Page 23 of Your Every Wish

I jump at the sound of his voice and whirl around to find him fully dressed in a pair of faded jeans, flannel shirt, and work boots.

The wardrobe seems at odds with the house.

His dark hair is still damp, and I wonder if I caught him after a shower or if he’d been in the pool, though it is a bit too cool for swimming.

Then again, his pool is probably heated.

“I was just in the neighborhood,” I say, and he grins that knockout smile of his as if to say Liar . “Where are the dogs?”

“Upstairs. You want a drink?”

“A cocktail at this hour?” It’s barely eleven.

“Who said anything about a cocktail?” He walks to the kitchen, opens one side of the enormous built-in fridge, and pulls out a jug of orange juice, then leaves it open, so I can have my pick from an assortment of juices and bottled waters.

I grab a Dasani.

He leads me through a glass breezeway into a dark-paneled room—his office, I presume.

This space actually shows signs of personality.

Unlike the trendy pieces in the other room, this is furnished mostly in weathered leather, antique wood, and Navajo-style rugs.

It’s cluttered with paperwork and a disjointed assortment of collectibles that could be expensive or something picked up at a yard sale or thrift shop.

I’m pretty sure that the bronze sculpture of a bucking bronco is a knockoff of a Remington.

My boss has one just like it in his office at Caesars.

On the wall behind the large mahogany desk, where he’s claimed a seat, hangs a framed photograph of an old cowboy leaning against a fence, a lariat in one hand, the other jammed in his coat pocket.

“Someone you know?” I ask jokingly and lower myself into the chair across from him.

“My grandfather.”

I take a closer inspection. Other than matching blue eyes, I don’t see the resemblance.

“It was taken at Cedar Pines,” he says. “Don’t you recognize it?”

I don’t. “Kind of, I guess.”

He all but rolls his eyes. “It used to be part of this property. A cattle ranch founded by my great-great-grandfather after the Gold Rush.”

“Do you still have cows?”

“A few, yeah.”

“Where are they?” I rise and look out the window. Not a cow as far as the eye can see.

“Off McCourtney Road.”

I have no idea where that is but I’m guessing the street was named after his family. Big deal. Willy Keil probably has a prison cell named after him.

“Why don’t you keep them here?” I ask, hoping the pure stupidity of the question will irritate him and knock him off his fancy-pants rooftop.

To my surprise he doesn’t seem at all annoyed. “I do. This property is contiguous with McCourtney. The only thing dividing it is a cattle guard on one side and a fence on the other. ”

“Oh. Convenient, I guess.” I don’t know the first thing about raising cattle other than I like steak. “Did your great-great-grandfather build this house during the Gold Rush?” For some reason, I feel an overwhelming desire to antagonize him.

He doesn’t even blink. “No, I did. You like it?”

I make the so-so sign with my hand. “I probably would’ve done a few things differently.”

“Yeah, like what?” He folds his arms over his chest.

I gaze around his office. “More like this room. Warmer tones, furniture that’s lived in.”

He nods as if in agreement.

But I just can’t help myself. “Infinity pool? It’s so overdone these days. And the fireplace . . . a bit over the top, don’t you think? And all that glass . . . well, it has to be a huge suck on your energy bill.”

“I have solar,” he says in a lazy drawl.

“Oh. Then the builder should’ve added more windows in the kitchen.”

“I am the builder.”

“You mean like DIY?”

“DIY? Yeah, sure. DIY. So what is it I can I do you for, Miss . . . Mrs. . . . ?”

I bet dollars to doughnuts he already knows my name. If Misty didn’t tell him, someone else did. That’s the way it works around here. Word spreads fast, especially when I have something he wants.

“Jenkins. Kennedy Jenkins,” I say anyway. “I heard that you might be interested in purchasing Cedar Pines.”

“I wasn’t aware it’s for sale.” That lazy drawl again.

But he isn’t fooling me. I saw those blue eyes of his light up the moment I said Cedar Pines and purchase . The light only lasted for a fraction of a second, but it glinted like a hungry wolf’s. The man might think he’s quite the poker player, but he just showed his hand.

“It might be, for the right price,” I say and plop back down in my chair.

“And what would that be?”

“Make me an offer, Mr. McCourtney.”

“It’s Bent. Don’t you own it with your sister?”

Aha, see, he knows more than he’s letting on. “I do.”

“And she wants to sell, too?”

“Like I said, for the right price.”

“Hmm.” He leans back in his chair and laces his fingers behind his head. “How does twenty sound?”

Holy shit.

Twenty sounds like music to my ears. Even Emma can’t argue with that kind of money.

We’d be set for life. Then again, maybe I’m vastly undervaluing the property.

The thing is I came here wholly unprepared for an offer.

The idea of selling to him just tumbled out of my mouth.

My original intention was merely a fishing expedition to feel Bent McCourtney out.

He sure offered that number without batting so much as an eyelash, which makes me believe it’s worth a lot more.

That’s what I get for not doing my homework.

For example, what’s the appraised value of Cedar Pines Estates?

And who is Bent McCourtney and is he legitimately good for twenty million dollars?

For all I know he’s shady as hell. Just because he has a killer house, and his family has a street named after them doesn’t mean he isn’t a con artist or a swindler.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I say. “And talk to Emma, of course. She’s pretty captivated by the place, so it’s unlikely that twenty million will do it. But let me talk to our people and get back to you.”

I take another sip of my Dasani and get to my feet. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“I didn’t realize I had a choice. But let me walk you out.”

We take the breezeway again where I get another eyeful of that view, which is even more dazzling the second time around. The dogs, two Australian Shepherds, have returned and are lying in front of the hearth. Their tails start going berserk as soon as they spy Bent.

“Stay,” he tells them, and they do.

From upstairs comes the high-pitched whine of a vacuum cleaner. Bent walks me outside.

“Thanks again,” I say.

“You know the way, right?” He points across his field in the direction of the trailer park as if I’m so dimwitted I can’t retrace my own steps, and hides a grin.

“Oh, and Kennedy . . . it is Kennedy, right? That wasn’t twenty million I was offering.

It was twenty thousand. A hell of a deal, given how much it’ll take to bulldoze the place.

I’ll make it all cash, thirty-day closing, no contingencies.

Talk it over with your sister and let me know. ”

I can still hear him laughing when I get to the stone wall.