Glancing at the stairs, India said, “Come on, Cal, let’s go drag your grandfather from his study and make him be social.”
Cal’s shoulders slumped. “His study is off-limits.”
“Not today. He can bluster and complain all he wants.” India took Cal’s hand in hers. “He never says no to your grandma.”
“I’ll come, too,” Scarlett offered.
Brody watched the three of them ascend the stairs, the women each holding one of Cal’s hands. The boy was smiling by the time they reached the top of the stairs, his gaze bouncing back and forth between his mother and his aunt.
“Maybe you should have brought your girls,” Miss Francis said. “The man has daughters—he’s sure to have a soft spot for them. And they are precious girls.”
“That’s just what I need right now. Chasing after Amberleigh with her clothes in one hand and her shoes in the other,” he argued.
Miss Francis laughed then. “Maybe you’re right. She’ll grow out of it soon enough, don’t you worry. No sense standing around out here. Let’s go shake some hands, mingle and show you off.”
“You clean up well, Miss Francis,” he said, leading them into an open meeting room outfitted with a bar and a few tables and chairs.
“I don’t mind getting dressed up when necessary,” she said, patting his arm.
He grinned. Whatever she was wearing, the old woman had a commanding presence that earned her attention and respect from all who met her. And Brody admired the hell out of her.
“Where do we start?” he asked.
“Why, with Mayor Draper, of course,” she murmured. “I saw him earlier. Now’s as good a time as any to be cordial and neighborly. You know, keep this election civil and all.”
He hoped she was right. He had nothing but respect for the man who had served Fort Kyle so long.
“Brody Wallace,” the old man wheezed as they approached, extending an unsteady hand. “Nice to see you out and about, boy.”
Brody swallowed his surprise and took the man’s hand. “You, too, sir.”
“I hear you’re going to finally replace me?” Mayor Draper asked. “I kept waiting for someone to run, someone to step up and take the reins. ’Bout time. I’m tired,” he said, clapping Brody’s shoulder with his other hand. “And I’m mighty glad it’s you.”
When Brody had imagined this meeting, this was a scenario that had never crossed his mind. He would run unchallenged? He was aware of their growing audience. If they were looking for drama, they’d be disappointed. “That means a lot, sir. I have some mighty big shoes to fill, but I give you my word I’ll work hard to do the best I can for our fine town and the people who live hereabouts.”
Mayor Draper nodded and released his hand. “I believe you will, son. I believe you will.”
“Good intentions or not, it won’t be easy.” Woodrow Boone joined them, doing his damnedest not to look Brody in the eye. “You’ve been doing a fine job, John. You can’t just step aside without giving the people a vote. I’m not so sure Fort Kyle is ready to see you go.”
John Draper snorted. “I think I’ve earned the right to make my own mind up on this one, Woodrow. It won’t be easy, that’s the truth. But he’s young, eager, with brains to boot. He’ll do fine. More than fine, I reckon.” He grinned, his cloudy eyes glancing between the two of them. “But we’re not here to talk politics today, are we? We’re here to talk about the Monarch Festival.”
Brody appreciated Draper’s seamless shift in conversation. Intentional or not, John Draper kept the tension compressed and the focus where it needed to be: Fort Kyle’s economic future.
In ten minutes, everyone was ushered into the dining room for a buffet brunch complete with fancy china and instrumental classic country tunes piped in through the speakers. Brody took his time exploring. In all his years, he’d been invited here only twice, not including today. But both his prom and his senior-year awards banquet were hazy now. His prom had consisted of dancing with every girl besides India, while being aware of her every movement. She’d looked so damn pretty in her pink dress, he’d had a hard time keeping his distance—even with Mrs. Boone serving as chaperone.
His senior awards banquet had been overshadowed by the huge fight he’d had with his parents. No matter how much he and his mother had pleaded and explained how important the awards were, his father flat-out refused to set foot on Boone property. Eventually he’d gone on his own, red-faced and stiff through most of the evening. While his peers had their friends and family to cheer them on, he sat alone. India had shot him sympathetic glances throughout the evening, but her parents’ attendance had prevented her from being at his side.
Everything about Fire Gorge Lodge was impressive. From the outside, it appeared to be one massive log cabin. But inside, it was pure elegance—with a dash of rustic thrown in for atmosphere. Sure, there were antlers and hunting trophies on the walls, pictures of generations of Boones working the ranch as well as faded tintype photos of the Boone ancestors. The pride in their heritage was obvious. But the attention to the comfort of guests who frequented the dude ranch—overstuffed chairs, massive televisions, technology-charging
stations, arctic air-conditioning—made it clear they understood their clientele’s expectations.
“Like what you see?” Woodrow Boone asked, his tone hard and cold.
“I do, sir. It’s an impressive setup.” He looked the man squarely in the eye, determined not to let the man intimidate him. “It was mighty generous of you to host this meeting—”
“My wife’s idea.” He scowled. “I’d have been far more selective with the invitations.”
Brody pressed his lips tight. His only response was a nod.