Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Charlie?” Darby’s voice came through the door, muffled but loud enough to disrupt the daytime talk show playing on TV. “Oh, Charlie. I know you’re in there. I’m not going away. Open up.”

Charlie pulled a pillow over her head, trying to drown out her friend’s cheerful threat. Why wouldn’t she leave her alone? By the time she’d gotten home from the Rose last night, Darby had already heard about her falling-out with Beck and filled her phone with texts. Unable to stomach the humiliation of dealing with her then, Charlie had downed a tad too much cheap whiskey and passed out on the couch.

Unfortunately her situation appeared just as bleak during the bright light of day. And now, in addition to being so pissed at Beck she couldn’t think, breathe, or see straight, she’d also given herself one heck of a hangover. She should get up and find some ibuprofen. But that would require movement. And movement was still a few hours away.

The knocking stopped. Good. Darby never could wait her out. Satisfied she’d earned a couple more hours of peace, Charlie snuggled the pillow against her chest and tried to mute the chainsaw buzzing through her head by wishing it away.

“There you are.” Darby exploded through the patio door, a triumphant look on her face, a large takeout cup of coffee in her hand.

“Go away.” Pillow back over her face, Charlie tried to disappear under a cushion.

“I told you. I’m not leaving.” The cushion sagged as Darby perched on the edge of the couch.

“Leave me alone.”

“I brought drugs.”

Charlie peeked out from under the pillow at Darby’s outstretched hand. Two orange pills sat in her palm. Charlie’s pulse quickened. Ibuprofen, inches away. Relief might not be out of reach.

“Coffee too.” Darby held the pills and cup out in front of her—a bribe.

“I hate you.” Charlie struggled to sit up, grabbed the coffee, and downed the pills.

“You love me, and we both know it. Now get up. We’ve got a transfer of title to stop and a hot city boy to run out of town.”

Charlie slumped back against the cushions. “Forget it. It’s done. He’s already made arrangements with his dad. The Rose is as good as gone.”

“Not yet. Didn’t you say he has to ride on the Rose’s Founder’s Day float to meet the requirement of the will?” Darby’s smile could have powered half the island of Manhattan.

“Yeah.”

“So all we have to do is keep him from the parade and he won’t get the title, right?”

“Right.”

“So, who does?”

“I do. If Beck doesn’t ride on the float, everything goes to me.” She winced. “Damn. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”

Darby wiggled her eyebrows.

“Why don’t you look surprised? That was a secret. Nobody was supposed to know.”

“Well, your buddy Dwight happened to take Mr. Hill out fishing yesterday. They got to talking and drinking, and before anyone knew it, Hill let it slip that you’re next in line. Of course, Dwight can’t keep a secret—everyone knows that. So if your New Yorker got delayed somehow—”

“Darby, you’re a genius.” Charlie jerked upright. Her head seemed to split open like the watermelon her dad had chopped in half with an axe at the Chuckwagon Extravaganza.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for years. But no…Charlie’s the brains, Darby’s the sidekick.” She examined her perfectly manicured nails. “It’s so hard to be underestimated.”

“All we have to do is keep Beck from getting on that float.”

“Yep. And I’ve already started working on a plan. Let’s put our heads together and figure out the details.”

Charlie put her hands over her eyes. “I can’t even think straight.”

“Come on, you lush.” Darby swatted her thigh. “A warm shower’s just what you need. I’ll whip up a batch of my Grandma Hudson’s hangover cure while you’re hosing off.”

If Darby was talking about Grandma Hudson, she must really be concerned. She only pulled out those concoctions as a last resort. Charlie struggled against the gravity pinning her to the couch. First, shower. Second, Grandma Hudson’s homemade cure. Third, if she was still standing by that point, they’d come up with a diabolical plan.

“Fine. But go easy on the beet juice this time.” She made it to a standing position and swayed, grabbing on to the edge of the couch to keep from falling over.

“You did a real number on yourself this time, girl.” Darby took her arm and propped her upright. “You should know better than to waste valuable calories on a man like that. You want to blow a diet, let’s spend an afternoon at the winery or try out one of the Pioneer Woman’s new dessert recipes. That French silk pie recipe of hers is better than sex and lasts a hell of a lot longer.”

Charlie snorted. “I love you.” Darby was right. This would be the last time she’d drown her sorrows over a man. It had been so long since she’d had to, she’d forgotten it didn’t work anyway. Once the floor stopped tilting from side to side, she made it across the room to the bathroom. “Thanks. I don’t deserve you.”

“Aw, honey, yes you do. You deserve it all…the man, white horse, and whatever else your tough little heart desires.”

“No, no man.” She’d let Beck distract her from what was really important and learned her lesson. No man would ever come before her own success again.

* * *

The door of his office opened without a sound. Didn’t anyone knock anymore? Beck looked up from his desk as his father entered the room. Tan from the cruise, his tailored power suit in place, the epitome of the successful businessman back from two weeks of well-deserved respite. In contrast, Beck had already loosened his tie, hadn’t shaved in two days, and could almost feel his skin turning the color of silly putty from the lack of vitamin D.

“Hey, Son. Managed to keep the business going while I was gone?” The elder Holiday crossed the plush carpeting to the desk and picked up a stack of papers.

“Yeah. How was your trip? Looks like you got some sun.”

“We had a great time. You look like shit though. Are those country folks getting to you? You trying to grow a beard?”

“No, I’ve been swamped.” Typical. No “thanks for taking care of things while I was gone” or “you did a great job.” Truth was, he did probably look like hell. Flying back and forth to try to keep the Rose afloat and take care of Holiday Enterprises over the past few weeks had him working fourteen- to sixteen-hour days. Not that he’d been able to relax in what little downtime he’d had. Images of Charlie had tripped through his head. Her showing him how to two-step, covered in mud in Baby Back’s pen, wrapped in that damn star-spangled tablecloth.

“I met some potential investors on the ship. I’m having Joyce set up a meeting next week, and I want you to join in. You’ve got one more trip to Texas, right? When do you get back?”

“I’m headed down tomorrow. Back on Sunday.”

“Good. And you’ve got that paperwork, right?”

Beck held up the contract he’d signed that morning.

His dad grinned, a smug, satisfied smile. “Make sure I get a copy of that before you leave today. We can put that place to rest by the end of next week at the latest. It’s time you focused your attention on the family business, not my old man’s pipe dream. Are you with me on this?” Holiday toyed with a Texas-shaped crystal paperweight Charlie had given Beck a few weeks into their relationship. She’d wanted to make sure he’d think of her when he flew back to New York from time to time to take care of things.

“When you say ‘put that place to rest’…what do you mean exactly?” An icy coldness seeped into his chest. Ever since Charlie had walked out on him, insisting his dad had an ulterior motive, Beck had held out hope she was wrong.

Holiday tossed the paperweight from one hand to the other. “I’ve got no interest in running a bar halfway across the country. I’ll shut it down and take it as a loss. Maybe sell it for the land. The broker knows someone handling a few other parcels down there and said some crazy Californian with ties to the area might be interested.”

“But we made a deal.” Dammit. He’d seen his dad put aside friendships and cut people out of his life for the sake of the company. But his own father’s legacy? How could he sink that low?

“Yeah, I told you I wouldn’t make any changes to the management. I never said anything about not closing the whole operation.”

“Dad, the town relies on the Rose. You can’t shut it down.”

“I can do whatever I want. It’s just a bar. A backwater bar in a backwater town.” The paperweight slid from his hand and crashed onto the desk. A chunk of the panhandle smashed into sparkly shards.

Beck clenched his jaw and nodded, finally accepting the truth. Of course Holiday would think of it as just a bar. But as Charlie had been saying all along, it was so much more.

He couldn’t let that happen. Charlie may have cut him out her life, but he couldn’t let hers get ripped out from under her. When he’d made the deal with his dad, he’d been assured things would stay the same. He couldn’t stand to be the cause of all those people he’d come to know losing their jobs. Angelo. Shep. Dixie. All the waitstaff and event helpers. They depended on the place. The whole town relied on the Rose for the tourists it brought in, a regular hangout to hear some good music and catch up with family and friends. That place had become a home for them—for him.

And his father was ready to ruin it all.

Holiday cleared his throat. “Got time for lunch today? I’d like to touch base on that project up in Morris Park. I know you had some childish fixation with it, but I think it’s about time we found a better use for your talents.”

The blood drained from Beck’s face, and a heaviness pressed down on his skull. This was his moment. Either the next thirty seconds would establish him as his father’s right-hand man, the son who would always remain under the scrutiny and control of an unrelenting dictator, or he’d turn his back on everything he’d ever wanted. The job, the success, the power, the money.

And for what?

A girl, a bar, and a couple hundred strangers who lived in a town bearing his last name?

Beck took a deep breath and ripped the contract in two. He waited for the shock and disappointment to settle on his father’s face.

Instead, Holiday laughed. “I’m two steps ahead of you, Son. Making a deal with you would have been the cheaper option. But I’ll get my hands on the Rambling Rose one way or another.”

“How? If I’m not planning on giving it to you, how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Holiday smirked. “Anyone bother to tell you what happens if you’re not on that float?”

“Mr. Hill said a third party will inherit everything.”

“That third party is your girlfriend. My crazy old man wrote her into his will. She’d get it all: the cash, the land, the bar.”

Charlie? Did she know about that? If she did, why had she tried so hard to convince him to stay? “How do you know?”

“You can buy all kinds of information if you offer enough cash.”

Beck shook his head. “Charlie would never sell it to you. She cares too much about Holiday.”

“True.” Holiday nodded. “But she won’t have to sell it. Sully should have had someone from a real law school write his will. Stu’s already found a loophole. When you don’t show for the parade, she’ll inherit the bar. Then I’ll file so many lawsuits that her head won’t stop spinning until long after her cash runs out.”

Beck clenched his jaw together. How had he been so blind? There was only one thing to do now. “And what makes you so sure I won’t show for the parade?”

“You really want to give all of this up?” Holiday motioned at the opulent furnishings surrounding them. “The corner office? Drinks with the mayor? You get on that float and you’re done here.”

Beck’s heart battered the walls of his chest. He let his gaze rest on his father’s smug grin for a long moment. Then he stepped around him, making a beeline for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He had to make this right. Charlie needed to hear about this new turn of events, and she needed to hear it from him. His decision made, Beck didn’t slow down. “I’m headed back to Holiday. Back where I belong.”