Page 9 of The Payback Adventure
Cade leaned forward. “Wait a minute.”
“Don’t worry, honey. We haven’t gotten to the rewards yet,” Cynthia assured him with confidence. “Your cell phone and wallet, please.”
Henry handed them over. She removed his credit cards, his calling card, and his cash before returning the wallet.
“It isn’t safe to carry all these hundreds around.” She gave him one twenty-dollar bill. “Here’s the deal. You’re still Henry Davenport, but the only money you have left in the world is this twenty. You’re broke, out of work, and homeless. You’ve been living off the generosity of your friends since making a string of bad investments.”
Henry thought about his best friend, financial adviser extraordinaire Brett Matthews, and Blaise Mortenson, who also handled investments for him. “Don’t tell Brett or Blaise.”
Cynthia ignored him. “For the next month, you’ll work and live on a farm. You can only spend the money you earn.”
“An entire month?” Henry asked.
“Or less if the foreman returns from Mexico. He may not want to keep you on.”
Henry’s knowledge of farms came from old reruns he’d watched with the house staff when he was a kid. It wouldn’t be that bad. Milk a cow or two. Feed some animals. Fix a broken fence. People paid good money to stay in the country and at dude ranches. This wasn’t an adventure. It was a vacation. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Cynthia said. “But if you spend any money that you didn’t earn or tell anyone the truth about yourself or return home before your time is up or get fired, you lose.”
Sounded simple enough. “If I win?”
“If you last the entire month, I will never say another word about your adventures or matchmaking again.”
“And?” Henry always rewarded his friends for participating in his adventures. Selecting the perfect prizes was half the fun.
“And the Smiling Moon Foundation’s Island Camp will be named after you, as well as our firstborn son.”
Henry had donated the island where Cynthia and Cade spent their adventure to Cade’s nonprofit foundation, but having it named Davenport would immortalize Henry. And if Cade and Cynthia named their child Henry, they would have to ask him to be the godfather. He loved being Noelle and Brecken’s godfather. Both were so sweet and stared at him with such adoration and love. He wanted more godchildren to spoil. Most of all, he wanted to prove he was right andCynthia was wrong. “And plan your honeymoon.”
Cade frowned. “No.”
“Yes,” Cynthia said. “But if you lose the adventure, your birthday parties and legendary adventures come to an end, and so does any and all matchmaking.”
Henry’s heart fell to his feet. “I’ve already planned the next one.”
“Then you’d better stay on the farm the entire time.”
How hard could it be? If Cynthia could survive on a deserted island, he could survive on a farm. At least he’d have a roof over his head and indoor plumbing. “I’ll do it.”
Cynthia hit the intercom button. “To the farm, Frank.”
Thirty minutes later, the limo passed a wooden sign that readWheeler Berry Farmand turned left onto a gravel road. They passed a deserted fruit stand on one side of the road. The limo stopped in front of a metal building with large doors hanging open. The barn? Henry wasn’t certain since barns were supposed to be red and constructed of wood and have animals living in them instead of rusted machinery and dirty farm equipment.
He stared at a two-story dilapidated farmhouse. He’d pictured a white picket fence, a swing on the porch, and an older couple standing in the front yard.
Not…this.
The house looked solid but neglected. The anemic cream paint was cracked and peeling, and the green—or was it gray?—door had seen better days. A blue plastic tarp covered half the roof and fluttered in the breeze. One shutter hung haphazardly as if held by a single nail. At least the place had aporch. Get rid of the flaking paint, add a swing, and…it would still be bad.
A rooster cried outcock-a-doodle-doo.
Henry startled. He thought they only did that at dawn.
“Having second thoughts?” Cynthia asked, sounding amused.
“No.” He was up to his seventeenth or eighteenth thoughts. But it was too late to back down. He wasn’t going to live here forever. Only a month. Thirty days. Maybe thirty-one, but who was counting?
He didn’t see an outhouse, which must mean indoor plumbing. He hoped.
