had spent half his life watching his father pay off endless interest on overdue accounts and struggle with snowballing loan payments.
And now this cool, contained woman was suggesting he put himself in debt for the rest of his working life on a place he had already slaved on as a youth without payment. It puzzled him how someone with such a serene face could be such a prophet of gloom.
“It sounds like a good deal for you, Joe.” Lane finally spoke, then glanced sidelong at Joe. Joe stared back, fighting the urge to throttle his brother.
“Stay out of it, Lane,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
“The amount isn’t what you think it is, Joe.” Dale broke into the conversation and leaned forward to catch Joe’s eye. “We are more than willing to negotiate a buyout that would be mutually beneficial to both parties.”
Joe held Dale’s earnest gaze, wondering why people like him and Miss Stevenson couldn’t use ordinary language. “In other words you’ll cut me a deal.”
Dale shrugged and sat back. “Yes. I guess that’s how you could put it.”
Dale pulled out another piece of paper and pushed it toward Joe. “Have a look at those figures, and we can sit down and figure out how to make this work the best for the both of us.”
Joe nodded and gave the paper a cursory glance. Right now what he wanted more than anything else was to get out of here, away from the eyes of impersonal people, away from his brother, who had put him in this position to start with. He folded the paper and slipped it in the pocket of his jean jacket. “I’ll look it over at home and get back to you. I should get going.” He got up and tugged on his jean jacket. “I appreciate your advice.”
Across the table, Rebecca Stevenson slowly rose from her chair, her expression cool. The only indication she gave that she was puzzled was a faint crease between her arched eyebrows. “It was your brother’s suggestion that we were operating under. I’m sorry if we put you in an awkward position. Given that, however, I would just like to reiterate what Mr. Aiken has said. I think this might prove to be a good investment of both your time and money and would be, as I said before, mutually beneficial.”
He quirked his mouth in what he hoped was a polite smile. Banker’s words. Official and unemotional. “I’m sure it would,” he replied, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.
He reached across the table to shake her hand. “Thanks again, Miss Stevenson.”
She hesitated, then caught his hand, her clasp surprisingly strong. “I hope I can be of help to you another time, Mr. Brewer.”
Not if I can help it, he thought. “Who knows?” he replied vaguely. He turned to his old classmate, forcing himself to remember that Dale had never been deliberately cruel. “Dale. Take care.” Dale shook his hand, as well. Joe nodded at his brother, unable to articulate his feelings.
Then he turned, opened the door and escaped.
Chapter Three
Joe strode across the lobby, the sound of his boot heels echoing solidly in the open area. He came to the door, hit the bar with both hands and stepped into sunshine and fresh air.
Dear Lord, he prayed, don’t ever make me do that again. That was way too humiliating for a Brewer.
And maybe that’s what God wanted, but to be humiliated in front of the beautiful woman he had admired in church and his old schoolmate Dale, who had gone so much further in life already, made it doubly hard.
He took in a lung-expanding breath, and another, as if to clear away what he had just sat through, the demolition of all his hopes and dreams, the depressing thought that he would be sitting behind the wheel of a truck for far too many years yet.
What else does a high-school dropout with only an instinctive horse sense do for a living, he thought dismally as he lifted his shoulder and reached in his jeans pocket for his truck keys.
“Hey, Joe, you pirate.”
Joe looked up to see a slim brunette running across the parking lot, her arms flung out as if to hug him.
“Hey, yourself, Kristine.” Joe kept his hands in his pockets, forestalling Kristine’s hug.
She stopped in front of him, reaching out to rearrange the collar of his denim jacket. “I didn’t know you were in town.” She leaned closer, a conspiratorial gleam in her brown eyes. “Are you busy? We could go for coffee.”
“Sorry, Kristine. I have to head out to work.” He took a step back from her cloying presence. “Maybe some other time.”
“Oh, c’mon, Joe.” She pouted at him, her full lips gleaming a bright red, her long hair spilling over her shoulders. “What’s with you lately? We never see you anymore. I heard you even went to church a couple of times.”
Joe nodded, grinning at the expression on her face. “Things change, Kristine. I’ve changed.”
“You must have.” Then she shrugged, as if that didn’t matter. “But you’re as cute as ever.” She reached up and rubbed his chin, her hand rasping over his stubble. “Even in whiskers.”
Joe smiled what he hoped was a polite but not encouraging smile. “That’s a boost to my ego, but I’ve really got to go.”
“Don’t be such a stranger, okay?” Kristine tilted her head coquettishly, her hand lingering on his chest.
“We’ll see,” Joe said vaguely. Then with another half smile, he opened the door of his truck and slipped in. Kristine stepped back as he reversed the truck out of the parking lot, waved and drove away.
Joe blew out his breath and spun the wheel feeling as if he had survived a trial by fire. And ice, he thought, remembering Rebecca Stevenson. It was ironic that the woman he found appealing was out of his reach while the available ones didn’t catch his fancy or were totally…unsuitable.
His thoughts shifted to the scene at the bank. He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t. His dreams had disappeared with a stroke of some disembodied pen wielded by a person who had never met him, didn’t know him, and only knew his name.
He clenched the steering wheel as he thought once again of Lane’s audacity. How had he even thought Joe would go along with his lies?
He hit the outskirts of town, pressed down on the accelerator and tried to outrun his thoughts.
Rebecca drew back from the window and glanced guiltily over her shoulder. But no one stood in the doorway watching her watch Joe Brewer. When she looked out again, Joe was driving his battered pickup away from the bank, and the beautiful young woman who had come running up to him still stood watching him.
A real ladies’ man, she thought. Not her type.
Rebecca sat carefully at her desk, forcing herself to forget how easily Joe had caught her when she almost fell in front of him. She still didn’t know what had caused her stumble. She hadn’t tripped like that in weeks, and of course it would happen in front of a man who, it seemed, had half the female population of this town falling all over him in other ways.
She
