But you hang on to that card. How about that? Maybe run it by your folks?”
“Our answer won’t change,” Miah had assured him, but tucked the card in his pocket all the same. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to get on with.”
“Of course, of course. But you talk it over with your parents—Donald and Christine, isn’t it? And if you decide maybe you’d like to hear more, well my number’s right on the card. Morning, noon, or—”
And Miah had stepped inside and closed the door. Not aggressively, but firmly. He half wondered if the guy wouldn’t stand there talking to the wood for another twenty minutes. It was no less pointless an endeavor than trying to win any of the Churches over.
The rest of the afternoon had gone to plan, at least. He was behind and much of the day’s tasks were physical, and by six he was exhausted and ready for a beer and a chance to put his feet up, except another wrench lobbed itself into the works.
One of the younger hands, Katrina, had found him in the stables. She was crying before he could even hang the coming week’s roster on the clipboard’s peg, and tears always stopped him in his tracks. Ranch workers weren’t soft people, and this girl had never been an exception.
“I have to go away for a while,” Kat had told him. “I’m going back to Layton to stay with my parents until somebody catches whoever’s been sneaking around at night. I mean, I hope you’d still want me back, after, but I can’t stay.”
He’d had to take Kat to the bunkhouse kitchen and sit her down with a cold drink and wait for her to calm—another fifteen minutes lost—but he’d gotten to the bottom of it. She’d been stalked by an ex when she was nineteen, and the entire situation with the camera flashes freaked her out, even if everyone thought it was a burglar. Miah couldn’t fault that. He made sure it sounded unlikely that this ex could possibly be the one who’d been coming around Three C, and promised her that of course her job would be waiting for her once everything was cleared up. He’d even carried her suitcases out to her car and made sure she had cash for a coffee and gas.
He’d waved as cheerfully as he could manage as she turned out of the back lot, but inside he’d felt miserable. Everything around here was a fucking shambles. Property vultures circling, creeps skulking around. Why couldn’t the chaos look like it usually did—brush fire, rustling, maybe a cougar sighting? Hell, he’d even take a listeriosis scare over all this human drama.
And so it wasn’t until eight that he found himself done for the day. He normally liked to grab a shower before dinner, but when he stepped inside he could smell that his mother had been busy, and suddenly hygiene could wait. He headed for the kitchen, surprised to find Abilene flitting around, not his mom.