The thought occurred to Burke that Lenny was likely familiar with the bulk of the land in the small town. “I rented out the cabin up on Wilshire. Alongside the creek.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, nice place. I’ve told Mrs. Walsh she’d never get any bites with nightly prices like hers. Turns out she found the one man coming through town willing to pay it.”
Burke chuckled. “You calling me a sucker?”
Lenny shook his head. “Just…particular, I guess. It’s one of the nicest cabins up here, that’s for sure. Did she include access to the fishing gear and that type of thing?”
Burke held his gaze for a blink, hesitating to admit the answer to that. “Yes, she gave me the key to the shed…for a price.”
The man ran a hand through his red hair, chuckling under his breath. “That woman. Well, least you’ve got the place to yourself. I can tell you this much—we’ve got some very eligible bachelorettes in town, pretty ones.” He grinned proudly. “All of them will be at the festival, but you might run into a couple at Pete’s Pub if you don’t want to wait until the weekend to mingle.”
Mingle? Duke had already helped Burke summon an image of the women he might encounter there. Probably an odd sort. Square dancing in a prairie dress she’d stitched herself. She’d pause to tip back a frothy glass of two percent she’d milked from her very own cow. Or goat. Heck, maybe she’d have galloped to the pub on a horse she’d tied up to the hitching post beside the watering hole. The image pulled a wry chuckle from his throat.
“I’ll, um…keep that in mind. Thanks.”
“You betcha. Oh,” Lenny added as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Watch for wildlife on your way back. There’s always a ton of road kill around here.”
The warning sparked a recollection. “Ugh, that reminds me,” Burke said, a knot of guilt sinking into his gut. “I hit a cat on the interstate.”
Lenny shrugged. “It happens.”
“Yes, but what in the world would a domestic cat be doing so far out? The houses stretch out miles apart and they’re set back acres from the street.”
“Some of them are wild. Like farm cats, you know?”
“Ah,” Burke said, tipping his head back. Add a couple of cats to the image he’d formed in his head and he was probably spot on for his options in a town like this. “Hopefully the cat wasn’t some poor gal’s spot of warmth to cuddle up to at night.”
“Yeah.” Lenny slipped on a pair of shades. “Well, enjoy your time here.”
“Will do.” Or at least, he’d try. Burke gave the property another look over before climbing into his car and buckling up. It wouldn’t be the greatest property he’d flipped in his career, but it was a very good addition to his modest purchases on the west coast.
A bit of pride seeped in, lifting his shoulders a notch as he pulled in a satisfied breath. He’d done it. He’d officially left the east coast behind.
When Burke turned eighteen and received his first million from the father he never knew, he also had his first conversation with the man. That’s when Jonathon told Burke that he’d very much like to be part of his life. He planned to tell his kids about their half-sibling in hopes that Burke could be a part of the family in some way.
Burke’s mother didn’t love that idea, but she didn’t try to deny him either. He was an adult, and he’d done his part by not attempting to contact his father over the years. Who could have ever guessed that less than one year later the man would die, along with his father, in a private plane crash?
A deep ache tore through him as he recalled hearing the news. It was just a few days away from a phone call they had planned, a call in which they’d set up a time to meet in person. And as much as it hurt him, hurt him like nothing he’d known, the look on his mother’s face was…unforgettable. Shock, horror, and above all else—guilt. She felt horrible for keeping Burke from him all those years. For insisting Jonathon not reach out until then.
It was a different sort of pain losing Mom. She was fiercely independent with a career focus that could outshine most savvy businessmen, hugely successful in her own right.
For Burke, the worst part was hearing that final prognosis, knowing—or at least trying