Three days. It had been three days of heaven in Stetson’s arms.
Except, it was quickly turning to hell as she stared down at the ledger in front of her. The tour of the farm had revealed a couple of tractors that were needed to harvest Stetson’s crops, cows that were already contracted to be sold to the restaurants in Boise, rolls of bailing twine and rusty bolts, an ancient tractor from the 1950s, fields of corn, hay, and wheat, and one adorable steer who was the property of Yesenia.
Well, and the tour revealed that as always, Carmelita was right. The farm was much larger than Jennifer had realized. Somehow, bland numbers on a page didn’t mean nearly as much as seeing the wide open spaces for herself. The farm had gone on for forever, it seemed, nestled up against the Goldfork Mountains.
Stetson pointed to the mountains and said that they’d had their chunk of the mountainside checked for minerals or gems – Idaho was the Gem State, after all – but there hadn’t been enough there to make it worthwhile to set up a whole mining operation. His dad had even looked at selling the pine trees that dotted the mountainside to a logging company, but the trees were too sparse and the terrain was too steep and rocky to make building a road up it worthwhile.
Worthwhile.
It was a word Jennifer was starting to hate.
It was the same word Stetson had used when she’d brought up the topic of splitting off a portion of the farm and selling it to an area farmer. They had been standing on the back porch when she’d suggested it, and Stetson had pulled her out into the sunshine as he talked her through it.
“If I tried to sell that chunk over there,” he’d said, pointing into the sunshine, “we’d have to build a road through the rest of the property to give access to it, and then give a right-away to the new owner for that road. It’d cost me as much in time and materials and lost productivity since I can’t graze a road, that I’d lose money doing it. Same with that piece over there,” he’d said, swinging his arm to the right. Her gaze had followed his arm, happy to be staring into something that wasn’t direct sunlight. “Except with that one, it’s even worse because I would have to build a full-sized bridge over the canal that could support any kind of rig the new owner would want to drive down it. Do you have any idea what kind of price tag a bridge like that would have? It just isn’t worthwhile.
“And my neighbor to the west,” he’d said, jerking his thumb, “is looking for a buyer for his own property. If I could afford to, I’d be snatching that piece up from him. I could double my corn crop every year with that farmland to work with. But I can’t afford to buy it, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to buy from me. The last thing he wants is more land. He’s older and looking to stop working so damn hard, and his boys don’t want the farm. He says he’s spent too many mornings in the seat of a tractor; he wants his ass in a cabana instead.” He’d shot Jennifer a grin. “I tried to put that image outta my head as quick as it arrived. I suggest you do the same.”
A wrinkly old farmer in board shorts, hanging out with a coconut drink in his hand.
Yeah, that was an image she’d be happy to never think about again.
So what was worthwhile? Jennifer scrubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands. She didn’t know, but she sure as hell better figure it out, and quick. Greg wasn’t going to put up with her continuing to work on this audit for much longer. His messages were starting to creep over into completely rude territory. Despite her big talk to Paul on Saturday morning, Jenn still hadn’t filed an official complaint against Greg. Not yet. She wanted to help Stetson save his farm or figure something out, and then she’d file the complaint against Greg. She didn’t want to chance being pulled off the case.
An audit had never meant so much before, and yet, Jennifer had never failed so miserably.
Working Overtime started ringing out as her phone began vibrating across the scarred wooden desk. Dammmmiiitttttt…She did not want to talk to Greg right now. Or ever, for that matter, but especially not right now. Not when she didn’t have much in the way of progress to report. She hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out if she could get away with not answering for once, but finally, worry won out and she snatched the phone up, hurrying to the front door as she tried to swipe to answer. The phone call went to voicemail just a split second before she could, though, and Jennifer grimaced, nibbling on her bottom lip as she looked down at the screen.
Should she call him back? Or listen to his voicemail first and then call him—
The phone started ringing again.
I don’t want to work.
I want to bang on these drums all day.
Well, I guess that answers that question.
She swiped again as she stepped out onto the front porch. “This is Jennifer Kendall.”
I sound more pleasant than I feel. That’s a good start.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called just a second ago?” Greg demanded.
“I couldn’t get to the phone fast enough. It was in my bag,” Jennifer lied without a twinge of guilt. She was pretty sure she should feel guilty about not feeling guilty, but that wasn’t about to happen. Not with Greg.
“I’ve had just about enough of your excuses. I’m tired of reminding you that I don’t want to hear them,” Greg blasted her.
“It was just a reason, not an excuse,” she said, keeping her voice even. She was not going to let him get under her skin. She refused to.
“I don’t want to hear it. Are you done with the audit yet?” he demanded.
“I’m still working on the books. It’s a complicated business, with cows and row crops and hay—”
“You’ve dragged your feet long enough on this one,” he snapped, cutting her off. “I want an answer today, and it better be foreclosure.”
“What?!” she half yelled. She knew that was what he wanted, but he rarely demanded it. “But that may not—”
“That is the answer that I want, that is the answer the board wants, and that is going to be the answer you give. You’re only out there on this little vacation because the loan contract stipulates that an audit must be conducted. The contract doesn’t say what the results of that audit must be. We, as the bank, get to determine what the result of that audit will be, and this one will be foreclosure. Do I make myself clear?”
“You know that is—”
“You don’t get to tell me what to think. I am the boss, you are the employee, and therefore, I get to tell you what to think. Get me my results, and quick.”
“I can’t—”
“You can’t what? You can’t work here anymore? That is what is going to happen if you continue to be insubordinate.”
“That isn’t—”
“I really don’t care what you think it is or isn’t. Let me tell you exactly what it is. This is about the board backing a huge development deal to gentrify that little asshole of a town. If you haven’t noticed, that farm is right at the base of the Goldfork Mountains, and with a little bit of the bank’s money, it could be a very nice ski resort. If you don’t want to play ball, then I don’t need your services any longer. Now get me that report!”
The line went dead.
It all clicked together in that moment. His even-more-overbearing-than-usual manner. His willingness to openly demand what the results of the audit would be.
Worthwhile…
The word of the day, except this time, it was the bank that won the contest. They’d been able to figure out how to make the mountainside worthwhile, when she and Stetson hadn’t.
Hold on, Stetson could sell to real estate developers instead! The bank couldn’t be in possession of the only people willing and able to pay for a whole ski resort to be put in, right? They’d just have to find some backers themselves.
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. That was ridiculous, and even she knew it. These were the kinds of deals that took months or even years to put together, not a couple of days. Stetson needed cash right now, not two years from now. Plus, would he even be willing to voluntarily turn his family’s farm into a ski resort?
Jennifer was pretty sure the answer to that was a resounding hell no, although honestly, she wasn’t sure if he was going to have a choice here pretty quick.
“Is everything okay?” Carmelita asked, opening the screen door with Jennifer’s favorite flowered mug in her hand. “I made you some coffee. I thought you might need it.”
Jennifer took it gratefully with a wan smile. What happens when you lose the only home you’ve lived in for the last 50 years? What happens when I have to tell the man I’m falling in love with that his life is about to be destroyed?
“Yeah, I’m good,” she said hoarsely. “I better get back to work, though.”
She left Carmelita on the front porch, staring into the distance contemplatively as Jennifer headed back to the office.
Maybe this time, she’d have better luck. It sure as hell couldn’t get any worse.