Ryan Mathison tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat of his red Subaru Impreza, punched the address for the Hazelwood farm into his navigator, and swallowed the bile in his throat.
In other circumstances, he’d enjoy meeting the Hazelwoods, but he’d never be comfortable taking advantage of people, especially when they were already doing it tough. Still, as a junior partner in his family’s property development business, he did what he was told. Even if it made him sick.
The doctor had prescribed antianxiety medication. Ignoring that, Ryan pushed through the nausea and cold chills for hours before a meeting and managed to adopt the learned business persona Dad required.
Unlike his older brother, who willingly joined the family business fresh out of high school and idolised Dad, Ryan had dreams of studying social work. Dad put the lid on that, insisting Ryan had rocks in his head if he wanted to study something so menial.
But Ryan wanted to help others less fortunate than himself.
Over the past ten years, he’d dutifully generated millions of dollars in sales. But it was never enough to make Dad happy.
How much was enough?
Ryan had no idea. He doubted Dad did, either.
And now, he had to meet with a family whose farm was in dire straits. Dad had instructed him to offer half its value, making Ryan a vulture circling, ready to pick the bones of a dying animal.
Except these were people.
One day soon, he’d stand up to Dad.
If Dad kicked him out, so be it. He’d start out on his own. He’d come to enjoy the business’s development side, transforming neglected properties into modern, attractive homes. But ripping people off was destroying him.
His heart heavy, he started the engine. Water’s Edge was an easy thirty-minute drive north along the coast from Castaway Bay. He checked his watch. Enough time to take it slowly and settle his stomach.
He headed through town and turned left onto the coast road. Whenever Dad went north, he took the faster but less scenic highway to get his adrenaline going. Ryan preferred the slower road.
But he had to psyche himself up, so it was no use daydreaming about strolling along the beaches below, exploring the rocky headlands, or surfing the breakers.
Some AC/DC would help him prep. He found the playlist, turned the volume up, and focused.
Five minutes outside of Water’s Edge, he turned off the coast road, took the connecting road that wound up the range, and pulled into the Hazelwood farm right on four o’clock.
As he drove through the open gates, a deep sadness pressed him down into his seat. Overgrown with grass and weeds, row upon row of neglected fruit trees stretched in both directions.
What would cause a three-generation orchard to fall into such disrepair?
Something had happened.
A death? A divorce? Illness? There was always a reason for selling a property, especially a family-owned one.
Dad used that reason to his advantage. “People who are down don’t argue and they take what’s offered. They’re easy pickings.”
That approach never sat well with Ryan.
He pulled up on the gravel driveway behind an old silver Corolla hatchback, grabbed his briefcase, and climbed out.
Two Australian cattle dogs closed in on him, and he let out a nervous chuckle. “Whoa, boys. Friend, not foe.”
They sniffed around and trotted behind him as he headed to the farmhouse, a sprawling weatherboard structure that had seen better days.
From the top of the stairs, an attractive woman with long honey-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes called to the dogs.
Ryan frowned. He was supposed to be meeting Mr. and Mrs. Hazelwood, who were in their seventies.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Ah, hello. I’m Ryan Mathison. I’m here to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Hazelwood.”
“My grandparents are expecting you. Come on up.” Her voice brisk, her manner businesslike, she nodded towards the open door.
This was meant to have been a done deal. Walk in, offer the money, get the signature.
Neither he nor Dad had factored in a feisty granddaughter.
Donning his most charming smile, Ryan lifted his chin and strode up the stairs.
