Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(159)

Fortune. But he’d gotten so used to watching the show with Ainsley in the last month,

it felt pathetic sitting by himself, guessing the puzzles out loud.


Halfway through the program his phone buzzed. He didn’t recognize the number, but he

answered it anyway. “Ben McKay.”


“Ben? Gavin.”


“Fuck.”


“Don’t hang up. Please hear me out.”


“Start that fast talking bullshit you do so well, cause you’ve got about thirty

seconds.”


“Charlie called me, mad as hell, and chewed my ass. I assure you I didn’t want any of

you to find out this way.”


“What way were we supposed to find out? The McKays are a big family in a small

community. Word gets around.”


“Look, I overheard your conversation with Rielle the morning after Chase’s event. You

made her a fair offer.”


“But you swooped in and made her a better one.”


“Yes. But not for the reason you think. I bought it as an investment.”


Ben laughed harshly. “So you’re giving up life as an Arizona real estate tycoon to

run a B&B in nowhere Wyoming?”


“Not hardly. I’m not big on repeating others mistakes. I’ve seen Rielle struggling

with the B&B since I first stayed with her. When she asked for advice I gave it.”


“Big surprise that your advice to her was to sell…to you.”


Gavin sighed. “I’m in real estate. I make decisions like this all the time. It’s

nothing personal.”


“It’s goddamned personal to me. My family has been tryin’ to buy that for three

decades and once again it’s in a stranger’s hands. Now you’re giving my folks the

impression that you’re moving to Wyoming, changing your last name to McKay, which we

both know ain’t true.”



When silence burned his ear, Ben wished he could take the words back.


“I never meant to give Charlie and Vi false hope.”


“Too late. And know what sucks? Mom and Dad will take any kind of hope when it comes

to you, and I don’t wanna see them hurt.”


“I’m not a bad guy, Ben.”


“Prove it.” Ben drained his whiskey. “And by my clock your thirty seconds are up.”

He hung up and poured himself another drink.


Everything in his life had gone to hell in the last two days and he saw no clear way to

fix any of it.


Chapter Twenty-Seven


Not a good sign when a smug Turton knocked on her office door before quitting time on

Tuesday and made himself comfortable. “Glad to see you’ve recovered from your

illness.”


What the heck? He didn’t give a rip about her health. “You’re lucky you didn’t get

it.”


“Well, some of us have a stronger constitution than others. I make it a point to take

good care of myself so I don’t catch every bug that crawls along.”


Yes, Turton, you are the picture of health with your bony-assed body and pasty

complexion. “Was there something you needed?”


“Yes. I’m not sure how to approach this. Saturday evening I stopped into the Golden