ABANDON ALL HOPE: The Hope Brother Series (Book Two) (5 page)

“Just fine, I reckon,” I replied.  “Busier than usual, but we’re getting by.”

“That’s mighty fine to hear, son,” he said, nodding solemnly.

“So what’s this news, Mr. Johnson?” I asked bluntly.  “I’ve got a lot of work to get back to.”

“Of course, son, of course.  Well, as you know, Olly LaCroix has been on his death bed for quite some time.”

“I did hear that,” I said.  Olly LaCroix was a very old man who owned the land that bordered my farm.  He had a hundred and fifty acres of forested beauty and a Victorian era farmhouse that sat right in the middle of it all.  Unfortunately, it was falling apart, after having been left abandoned when LaCroix was forced to live out the end of his life alone and in an old folks’ home in town.  His wife and son had passed before him, leaving him as alone and decrepit as his once glorious home was.

“He passed yesterday, Crit,”  Johnson said.

“That’s too bad.  Bless his soul,” I said.  It’s about time, I was thinking, actually.  Rumors were flying a year ago that he was about to meet his maker, but he had hung on.  I wasn’t surprised to hear of his passing, that was for sure.

“Yes, yes…but unfortunately, I have some other news that’ll be a little more surprising.”

“What’s that?” I asked.  

“Crit, before your parents died, about fifteen years ago, your family ran into a little trouble.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you wouldn’t.  Your folks didn’t want y’all to know.  Y’all were just kids back then, and being the good parents they were, they protected you from worrying.  But the farm fell on bad times.  We had a hard summer that year, and your parent’s crops weren’t producing like usual.  They were desperate.”

“Alright,” I replied. “Go on.”

“Well, your folks found themselves at a crossroads, you might say.  They had two options.  They could put the farm up for sale, or they could get a loan from the bank.  Your father had worked hard at paying off the note on the land, and he didn’t want to get involved with the bank again, but he needed money.  And he refused to give up the farm.”

“Ward came to me, and I had an idea.  As you know, I also handle LaCroix’s affairs.  I knew he wasn’t hurting for cash, and I knew he admired your father.  So, I made a proposal to LaCroix and he generously offered to loan your father some money.  LaCroix was a businessman, though, and he insisted on collateral.  The only collateral your father had at the time was the farm.”

“What are you saying here, sir?” I asked, my heart racing as I tried to understand the implications.

“Well, son.  Your father signed the farm over to LaCroix, with the intention of paying him off over the years, but after that one dry summer, the summers just got drier and drier and Ward could never seem to catch up.  As you know by now, the farm barely gets by enough to pay the monthly bills.  It hasn’t really made much of a profit for decades.  Every farm in Texas has felt the hit.”

“What are you saying?  What does this mean now that LaCroix’s dead?”

“That’s just it, Crit.  LaCroix told everyone he didn’t have any heirs, but that wasn’t true.  There’s only one, though.  LaCroix had a sister, Lucille LaCroix.  She died five years ago, but she had one son.  He’s the only surviving LaCroix.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know too much about him, to tell you the truth.  He’s some hot shot investor from the East Coast.”

“Well, what do we do now?”

“I’ve been in contact with the nephew.  He said he’d come down to meet with me to go over everything.”

“So what you’re telling me is that I don’t even own my own goddamned farm?”  I was reeling with confusion.

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And you knew this all along?”

“Yes, I did.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Crit.  After your folks died, I wanted to give you a little time.  Then all that mess happened with your brother, and you got trampled by that bull.  I was hesitant to deal another blow to you so quickly.  However, Crit, listen - I’m confident we can work something out with this fella.  I don’t want you to worry.”

“Well, it’s a little fucking late for that.”  

“I’m real sorry, Crit,” he replied sincerely.  I looked across his desk at him sitting there, and he did indeed look apologetic.  My anger faded when I realized he was just trying to protect me.  “I really can’t think of any reason this man would want to get in the way of you getting your tiny farm back.  My suggestion will be that he just sign it back over to you and forgive the loan in the interest of good will and honoring LaCroix’s friendship with your father.”

“I hope you’re right,” I replied.  “Let me know what I need to do.  I’d like to meet this man myself.”

“Absolutely.  As soon as he gets in town, I’ll set up a meeting.  And again, Crit, I’m real sorry.”

“I understand, Barnard.  It’s alright.  Just keep me in the loop.”

“You know I will,” he replied.

I stood up, tipped my hat at him, and left his office in a daze. 

All this time, and we didn’t even own the fucking farm?  How the hell could that be true?

Johnson’s optimism was not shared by me.  In fact, I had a seriously bad feeling about this whole fucking thing.  

But I’d be damned if someone thought they were gonna take my farm away.  

The only way that was going to happen was over my dead body.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

 Georgia Hope had been my best friend since the third grade.  She sat across from me at the only honky tonk in town, the Sugar Hill Saloon. It was the only bar that had live music in town, and that was only on the weekends.  During the week, it served its purpose as the only place you could get a decent drink, besides Evan’s bar down the street.  And Evan’s bar mostly  catered to the old man crowd.  The smell alone kept me away.

The Sugar Hill Saloon was the only choice we had when we wanted to get away and enjoy a beer together. Georgia had lately been stricken with cabin fever, spending most of her time either working at her family’s farm or locked away in the cabin she lived in with Beau Haggard.

“It’s not that we aren’t getting along,” she stated, giving me her weekly update on how her marriage to Beau was going.  “He’s just so busy.  I mean, I am too.  And it’s funny that we work on neighboring farms, so I get to wave at him across the fields, but we aren’t really spending time together, you know?  And when we get home, we’re both just exhausted.  I guess the honeymoon is over, huh?”

“Well, at least you have each other,” I replied.  I was bitter.  Beyond bitter.  It was so hard to keep my relationship with Crit a secret, especially from my best friend.  It only made it worse that Crit cited Georgia as one of the reasons we couldn’t tell anyone.

It used to make a little bit of sense to me, but these days I couldn’t see the point of it at all.  Nothing in my life made sense, and I couldn’t even share it with my best friend.

Keeping it bottled up was killing me.  Not to mention the constant lies.  It was all just a big bunch of bullshit, and I was so over it.

As I always did, I asked myself in these moments of frustration if Crit was worth all of this.  The answer used to be yes, but these days, it was a big fat maybe.

“Why are you so quiet?” Georgia asked, her eyes squinted suspiciously at me.

“No reason, I just have a lot on my mind, I guess,” I replied, with a sigh.

“What’s going on?  I swear you’ve been so closed off this last year or so, Ruby.  You used to tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Georgia.  My life is pretty boring right now.  I’ve just been taking care of my Pa and working.”

“Well, it’s weird to not see you immersed in a crush or some new mischievous adventure,” she said.

“I guess I’m just outgrowing my wildness?” I questioned.  “I mean look at you, all married and everything.  When are you two going to have a baby?”

“A baby is the last thing I can handle right now!  And Beau hasn’t really mentioned it lately.  Maybe when things pick up at the farm and we can afford to hire some help we’ll try, but right now, no way.  I’m too busy.”

“Well, you’re lucky, you know that right?  I never pictured you with Beau, but now, it’s clear you’re two peas in a pod.  Maybe you should buy some new lingerie or something? Spice up the bedroom a little?”

“We’ll see.  Maybe.  But Beau would probably just take one look at it, smile, and fall asleep,” she said wistfully.

“You both work too hard.  Are things really that bad at the farm?  You can’t even afford part-time help?”

“Well, Crit has his helpers with the crops, but we can’t really afford anyone else right now.”

I nodded, took a long drink of my beer, and looked around the room.

“It sure has been boring around here lately, huh?”

“If by boring, you mean nobody has died or set anything on fire, then I’ll take boring any day.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” I replied with a grin.  “Maybe we should go to the city some night, have a girl’s night out?”  I was desperate for some fun, for something to change.

“That sounds nice.  I don’t know when, though,” Georgia replied, as usual being completely noncommittal.  This wasn’t the first time I had suggested a getaway.  “Rodeo season is coming up again and Beau will be even more busy.”

“Well, he doesn’t need you every second of the day, Georgia, we could get away.”

“Sure, sure,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively, telling me not to push it.

What was it about relationships that made women so unavailable for their girlfriends?  I’d seen more than one woman isolate herself from her friends when she got in a serious relationship, and I’d never understand it.  Seems to me that’s when you needed your friends more than ever.

But what would I know?  I’d never been in a proper relationship myself.  Instead, I was in some twisted secret game with Crit that I didn’t even have a name for.

“I need another beer.  You want another one?” I asked, as I stood up from the booth to go to the bar.

“Sure, thanks,” Georgia replied, as I walked away.

I was halfway to the bar when I saw him.

A tall, dark drink of water that I had never seen in town before was sitting at the end of the bar, and there wasn’t a soul in this town that I didn’t know.

He had short, layered, dark hair, and he was dressed up compared to the jeans and overalls that most of the farmers in this bar were wearing.  He wore a black button down shirt and black slacks, with shiny black leather loafers.

I thought of Crit, his usual uniform of tight Wranglers and black t-shirts, his thick, muscular biceps stretching the fabric tightly, all of it leaving nothing to the imagination.

This guy was nothing like him.

He was sleek, shaved, smooth.  I looked at his hands, and they were big, but looked as if they hadn’t done even a minute of real work in their life.  He was drop dead gorgeous, in a buttoned-up kind of way.

A striped black and blue tie sat on the bar beside him.  He sure as hell didn’t live in Sugar Hill.  That was probably the only tie in a five mile radius.

I stood beside him at the bar, and I felt his eyes on me as I ordered another round of beers.  

“Jimmy, two more, please?” I asked the bartender.  I had known Jimmy for years, in fact we had dated briefly, but after a quick roll in the hay, way before I had gotten involved with Crit, I knew I’d never endure that again.  Jimmy was sweet, but he was a terrible lover.