“Jane?” Essence wrapped her arms around Jane’s waist then pressed her head against her shoulder the way she had when they were younger. “Come on, we just want a little bit. It says in the article that any girl that bids over two hundred grand automatically makes it to the ball.”
Jane shrugged away from her grasp and choked out a laugh. “Two hundred grand? Are you serious? Do you think I would still be a cleaning lady if I had that much money?”
Essence shrugged. “Who knows? You were always Daddy’s favorite. Hell, he probably gave you more than that, and you’re just too selfish to share it with us.”
Esmeralda tensed, looking between both of them, and then a slow nod from Essence had her jumping right in. “You always were selfish—first with Daddy’s love and now with whatever he left us. Figures you would keep it all to yourself.”
With a sigh, Jane plopped the bacon onto a plate and placed her hands on her hips. “If I had money, you guys would know about it. All I have is the business, and I highly doubt it’s worth more than a hundred grand, if that.” She frowned. “What’s this really about?”
The girls both fell silent and then they shared another one of the looks they were famous for. One where Jane was left out.
It was awkward. Tense.
Finally Esmeralda stood. “I should go to work. Thanks for breakfast.” She glared down at the bacon then purposefully walked by it, her heels clicking on the floor.
“Wait!” Jane called after her. “Are you wearing my shoes?” She pointed to the new shoes on Esmeralda’s feet. The exact ones that Brock had bought her two nights ago.
Essence breezed past them. “Let’s go!”
”Esmerelda!” Jane yelled after her sister, but her only response was the slam of the front door. Typical.
And typically infuriating.
It hadn’t always been this bad.
Jane remembered times when they’d watch movies together, do each other’s hair. But that hadn’t happened in years.
What had happened to her family? And why did it seem she was the only one who cared?
Her phone burned in her pocket.
Three weeks away from her sisters.
Three weeks away from this.
Enough money to fix the van.
And a much needed break from whatever her sisters were conspiring to do.
She pulled her phone from her back pocket.
“Hello?” The old man answered on the first ring.
“I’ll do it.” The words rushed out before she could stop them.
“Wonderful decision, my dear. How soon can you make arrangements?”
Jane smiled. “Give me a day.”
Chapter Eleven
Thunder rumbled loudly as the sky lit up with a flash of lightning. The weather had gone from bad to worse since he’d left his house, and the drive to the ranch had taken twice as long as it should have.
He was irritated.
The rain wasn’t helping.
Jane’s name hadn’t been on the guest list he’d gotten from Grandfather. Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling him to just leave her alone—what good would it do anyway? Ask her on a date and then end the date by saying, “oh and by the way I’m going to have to put you on a time out while I go drink wine with that rich supermodel who bid on me”?
Thunder rumbled louder as rain pelted against the windshield.
Brock had always hated thunderstorms. Their loud, majestic power was yet another reminder that he was a very small part of a very big universe. Something that normally would humble a man made him feel weak, reminded him that he didn’t have the power to do anything, really.
His body chilled, he turned up the heated seat and focused on the rest of the drive down the three-mile long, tree-lined dirt road that led up to the main house. He hadn’t been back since he was a child.
The place held too many painful memories.
Memories that he’d always wanted to keep locked down, until now.
“Twirls me, twirls me, Daddy!” Brock giggled as his father twirled him around and around. “Higher, higher, Daddy!”
His dad suddenly stopped and set Brock back onto his feet. Out of breath, he’d mumbled, “You’re getting so big!”
“I four.”
“I’m four.” His father repeated with a laugh as he messed with Brock’s dark hair and then leaned in with arms open wide. “Now give your dad a hug. It’s time to go in for dinner.”
Brock hung his head. “I not hungry.”
“I’m not hungry.” His dad said the sentence again, correcting it for Brock. He’d had a speech problem as a child, was unable to say most of his R’s, and had been blind as a bat before glasses, and later, contacts.
Brock took a deep breath and repeated. “I’m not hungry, Dad.”
“But your mother worked very hard on this meal, so even though you aren’t hungry, we need to still be respectful of the time she put into making the food so you grow big and strong, yes?”
Brock nodded his head.
“Now, how about that hug?” His dad’s arms opened wide.
Brock ran into them and his dad twirled him around on the grass one last time.