Chapter 54

Cole and Ranger dragged the last old mattress down the stairs of Stable One’s loft. Grunting and heaving, they finally got it to the truck, threw it on top of another pile of stuff that was headed for the dump. Cole stopped for a moment, drew the back of his hand across his forehead. Sighed.

They’d decided to take Misty McConahee, over in Golden, up on her offer of bunking with them. Not for long, Cole thought. Only until they found a place of their own. Tabby, Ma and his sisters would stay in the house. He insisted he’d be fine in the barn, and in fact, preferred it. He would've fought to bed there, even if a room had been available. Misty was amazing and an institution all on her own, but she crowded him too much. It all felt cleaner that way, somehow.

Dad, Dax and Jesse had found a temporary place with one of Forrest’s friends. Forrest himself was doing a special project for the government, so was off the grid in the woods he loved so much. But he had pull and had gotten them a place, for which Cole was incredibly grateful. Dad and the older guys needed a solid location to bed down and stay.

As to him and Tabby? It wasn't exactly how he wanted to start life off with his woman. Unstable living conditions, and he wasn’t entirely sure the depression was gone this time. Figured he’d still be mucking through it, for a while yet. Though he had resources now, and was using every single one. But apparently, she was in it for the long haul with him.

This was the beginning of the long haul. Couldn't be helped.

There wasn’t going to be a miracle. There hadn’t been one in Afghanistan when he’d needed it, and there wasn’t one here. Nothing to stop the demise of what they’d built, nor the scattering of his family, nor the turning out of their faithful hands. He’d hardened his heart toward that possibility. In a way, though, he’d also made his peace with it.

But on the plus side, so many of the community had shown up today to help them with their move. Hilda Dunsmore had come and brought home-made shortbread. He’d chuckled and sworn under his breath, when her sweet old back was turned. Yeah, they needed tiny little squares of homemade shortbread on little lacy paper plates today.

But it was from her heart, and he knew that mattered more than any other damn thing.

And perhaps they did need it. A reminder that life could be sweet, and all about the finer things, even when you were going through stuff.

Coop had shown up with his brood. Blaine Headland had come too, from his neighboring spread. Raine was there as well, busting out of her top, but working harder than anyone. All had come to lend a hand and a show of support, even though they were crazy busy with their own spreads and worries and chores.

It was good.

So there were many willing hands, and more vehicles parked, everywhere. Dax had taken to feeding them all, with mountains of egg salad sandwiches and hot coffee, and truth be told? Rather than a sad move, it was turning out to be a bit of a festive affair.

Go figure.

If anyone had told him it would be like this two weeks ago as their family’s dream fell down around them, he would've tossed them in a pile of horse shit and done it gladly.

Just goes to show how things can damn well change. And he was actually—okay, not a whole hell of a lot, but a little bit—looking forward to their new life in Golden.

An arm snaked around his waist. He turned his head, and smiled. There she was. His woman. The light breeze blowing her pale brown hair back, the white cotton shirt and shape-hugging jeans hot on her.

And finally? All the damn makeup was a thing of the past, too. Mostly. Though of course, no matter all his yowling, she was the boss over that.

She’d said some crazy stuff lately too, about learning to draw a phoenix around the blotches, and sporting that in public…

He’d blinked at her, shaken his head over that one. Whatever, Woman.

But it was mostly gone and he never even thought about her scars, the discolorations. They were simply part of who she was. His wickedly beautiful woman.

His rock.

He pulled her close. “How you holding up?" He smiled, scanned her face. She seemed good, but he needed to know for sure. Tabby could fake stuff like crazy. “You okay? I know none of this is pleasant.”

“It’s a transition from one life to another. I’ve had a few of those. And your family is…”

“Son. Do you think you might want to actually work? Like lend an actual hand? I don’t think you’re making a very good impression on the newest member of our family.”

Jack Dawson Senior strode toward them, carrying boxes for the truck. He grunted as he tossed them in. But he had a quick wink for Tabby. “Got to keep the man working. Otherwise, he gets into trouble. Did I tell you about the time he went over to Manitoba and ended up in a bar? He…”

“No, you didn’t, Dad. And you won’t.” He gave his dad a look of mock anger as he pulled Tabby closer. “Unless you want me to tell Mom about the time couple of months back that you, Jesse and a forty ouncer of gin got real close and cozy at The Rusty Horseshoe. And after, out back, you all…”

“Whoops!” Jack exclaimed. “Speak of the devil, or whoops—the sainted mother, there’s your mom right now. Son? Stifle.” He raised his voice. “Molly, my girl. Come here and give us a hug.”

She practically danced into his arms. “Okay, you old codger. What’ve you got up your sleeves now?” But her blue eyes didn’t match her words. She had her husband back from a health scare and she wasn’t taking him for granted.

“I’ve a gorgeous woman in my arms, and I’m thinking of ducking into the stables with her. You willing?”

She snorted. “Take a number, big guy. You’re not the only…”

They all turned toward the road as a black, oversized monster truck rolled into the driveway.

Quinn.

He’d been busy, thought Cole. A windfall’ll do that to you. The truck was new, and word had it he’d been working on getting permission to take Christopher out in it. He’d been bragging it up something fierce to the kid too, apparently. Though it would make better time on his daily runs to the home, Cole had thought. Safer, too.

“Looks like the neighbourhood just showed up.” Aggie’s gaze narrowed a bit. She and Krys had come to stand with them. She seemed to struggle, then softened. “Oh well. It’s his, fair and square.”

Quinn shut the beast off and disembarked from the vehicle—it could only be called disembarking, it was that big—and sauntered over to them, with the air of an overlord.

But it didn’t bother Cole. If it hadn’t been for Quinn’s self-sacrificing, principled ancestor, none of them would be here. He’d made his peace with it.

“Hey, there, Quinn. We’ll be out of here in a few hours. That work for you?”

Quinn’s gaze travelled over the crowd, all the people that were helping, doing for the Dawsons. “You got a fine mess of people, helping here. Good turnout today, Dawson.”

Cole stood, looked over the scene, nodded. “We’ve been lucky.”

Quinn snorted. “Luck’s got nothing to do with it. Listen, Dawson. Got to talk to you. Got something to settle. Now.”

Cole’s brows rose. Something more? He was getting their ranch, their home, and they were leaving the immediate area for good. He wanted more?

Oh well. He wouldn't be Quinn if he wasn't throwing big ass monkey wrenches into things, even at the last minute. The man would complain if he won the lottery, that it interfered with his weekly poker game. “Shoot.”

“About those records you sent over. I've spent a chunk of time going over them with my accountant and my team. All newly hired.” The last two words had the air of a boast. “And I gotta tell you. Your ranch has been mismanaged something awful.”

Holy hell. The man would never change. Notwithstanding his obvious troubles with his sick child, and what a heartfelt man he apparently was in that scenario, he'd always be a bristly old cowpoke, living to stir things up.

Cole started to meet him with a bit of anger, then stopped. Nodded. Took a deep breath.

“You're probably right, Quinn. Well, now it’s your problem. All of it! Good luck with it.”

The old man’s face grew stern. “That’s just it. I don’t know how you expect me to set it right, deal with it all, especially when I have all these other projects on the go. I’m doing a lot in the community, you know, and plan to go province-wide.”

Oh really? Now, he was getting a bit pissed.

Hang in there. Another couple of hours. Cole patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll find a way. I best be going to help the others.”

But Quinn Raary was not so easily dissuaded.

He stepped quickly in front of him, barred Cole’s way. Outright. Poked a stubby finger into his chest. “You know what? You just never listen, Dawson. I’ve got half a mind to settle this once and for all.”

He pulled his wallet out, unzipped a compartment, and dug out ten shiny yellow coins, dumped them in Cole’s hands. “Firstly. That’s for the breakfast you paid for me, the other day. Don't ever let it be said that I owe you anything, you dirty, rotten bastard.”

Cole stared at the coins. He was quibbling about ten bucks when he was taking their ranch?

And what was this thing with the loonies? Who carried around ten freakin’ loonies instead of a tenner? His face settled into a grim expression. Dude wasn’t going to let this be pleasant. “Fine.”

“Good. That’s done then. One more thing. I've been in consultation with my team—“ he waved a hand back toward the truck “and we’ve made a decision. Especially my chief accountant, and my managing partner, over there. His vote actually counts heavier than mine. And I’ve made a decision that he’s right. ” He drew himself up to his full height, seemed to expand.

“My team feels that this spread is not worth my time, or our investment. Now, don’t be a hard man to deal with, for once, Dawson. I can’t deal with this mess over here at Dawson Ridges, nor do I want my name on it. The Black Oaks name stands for order and good sense and this place is the exact opposite. So, in light of all that’s just and right, I’m giving you a one-time offer, here and now, or I throw this whole mess onto the auction block. I’m willing to sell this spread back to you, today. But at a premium. You know I’ve shunted money into it these last few weeks, so that’s only fair. But the deal expires in, oh, let’s say…three minutes. Make your decision, boy.”

“What?” Suddenly, Cole’s heart was pumping blood through his body fierce and fast. The old codger wanted to sell it back to him? And for more money than it had been worth on the open market two weeks ago? Hell. He was seriously crazy.

“Buy it back…but you’ve wanted it forever! And for how much? You know we’re broke. We killed our deal with Beswick, because of all this. And now…”

Enough. He turned to leave, felt a tug on his jacket. Tabby. She whispered to him. “Cole—look.”

There, in the fancy new truck, behind the tinted windows, he could barely make out two people, Quinn’s so called new management team, and he realized who it was.

His wife Edith, who was surprisingly, for once, beaming. And a little boy, who was also beaming. Christopher.

“Sorry, Friend, but the team have spoken. And especially, my managing partner? He’s adamant. No way to change his mind.” Quinn tossed a look over toward the truck. And Cole could have sworn he winked, in around that slight smile he was suddenly sporting. Then he got serious again. “Here’s the deal. Not sure you can afford it, but this is the price. It’s a one-time offer, boy.”

Cole waited with bated breath, as the word rolled out from between the man’s cigarette-stained lips. “One loonie.”

One. Canadian. Dollar.

Was the man crackers?

“By the way, you might want to know—my son isn’t leaving. The home and the repairs have been pronounced sound, so they’re keeping it open. He’s my new administrator, and his blessing is on this deal. But you watch your step. He’s got his eye on you, and he’s going to grow up to be a crackerjack businessman. So make sure you run things right, especially anything that involves me, or the community. You hear?”

Quinn’s eyes dropped momentarily, as he seemed to stare at the ground a foot before Cole. “Though right now he’s contenting himself with watching those horses you let out into the south pasture.” His voice broke a little, but he covered it with rifling in his jacket, and he pulled out a wad of paper. 

“Got the paperwork handy. So what do you say, Dawson? You good for nothing excuse for an old has-been, so called, ranch CEO?” He muttered under his breath. “More like a shit-disturber, or a cistern dweller. Damn. Can’t abide you Dawsons.”

Cole noticed a spirit was growing within the crowd around him, and around the ranch house, as they all seemed turned toward his conversation with Quinn. And it wasn’t a sad one. No. It was one of jubilation. He scanned the faces, saw the joy. Had they all been in on it?

And then his woman, Tabby, grabbed his hand. “Cole. It’s our answer. And you didn’t have to go into a canyon to get it.”

“Don’t dis my canyon, woman,” he retorted. But he squeezed her hand harder. “But you’re right. This one I got with you by my side.”

He turned to the old man with the grizzled face, the breath sourer than a pig’s backside. Fished in his pocket, drew out the cash, felt its hard, cold exterior. Dropped the single, shiny loonie into his palm, saw his fingers curl around it, and met his gaze.

“Well, that’s just fine, Dawson.” Quinn’s eyes gleamed. “Deal is done, and sorted. Binding. You know, you’re a real pain in the ass, but hell. Gratitude’s the thing these days, ain’t it? Bunch of nonsense if you ask me, but it’s trending, as they say. Apparently gotta be grateful one has an ass, right? So the pain’s a good thing.”

Cole’s eyes misted up, and he could barely see the big blowhard in front of him. Dawson Ridges was theirs again. It was back in the family, for good. He drew his eyes upward, toward the big, bold, ever-blue British Columbia sky he loved so much. And thought he saw two old men, hands on each other’s shoulders way up there, looking down, proud. Hearts busting, full. Because both their descendants had done them good. And proud.

Saying yeah. There it is, right now.

The last miracle.

Finally.

But he still had this old fool to deal with. He turned to Quinn. “Pain’s a good thing, you say, you cantankerous old fool?”

The old man grabbed his hand in a firm handshake, held it, stared into his eyes. And deep in them, he saw a long-ago light catch fire, burn. Get stronger.

“When the pain is you, it is, Dawson. And you damn well know it. Don’t be phony and modest—I can’t abide that. Never could and never will. Now sign this damn thing, and let’s be done with it. And, oh. After that, I hear you got an unexpected windfall. You can buy me and mine breakfast. All of us. Ongoing, once a year, on the anniversary of this date. It’s the least you can do for me.” He spat heartily onto the ground. “Move your ass.”