Page 23 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

I arrived early.

I usually tend to be a bit early for things like this, but today, I found myself pacing the sidewalk outside the attorney’s office for nearly twenty minutes before finally stepping inside the building.

It’s not nerves—not about the deal itself anyway. I know the paperwork inside and out. The acreage is solid, the contract is clear, the terms are generous, there are no contingencies, and Holland is a very pleased man. There’s really no reason to be anxious.

Except Matty Storm is about to walk through that door, and I haven’t seen her since the night she broke down in my arms and then vanished behind the walls of the hospital and her family responsibilities.

Three weeks since I saw her face.

One week since I last heard her voice.

I still remember the way she tasted and how she clung to me as if I were the only thing holding her together at the hospital.

But then she went radio silent and became distant.

I tried to check on her a couple of times, calling the ranch house and leaving messages with Evelyn.

I also called Charli, but Matty was never around when she answered.

Charli did keep me updated daily via text about Albert’s progress, but I never got a return call from Matty.

So, I decided to give her space, knowing she needed it.

But, damn, I’ve missed her.

The receptionist shows me to the conference room—long table, tall windows, legal pads and pens resting in front of each chair. A few minutes later, Holland strolls in, all cowboy polish and easy charm, a big smile already spread across his face.

“Morning, son,” he says, clapping me on the back.

“Good morning.”

He sets his briefcase on the table and glances around the room. “We’re the first ones here, I see.”

As if on cue, the door swings open once more, and Albert Storm steps inside.

He looks much better than the last time I saw him; there’s color in his face, and he has a pep in his step.

Although he still looks somewhat tired around the eyes, he stands tall and alert.

That’s what matters. He’s dressed sharply, clean-shaven, and greeting everyone with a firm handshake as if nothing had ever happened.

“Albert,” Holland says warmly, reaching for his hand. “Damn good to see you on your feet. How’re you feeling?”

Albert grins. “Still kicking.”

“You gave us all quite a scare,” Holland notes.

“Gave myself one too.”

“Priscilla was a wreck when she heard the news. Called down to the church and got a prayer circle started for you. Told me to tell you she’s making you supper one night when you’re up to it.”

Albert chuckles. “Hell, if she’s still cooking that pot roast, I’d be a fool to turn it down. The girls have had me eating nothing but no salt, no fried, no taste bullshit since I got home.”

They slip easily into a conversation like that of old friends—men who’ve seen each other through decades of rodeos, ranching, weddings, and funerals. They talk about Albert’s girls and Waylon, about how close their wives used to be, how the kids used to run wild through the streets of Wildhaven.

And then the door opens, and she walks in.

Matty.

My heart stutters at the sight of her.

She’s wearing dark jeans, boots, and a navy blouse that highlights the blue in her eyes, making them appear even more vibrant than the afternoon sky.

Her braid is pulled over her shoulder, with a few strands escaping to frame her face.

Her face is a mask as she takes the seat directly across from me, next to her father.

Our eyes meet briefly, and she offers a quiet nod—polite but distant.

Her dad gently squeezes her shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. Thanks for coming. ”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” she replies.

Holland winks at her. “You’re going to be rich now, Miss Matty,” he says. Chuckling, he adds, “At least for a day or two.”

She gives him a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’ll be a nice change of pace.”

The attorney enters and shuts the door behind him before diving straight into the business at hand.

He passes both Albert and Holland a manila folder containing the necessary paperwork—the purchase agreement, closing disclosure, survey, and title reports.

He goes over the details of each document one by one, stopping to point out where Holland or Albert needs to sign.

I listen with one ear, but my attention keeps drifting back to Matty.

She fidgets, tapping her pen against the legal pad and shifting in her seat. Every so often, her eyes drift toward me and then flick back to the attorney, hoping I don’t notice as she tries to pay attention.

Except I do notice.

I notice everything.

I’ve missed her more than I should. More than I can explain.

The closing process takes nearly forty-five minutes while the attorney walks the men through every line, every legal clause. It’s friendly, cordial. Holland and Albert trade quips, but Matty stays quiet.

When the last page is signed, the attorney offers his congratulations to both parties and leaves to make copies. Holland and Albert fall back into easy talk, reminiscing about a fishing trip they took in the ’90s that ended with Waylon and one of the Ludlow girls in the Snake River.

I lean closer to Matty while they’re laughing.

“Matty,” I murmur.

She glances at me, her eyes guarded.

“You want to go to dinner tonight?”

She blinks. “Dinner? Tonight?”

“Yeah. To celebrate the closing.”

Her expression shifts. A flicker of annoyance. “I don’t know that I think this is an occasion that warrants celebration.”

My chest tightens, but I nod slowly. “All right. Then go to dinner with me because you want to.”

That takes her aback. Her gaze holds mine for a beat .

I don’t push. I just wait.

Finally, she sighs. “You sure you want to go to dinner with me? You didn’t exactly get to eat last time, did you?”

“Nope,” I say, holding back a smile. “Not a damn bite, but I’ll be sure to snack before we go this time. Just in case.”

Her lips twitch. “I guess I could meet you at the Foraged Bistro. Try again?”

I shake my head. “No. I was thinking we’d do something different this time.”

“Different?”

“Casual. Simple. Not so businesslike. Maybe that pizza place in town. The one on the corner near the post office. I heard they’ve got live music on Friday nights.”

She raises an eyebrow. “The Prairie Pie?”

“Yeah. That’s the one. And I’ll pick you up this time,” I say as I lean in. “Because I want to be perfectly clear—this time, it isn’t a business meeting.”

Her breath catches slightly.

“It’s a date,” I say, my voice low.

She studies me like she’s trying to decide if this is a good idea or not. Hell, I’m not even sure it’s a good idea. All I do know is that I want to sit across from her, learn the things I don’t know yet. See her smile, hear her laugh, and if I’m lucky, kiss her good night.

“I don’t like being stuck anywhere without my own way home,” she whispers.

“You won’t be stuck. You say the word, and I’ll drive you back to the ranch. No questions asked.”

She chews at her bottom lip as she considers it.

“You promise you’ll take me straight home?”

“Cross my heart.”

She finally nods. Just once. “Okay. Pizza.”

Those two words lift something heavy off my chest.

“Pick you up at seven?” I ask.

She quirks a brow.

“Fine. Eight it is,” I say.

She grins .

Just then, the attorney returns with a folder of copies for everyone. Holland and Albert stand and shake hands with the attorney.

And the four of us leave the office.

Deal done.

Finally.