Page 14 of The Coppersmith Farmhouse (Jamison Valley 1)
“Yep. Now how about you hand over whatever it is Ben left for me and I can get the fuck on my way? Then we’ll move along to you avoiding me. Liked the sound of that.”
Jackass!
“Right,” I said.
How could Ben say this guy was a good man? Obviously he’d misjudged Jess, which was strange because Ben had been an extremely good judge of character. And he’d thought I should trust Jess? This guy that had been nothing but rude and abrasive to me since the moment I laid eyes on him? Uh . . . no.
Unfortunately, I needed to give him Ben’s letter and money, so I had to suck it up and be nice for a few minutes.
“Would you like to sit down? Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, gesturing toward the swing.
“No.” He leaned on the porch railing and again crossed his arms. As I sat on the swing, his eyes narrowed in a disapproving glare. Like he absolutely did not want my ass on his swing.
Be nice.
Be nice.
Be nice.
I silently chanted while taking a deep breath.
“Sorry for the confusion when you got here. Ben only ever referred to you as Brick. He actually never mentioned you to me personally. Only in a letter. I didn’t know Prescott, this house or you existed until after he died six weeks ago,” I rambled.
Jess’s posture didn’t change and he didn’t acknowledge my apology. He didn’t even ease up on the glare.
Being nice to a jerk was really, really, really hard.
“Whatever. Moving on,” I said, shaking my head.
I gathered the letters and my checkbook from the swing’s seat.
“Ben left you fifty thousand dollars as payment for your upkeep of the farmhouse all these years. I’ve got the proceeds from his estate in my account, and if it’s okay with you, I’ll write you a personal check? Or if you’d prefer a cashier’s check, I can go to the bank tomorrow and get one.”
Jess straightened off the railing. “Told the old man over and over again. Didn’t keep an eye on his house for money. Did it because it was his and he was good to me. Keep the money.”
He started stomping his way down the porch but after two long strides, he glanced over his shoulder and said, “Love this house. Worked hard to make it something great. Do me a favor? Don’t fuck it up.”
Ouch.
That wasn’t just rude or abrasive. That was just plain mean.
Sure, I had been a smart-ass to him during our previous interactions, but I didn’t think that gave him the right to be so hurtful. He didn’t even know me, and suggesting I would destroy Ben’s farmhouse, something I was growing to love, was hurtful.
It hurt enough that I instantly decided I would do whatever it took to get Jess “Brick” Cleary off my property once and for all. If I had to beg him to take Ben’s money, so be it. Because once that check was cashed, I was never going to speak to him again.
“Please wait!” I jumped off the porch swing. “Giving you that money was important to Ben. Just . . . before you take off, he wrote each of us a letter. Please read them before you say no. Please?”
I extended the letters toward his back.
Jess turned and yanked the letters from my grip, walking to the swing before opening his letter.
“I’ll just . . . give you some time to yourself,” I said. “Just come
on in whenever you’re done.”
“Stay,” he ordered, not glancing up.
I didn’t argue. I just picked up my wineglass and stood by the porch railing, aiming my eyes back to the sunset.
