The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,32
N. No offense to the operator, of course, because an establishment like the Bar N has its place.”
Deep, rich laughter breaks through my spiel. Beau holds a forearm over his stomach and chortles like Santa Claus. Beside him, Wes smirks in this obnoxiously sexy way.
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask tentatively.
“Establishment,” Beau says around his laughter. “You called that shithole of a bar an establishment.”
Relief turns up the corners of my mouth. Thank God I didn’t offend him.
“Just be honest, Dakota, and call the place what it is,” Beau instructs.
“Fine,” I respond, laughter bubbling in my throat. “It’s a shithole.”
Wes’s smirk turns into a deep, rumbling chuckle. Beside me, I feel my dad laugh.
Beau nods, waving his hand in my direction. “Okay, now that we’ve called a spade a spade, please continue.”
I look back down to my sketch. “This,” I point at the paper, “would be a courtyard in the middle of two restaurants. Maybe one is more casual, and the other a little fancier. It can stock local wine and beer. I did some research and found there’s a fairly robust wine country out here, and it would play well to use local products. The entire place could be rented out for weddings, and that’s a second revenue stream aside from tourism. Additionally, the property can host a farmer’s market and open it up to vendors of the entire Verde Valley.”
I pause to catch my breath. In just a few days time, the project has gone from just a piece of property my dad wants to buy to something weirdly personal. I care about these ideas, and the people they would benefit. “Also,” I add, “I’m planning on calling it The Orchard. There is a small grove of pecan trees near the back portion of the property, and though they don’t look healthy now, I’ve been learning about how to properly care for them, and I’m confident they just need a little TLC. They’re unique to the area, and I want to incorporate them.”
Beau captures his chin with his thumb and forefinger and nods slowly. The look on Wes’s face is unreadable, and it makes me wonder if he’s placed a neutral mask on his face on purpose. Whatever he’s feeling, he’s hiding it.
Beau’s gaze leaves my paper and raises to my dad. “You’ve got yourself one hell of a daughter.”
“Don’t I know it,” my dad replies, his voice brimming with love and pride.
My shoulders curve forward, as if I can shrink away from the undeserved praise. Wes frowns, and despite the negative look, I welcome the break in his stoicism.
“Wes?” Beau says, looking at his son.
Wes looks at us. “Mitch.” He nods at my dad. “Dakota.” His gaze falls over me, and there’s something about it that makes my stomach coil in anticipation. “We’d like to sell the property to you.”
A giant smile breaks out on my face, and if I’m supposed to be handling this win in a more professional manner, I’m failing miserably.
“We like your plans, Dakota, and the care that you’re showing to Sierra Grande and the Verde Valley as a whole.” Respect comes through in Beau’s gaze, and it’s the first time I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’ve earned it. Coming from a man like Beau, someone who doesn’t seem like he doles out respect haphazardly, makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, I’ve earned it.
“Thank you,” I answer. “I appreciate it. And I’ll make sure the person we assign to come out here and oversee the day-to-day operations understands the level of care expected of them.”
Surprise slams onto Wes’s face like a tsunami on a deserted beach. “You’re not going to be the project manager?”
“Um, no. We’ll send someone with a lot of experience who will carry out all my plans, and I already have someone specific in mind,” I assure Wes, and then Beau. I don’t actually have anybody in mind, but whoever takes over will be fine. My dad doesn’t hire half-wits.
“I want you, Dakota.” Wes clears his throat and looks at his dad. Beau’s eyebrows are raised in Wes’s direction. “We, I mean,” Wes amends. “We want you.”
Beau doesn’t say anything, but he knows just like the rest of us that once this deal goes through, the Haydens have no say-so in how anything goes with the property. This request is based purely on something else. Something that altogether confuses me.
“Dakota,” my dad says my name, a pleading edge hidden beneath his tone. I hear what he’s not