F ord needed a big bottle of water. His head was gonna explode, and he had a meeting with a client regarding tax law in about ten minutes.
He was still fifteen minutes from his office.
Ford keyed his hands-free. “Call the Aspen office.”
The phone rang, and Eileen answered. “You’re late. Don’t kill yourself. Mr. Porter’s running an hour late, and your 11:00 a.m. canceled.”
“Oh, thank you.” He chuckled. “I had a rough night. Didn’t sleep.”
“What can I do? Mr. Porter’s already on the road.”
“No, no, I’m ten minutes away. I’ll be there in two shakes.” What did that even mean? He’d picked up the expression at school, he thought. From Stoney.
God damn it.
He had managed not to have that motherfucker on his mind for years, just the occasional pang when Ty said something in an e-mail about the ranch. Now he was caught in a loop that revolved around the stupid son of a bitch. Who clearly still thought about him not at all. Not if he was getting drunk instead of coming to supper.
Or breakfast.
Jesus.
Just what the ranch needed—a co-owner with a drinking problem. Ford rolled his eyes. Ty assured him Stoney wasn’t a drunk, but Stoney wasn’t proving anything good.
Hell, so far the one good thing was the man seemed to be a reasonably competent father. Quartz wasn’t the most socially apt kid, but he was polite and clearly pretty smart, and the staff adored him.
Maybe he should grab a coffee and a pastry before he went in. Eileen would love that.
He had an hour, right? There was an organic coffee place two blocks from his office…. Man, he’d been sad to see that little goddess restaurant in Carbondale had closed. No more cheesy melty things…. Rats.
Ford parked and headed in, tugging his jacket closed against the wind. Man, it was cooling down fast this year.
“Ford? Hey, buddy, what the hell are you doing up here?” Matt Gregson strode up to him, hand out to shake. Square, callused, that hand took him back to high school in a heartbeat.
Ford grinned. “Lord. Matt. I should ask you that. I thought Aspen was too froufrou for you.”
“Oh, shit. You know me. I follow the money. I’m doing entertainment law. You’d be surprised how well that works here.”
“Nah. Lots of actors and all.” Ford never kept track of who was in Aspen anymore. He did just fine for himself without all the drama. “Gonna get a coffee if you want to come with.”
“I was heading that way. You still in Santa Fe mostly?” Matt was the personification of the middle-aged former football star, muscle heading gently to fat, mostly good-natured, but with enough competitive edge left that he could enjoy law.
“Yeah. Uncle Ty, he had to move to the Junction, so I’m up to help with the ranch.”
“Rock on! You’ll have to meet me for supper one night. There’s a little bunch of us that get together once a month or so.”
“No shit?” Ford chuckled at the idea. He’d never been one to revisit the past, but why not? “Sounds good.”
“I’ll e-mail you the deets. It’s informal. Just me, Kenny Barter, Buck and Vic Harrison, and then Mike Beals.”
“The twins are still in town?” Both of them? Those boys had been beautiful, and the fantasy subject of some very inappropriate teenaged jack-off sessions.
Matt snorted. “Shit, they’ll never leave the Roaring Fork. They’d die under five thousand feet.”
“True. They still climbing fourteeners?”
“You know it. That’s their whole lives.” They moved forward with the line, getting closer to the pastry case. “They never married, had kids, anything. They climb.”
“I know they had some sponsor just out of high school.” North Face, maybe. Something like that. Ford admired the stick-with-it-ness of the guys, for sure.
“Yeah. I don’t get it, but they haven’t changed a bit.”
“Some of us can’t say that, huh?” Ford elbowed Matt in the ribs, the teenager back in force.
“Lord, no.” Matt patted his belly. “Sharon says that she’s the one that’s pregnant, but I’m carrying the weight for this one.”
“How many does that make?” Ford vaguely remembered Matt had two kids the last time they’d seen each other.
“This is number four, and I think we’ve decided to stop there.”
“Wow. Four.” Sometimes Ford felt a real pang of sorrow over the idea that he’d never have kids. Which, okay, weird, because he was queer and a bit of a loner and probably utterly not dad material, but whatever. It was what it was.
“So, what’ll you two have today?” asked the barista, and Ford ordered a double shot mocha with caramel drizzle and extra whip for Eileen and an almond milk latte for him, along with two huge apple turnovers.
“I’m going for the white chocolate mocha and a lemon poppy seed slice, please.”
“You got it. Together?” She looked them over with a jaded glance.
“I’m buying, yes,” Ford said without batting an eye.
“Thanks, man. I’ll pick up the next one.” The best thing about Matt was that it was the truth. The man had the memory of an elephant.
“Deal,” Ford agreed. He was really enjoying Matt’s company. The day was improving.
They lined up against the wall, waiting for their drinks. He needed to remember this. He didn’t belong on the ranch anymore. He belonged out here where there were lattes and people who didn’t act like he was the big bad wolf.
Lord have mercy.
He was losing his mind.
“So, anyway, text me your number, and I’ll holler when we’re gonna get together next,” Matt said before handing him a business card.
“Will do. It’ll be good to see everyone, catch up.” Had he gotten to that age? The catching-up age? He skipped reunions and weddings…. Maybe he was. Or at least at the right place in his life.
“It will.” Matt grabbed his drink and pastry when it came up. “Okay, I have to get on. Good to see you, man.”
“Have a good day.” He headed back to the car, feeling lighter, like maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe Stoney just sucked.
He could handle that. Blame Stoney. Wasn’t that a song?
If it wasn’t, it sure as shit would be now.