“Are you saying we’ll never find a common ground?”
“I’m saying there’s more common ground than you think.” She slapped the folders on to the desk, the impact making a loud noise. “Let’s start on these.”
* * *
RYDER STOPPED TO refuel his truck on the way into Reckless. Based on the number of things he’d accomplished, it had been a productive day. He’d spent the morning with Tatum, interfering with her work but also gaining an understanding of how the office ran, including an overview of the accounting system and record keeping. He and his father had had lunch at the Flat Iron Restaurant with one of the arena’s oldest clients.
After that, Ryder had headed to the marina at Roosevelt Lake, posters and flyers on the seat beside him. The marina manager, a crusty old guy who could have played an extra in a Pirates of the Caribbean movie, was agreeable to Ryder’s suggestion that they help each other out.
On impulse, he’d driven to the outskirts of Globe and the mining company offices. After being passed from one person to the next, he’d finally been granted a meeting with the personnel manager’s secretary. The middle-aged woman had listened patiently to his pitch—the Easy Money Rodeo Arena would be a great place for employee parties or retreats. She’d agreed to give the material Ryder left with her to her boss and thanked him for his time.
Productive day. No question about it. But nothing a trained monkey couldn’t do. Ryder had been a senior marketing executive in charge of several multimillion-dollar accounts. And here he was, delivering posters and flyers and trolling for business. Something he could have done in high school.
Running errands. Sleeping on the trundle bed in his dad’s spare room. Fighting with his sister. He might as well be in high school again.
“Ryder Beckett,” someone shouted. “Buddy, is that you?”
He glanced up to see a hefty young man approaching, a friendly grin splitting his full face.
“It is you. Son of a gun!”
“Guilty as charged.” Ryder hoped the man’s name would come to him without having to ask. “How are you...?” At the last second, his brain kicked in. “Tank.”
“Dandy as a pig with slop.” They shook hands. “I heard you were back and working for the family.”
He’d said for the family, not with the family. To Ryder, there was a large distinction. Did everyone in town think like Tank, that Ryder had been given a job as opposed to being made a part of the business?
Then again, did he care? He was leaving soon.
Once more, Ryder questioned his motives for returning. He could have chosen somewhere else to lay low. Eventually found temporary employment. But he’d allowed loyalty to his father and Liberty’s heartfelt pleas to sway him.
“What happened to that fancy job you had in Phoenix?” Tank asked. “Your mom was always telling everyone what a big shot you were and how much money you made. This must be a step down.”
Damned if Tank could hit below the belt.
“Dad asked for my help, and here I am. Family comes first.”
“Sure. Course.” Tank may or may not have believed Ryder, but he didn’t dispute him. “Got me a family of my own now. A wife and little boy.”
“Congratulations.”
“Heard about your divorce. Sorry, man.” Tank didn’t sound particularly remorseful or sympathetic.
“It was a long time ago.”
Ryder did the math. Thirteen years.
He’d met Sasha, a woman eight years his senior, right out of college, and she was like no one he’d ever known. Confident, sexy and adventurous, in and out of bed. Unfortunately, they fell out of love as quickly as they’d fallen in and spent the next year making each other miserable before coming to their senses.
The only good part about the marriage had been Sasha’s little girls. Ryder had liked them and frequently spent more time with them than their own mother did, especially near the end. They, in turn, adored him. Leaving them behind had hurt.
One short-lived relationship after another had him swearing off any commitments for the foreseeable future. This last debacle with his coworker had only reinforced it.
“One of these days, you’ll meet the right person,” Tank said.
“I guess.”
Beside him, the gas nozzle clicked loudly. Ryder reached for it. “Nice seeing you, Tank. You ever bring your family around the Easy Money?”
“We’re coming to the Wild West Days Rodeo. Already bought our tickets.”
“Good. Looking forward to seeing you there.”
They shook hands again, and Ryder climbed into his truck. Starting the engine, he heard Tank’s words again—working for your family—then slammed the heels of both hands on the steering wheel. He wasn’t mad at Tank; he was mad at himself.
Enough was enough. He’d let this happen, he thought, and he could remedy it. Pulling out his smartphone, he went through his saved emails. There! He found it. The one from a friend giving Ryder the name of a headhunter. He dialed the number and set the phone down. The next second, his Bluetooth kicked in, and he could hear ringing through the speaker on his dash. When the receptionist answered, he asked to be put through to Myra Solomon.
“This is Myra.”
Ryder introduced himself, giving the name of his friend. “He suggested I give you a call.”
“I’m glad you did. Tell me a little about yourself and what kind of job you’re looking for.”
Ryder talked as he drove, casting his termination in the best possible light. When he finished, Myra groaned tiredly.
“Cut the B.S., Ryder. If we’re going to work together, you have to be straight with me. Save the sugarcoated version for prospective employers.”
“I quit.”
“I know that. I’m interested in why.”
“My boss and I didn’t share the same visions.”
“Whatever happened, we’ll work around it,” Myra said. “But in order to help you, I have to know what really went down. If not, you’re wasting both our time.”
Ryder swallowed. He’d been through this before with another headhunter. “I quit rather than be sued.”
“For what?”
“Inappropriate conduct.”
Myra whistled. “How inappropriate?”
“Not at all.”
“Then, why?”
Now
