Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
His jacket hangs neatly on the hook beside him, his white button-down crisp enough that it could’ve come out of the packaging five seconds ago. A glass of something amber sits in front of him, and he’s scrolling through his phone so focused I want to punch him just to see what he’d do. The Bishop family attorney, ladies and gentlemen.
The legitimate face of the Bishop operation. Where the rest of us have calloused hands and rap sheets. Well, we would if we didn’t own the law around here. Sawyer has a law degree and cuff links. Roman likes to parade him around as proof our family isn’t all blood and dirt even though we both know Sawyer’s hands aren’t as clean as his shirts.
He finally looks up from his phone when I slide into the booth across from him. “You’re late.”
With a shrug, I strip off my coat, leaving it in a heap on the bench next to me. “Traffic.”
He gives me a look. There’s no traffic between the ranch and town. There’s barely a road. “You were sitting in the parking lot again, weren’t you?”
I didn’t come here to be psychoanalyzed. Instead of answering him, I drop the folder on the table between us, next to the drink he’s already ordered for me.
Whiskey, neat. At least he knows that much.
“Lowry,” I say, tapping the file. “Everything Roman asked for is in here.”
Sawyer pulls it toward him and carefully flips it open. Whatever he was looking at on his phone is old news. I watch as his eyes scan the first page while I grab the glass of whiskey and take a swig. The liquid burns a path of fire down my throat before settling in my belly.
“Jackson Lowry,” he reads, half to himself. “Twenty-six. Son of Joseph Lowry, who runs the Lowry cattle operation out of—”
“I know who he is. I don’t need a fucking recap.”
Sawyer’s cool gaze flicks up to me, appraising. He’s three years my junior, but sometimes it feels like he’s older than me.
“Then you know this is bigger than one rancher’s kid.”
“I know what’s in the report. I put it together.”
He nods, conceding that much, and turns his attention back to the pages. I watch him read because I don’t have anything better to do, and because it keeps me from thinking about why this particular job has been sitting in my gut like a boulder for the past two weeks.
“Joseph Lowry has been acquiring land along the southern border of Bishop territory for the past eighteen months,” Sawyer summarizes, turning a page. “Quietly. Shell companies, third-party buyers. He’s also invested heavily in the McCray ranch—”
“Which puts him on three sides of our eastern pasture.”
“Right.” Sawyer nods and takes a controlled sip of his drink. Everything he does is meticulous. Even the way he sets the glass down, perfectly centered on its ring of condensation. “And now he’s making a play for the Porter ranch through his son.”
There it is. The rock in my gut shifts, grinding against something raw.
“An engagement,” Sawyer continues, watching me now instead of the folder. “Jackson Lowry and Allison Porter. Roman thinks it’s a strategic merger. Lowry gets Porter’s water rights and the last piece he needs to box us in from the south.”
I raise the glass to my lips and take a gulp of whiskey this time.
“You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Sawyer doesn’t push. That’s one thing I’ll give him. He knows where the lines are, even if he also knows what’s behind them. Maybe because he knows.
His attention drifts back to the paperwork like he’s doing me a favor.
Allison Porter. Like I needed to hear her full name read from a file, like she’s just another asset on a spreadsheet. I mean, she should be after the way she ripped me apart.
“The engagement hasn’t been announced yet.” I keep my voice flat. “The ring is new. She’s been wearing it around town since she got back from school, but there’s been no formal announcement. It seems legit to me, but what the fuck do I know?”
“How do you know she’s wearing it?”
Because I fucking watched her play with it in line at the coffee shop, and I had to stop myself from taking it and throwing it in the fucking trash. “I have eyes.”
Sawyer studies me for a beat too long. “Roman wants us to monitor the situation. If Lowry consolidates the Porter land with his own holdings, we lose negotiating power on water access, and the county board shifts against us.”
Did he not hear me when I told him I put this together?
“I read the brief, Sawyer. I wrote half of it.”
“I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you aren’t having a bigger reaction to the information inside.” He leans back, folding his arms across his chest. Even the way he crosses his arms looks deliberate, like he practiced it in a mirror.