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Or not.

She’d pushed him so hard after their breakup that he’d felt nothing but relief when Grandfather summoned him to Montana. She’d seemed unable to take no for an answer. Bryce had no illusions that he was a great catch. Sure, the Sullivans had a pile of money, but the Woodrows weren’t exactly paupers. Madison didn’t need him that way.

Man, she’d been persistent.

The two women giggled.

Bryce remembered where he was. He took a step back. “It was nice meeting you, Daniella.” He nodded to the other woman before pivoting and heading for the buffet.

Whew. Close call.

He loaded his plate with food he wasn’t hungry for and retreated to his spot by the fireplace. Look at him. Since when was Bryce the guy on the edges?

With Eleanor on his arm, Grandfather made the rounds of the room, chatting with their guests. Maybe Bryce should shift elsewhere and avoid the old man. But why? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Not lately, anyway.

Much.

“Happy New Year, Bryce!” Grandfather saluted him with a goblet of grape juice. Not even wine.

“Happy New Year, sir.” Bryce nodded at Nadine’s mother. “And you, Eleanor.” Would the elderly pair marry in the coming year? By the smiles both wore, Bryce wouldn’t be shocked to hear of it.

“What are your hopes and plans for the upcoming year, Bryce?” Grandfather inquired.

What kind of question was that? Bryce stared at the man. “Uh… the usual, I guess. All the landscaping around this ranch that your heart could desire. Maxwell and I were designing the grounds around the new treehouses the other day.”

“Any personal plans?”

Bryce blinked. “Not really, sir.”

Grandfather nodded and looked at the flames flickering in the fireplace. “Well, keep an open mind, boy, and pray about it. You never know what will happen.”

Maybe Dad and Uncle Theodore were right in thinking the old man was off his rocker, though he usually seemed sharp enough.

Like now. Grandfather turned back and held Bryce’s gaze for a long moment, seemingly waiting for a response.

“Uh, yes, sir. I’ll do that.” At least the open mind, part. Hey, it could happen. They’d have a new crop of seasonal employees starting in May. Maybe there’d be some amazing woman who could drive Madison out of Bryce’s memories.

He could only hope.

As for praying, fat chance. He’d attended Sunday school as a kid in Kansas, of course, plus he’d attended at least a dozen iterations of the passion play over the years. He knew the basics. But how could it be relevant?

God was a bandaid. A crutch. Bryce didn’t need that. He was doing just fine on his own.

Sort of fine.

Not so fine.

Ugh.