The Cowboy's Bride. Carolyne Aarsen
I thought you meant that you were willing to take it over.”
Joe shook his head, trying to recall what he had said that day, wondering how Lane had fabricated this out of the conversation. Trust Lane to put him in this position, he thought angrily. Joe didn’t know what Lane hoped to gain from this, except his freedom at Joe’s expense.
Dale leaned forward as if sensing that Joe was weakening. “You won’t be taking on all of the debt. The bank is willing to renegotiate the terms.”
“Maybe you can explain to me how you won’t give me money to start up my own arena yet you’d be willing to help me take over a debt that would be almost twice the size.” Joe pressed his lips together in an effort to stem the tide of angry words inside him. He took a deep breath and covered up by flashing Dale a cocky smile.
“It wouldn’t be twice the size, Mr. Brewer.” The vision across the table from him made herself known. Her voice was well modulated and quiet, a counterpoint to the anger that Joe held in check.
“Miss Stevenson is right,” Dale interjected with a secretive smile at Rebecca. He looked at Joe. “We would be willing to renegotiate the indebtedness.”
Joe glanced at Rebecca Stevenson’s beautiful perfection and Dale’s impeccable suit, both a stark comparison to his faded jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. Suddenly he felt as if he was in junior high school. The ill-dressed, awkward boy being treated with a certain condescending disdain by the rich kids who never had to wonder if their only good pair of blue jeans would hold up, who always had transportation and never had to suffer the ignominy of hitchhiking.
“My name is Joe.” It was all he could say. He tilted his head and winked at her. He knew this was not how you treated a banker, but being impudent kept him from being angry. “When you call me Mr. Brewer I feel like my dad.”
“I’m sorry. Joe.” She refolded her hands, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve been looking over both your file and your brother’s, and I think what Dale is suggesting is not out of the realm of possibility. It would work well for both the bank and yourself. Lane has told us that from a legal standpoint you are entitled to a portion of the ranch. If we foreclose, then try and sell, your portion would be considerably reduced. Therefore, because of your entitlement, your indebtedness would not be as great as your brother’s.”
Joe looked at her stupidly, then, realizing what she was saying, shook his head. “Sounds like a pretty good deal for the bank. They would end up with the dumb Brewer, the one who pays back his loans, and he would end up working himself to the bone for you guys.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. To have his loan turned down after all his hopes and dreams was almost a mortal blow, and he was having a hard time being reasonable about it.
“You misunderstand me.” She looked at him again, her voice controlled, her blue eyes holding the same expression as when they first sat down. “What the bank hopes to do,” she explained, “is save themselves the trouble of acquiring real property and then having to dispose of it. There are too many costs associated with that—”
“And it’s lousy PR.” Joe bristled at her tone, still holding her gaze. He tilted another grin at her, but she wasn’t bowled over by his charm.
“There’s that, as well,” she continued, finally looking away, “but the reality is that the bank is unable to finance a risky venture such as your training facility. The risk to the bank would have been reduced were your brother in a position to satisfy the terms of your father’s will. However, we are more than willing to establish a line of credit for you to purchase an established business. You have experience with the operation, and you have some ready cash.”
“It always puzzles me that a person needs money in order to borrow money,” Joe said, unable to keep the curt note out of his voice.
Rebecca paused. “The nature of the beast, I guess,” she replied quietly.
Joe felt churlish. He had snapped and acted like a teenager, but Miss Stevenson had never changed her calm, professional tone.
Of course it wasn’t her life that had suddenly been rearranged. It wasn’t her dreams that had suddenly died.
Joe had spent half his life watching his father pay off endless interest on overdue accounts and struggle with snowballing loan payments.
And now this cool, contained woman was suggesting he put himself in debt for the rest of his working life on a place he had already slaved on as a youth without payment. It puzzled him how someone with such a serene face could be such a prophet of gloom.
“It sounds like a good deal for you, Joe.” Lane finally spoke, then glanced sidelong at Joe. Joe stared back, fighting the urge to throttle his brother.
“Stay out of it, Lane,” he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
“The amount isn’t what you think it is, Joe.” Dale broke into the conversation and leaned forward to catch Joe’s eye. “We are more than willing to negotiate a buyout that would be mutually beneficial to both parties.”
Joe held Dale’s earnest gaze, wondering why people like him and Miss Stevenson couldn’t use ordinary language. “In other words you’ll cut me a deal.”
Dale shrugged and sat back. “Yes. I guess that’s how you could put it.”
Dale pulled out another piece of paper and pushed it toward Joe. “Have a look at those figures, and we can sit down and figure out how to make this work the best for the both of us.”
Joe nodded and gave the paper a cursory glance. Right now what he wanted more than anything else was to get out of here, away from the eyes of impersonal people, away from his brother, who had put him in this position to start with. He folded the paper and slipped it in the pocket of his jean jacket. “I’ll look it over at home and get back to you. I should get going.” He got up and tugged on his jean jacket. “I appreciate your advice.”
Across the table, Rebecca Stevenson slowly rose from her chair, her expression cool. The only indication she gave that she was puzzled was a faint crease between her arched eyebrows. “It was your brother’s suggestion that we were operating under. I’m sorry if we put you in an awkward position. Given that, however, I would just like to reiterate what Mr. Aiken has said. I think this might prove to be a good investment of both your time and money and would be, as I said before, mutually beneficial.”
He quirked his mouth in what he hoped was a polite smile. Banker’s words. Official and unemotional. “I’m sure it would,” he replied, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.
He reached across the table to shake her hand. “Thanks again, Miss Stevenson.”
She hesitated, then caught his hand, her clasp surprisingly strong. “I hope I can be of help to you another time, Mr. Brewer.”
Not if I can help it, he thought. “Who knows?” he replied vaguely. He turned to his old classmate, forcing himself to remember that Dale had never been deliberately cruel. “Dale. Take care.” Dale shook his hand, as well. Joe nodded at his brother, unable to articulate his feelings.
Then he turned, opened the door and escaped.
Chapter Three
Joe strode across the lobby, the sound of his boot heels echoing solidly in the open area. He came to the door, hit the bar with both hands and stepped into sunshine and fresh air.
Dear Lord, he prayed, don’t ever make me do that again. That was way too humiliating for a Brewer.
And maybe that’s what God wanted, but to be humiliated in front of the beautiful woman he had admired in church and his old schoolmate Dale, who had gone so much further in life already, made it doubly hard.
He took in a lung-expanding breath, and another, as if to clear away what he had just sat through, the demolition of all his hopes and dreams, the depressing thought that he would be sitting behind the wheel of a truck for far too many years yet.
What