Burn It Up(76)

“We’re not . . . anything.” Now, there was one heck of a lie—they were about sixty things to each other. “I mean, we’re not dating.”

Nita blinked dryly. “Oh well, that doesn’t leave anything out, now, does it?”

“We’re not. And I wouldn’t wish me on her, anyhow.” If he’d been too selfish to step up for his own mother, what happened if he got serious with Abilene and the going got inevitably hard with insta-fatherhood? Well, then they’d all find out exactly how closely he took after his old man, wouldn’t they? And that question scared him about as bad as those unknown test results had.

“What do you mean?” Nita demanded.

“You know me—my love life’s always been a f*cking 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 f*ck 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.