They slipped into the car and he turned the engine over and got the truck out of the parking lot before he spoke.

"Morgan? Y'alright?"

She doesn't answer. He looks over at her, and she's looking out the window. A hand on her knee doesn't get a response. Whatever the h.e.l.l it was that he did, she must be pretty unhappy about it.

The sun's just starting to set properly, streaks of purple and pink jumping off the clouds. Any other day, he might stop and just want to stare at it, but right now Philip's got other concerns. He barely notices the sky at all.

"Morgan?" She looks over at him. "I don't know what's wrong, but if it's something I did, then I apologize."

She looks back out the window. No response. He shrugs and then settles himself into the car. If she's going to act like that, then there's nothing to be done about it. She'll do what she wants to do and in the end he's just going to have to deal with that however the h.e.l.l he wants to.

They slip onto the interstate, the falling sun leading itself into twilight, which then falls into darkness. The city's a solid few miles out of the ranch, and not close to the factory build site either.

It takes near forty minutes to get back, and under normal circ.u.mstances he'd probably be on auto-pilot by now and forget to go to the build site at all. She'd be annoyed about it, maybe, but it would be totally understandable. After all, how often does he go back home compared to going someplace else?

But he doesn't slip into the comfort of easy driving. His mind is still razor-edged, his thoughts unable to escape the situation that he's stuck in.

Why on earth she's mad at him, he couldn't begin to say. She's mad about something. Mad at him about something.

But whatever in the h.e.l.l it is, he can't begin to guess. The thing with Glen? That was nothing. If she's mad about it then he can't begin to guess how or why.

He slides the car into one of the spots. The one closest to her office. The little red sports car is right beside him.

"Come on inside, I'll get you your check," she says, finally. She doesn't sound angry, per se. Which is unexpected, to say the least, after how she's been acting all night.

Callahan follows her in. Whatever's got up her a.s.s, he'll figure it out. But right now, he's just going to have to play to her tune and see how things go.

They climb the short ramp outside the little shack. It'll have to come down soon, with the way that the factory itself is coming together. She'll probably take the interior office until she moves on to... whatever the next thing is.

Through the front section, where that upstart kid got lippy with him. Into her office. Callahan had seen it before, when she brought him around that first day.

She reaches down into her desk.

"I'll be by to transfer deeds in the morning," she says. Professional. Flat. Whatever the h.e.l.l is wrong with her, she's not d.a.m.n happy, that much is clear.

"You want to tell me why you're so upset?"

"No," she says. Flat. Like that.

"Alright. See you tomorrow, then."

"Goodbye, Philip."

He lets out a long, low breath. "See you tomorrow."

He knew even as he said it that he wasn't going to.

Chapter Forty-Four.

Maybe it was disrespectful. Maybe she shouldn't have done it. But when she sent someone else, instead of going herself, to pick up the deed and transfer the one in Lowe Industrial's name over to Phil Callahan, it was as if she had just had a weight pulled right off her chest.

Like she'd solved all of her problems at the same time. Everything had been about that ranch. About getting ahold of that property. And now she had it. She'd paid a pretty heavy price, but in the end she'd gotten what she came for.

That was what made her a winner, whether or not she liked the way she had to do it, she'd done what needed doing.

What made it less pleasant wasn't that she'd gotten too close. That happened. You make mistakes, you move on from them. No, what was upsetting was that she still didn't really feel bad about it. She still wanted to keep doing the same things.

She wanted to go back to the ranch. She wanted to sit and have a beer with Philip. She wanted to watch a movie with him that she'd probably seen three times back in Nevada. But now, with him, it felt different. It was practically a different movie with him there, because it wasn't about what was happening on the screen, not really.

It was about laying there on the couch with her head on his chest and just. Relaxing, for once in her life.

If she could, she'd go back right now and do it. She'd take that any day of the week.

That was what was worrying her, because she sure as h.e.l.l couldn't afford to make that mistake again, not knowing full well what it meant.

Not when she knew exactly how much it could damage her-her reputation, both professional and otherwise, how much it could make her look weak.

If she wanted to stay in this business, she had to look stronger than anyone. She had to be stronger than it was possible for a person to be, it seemed like. And this wasn't the way to get it done.

She was just being flighty. Womanish. She was putting the wrong things ahead and making mistakes that a man would never make. That was exactly what she'd been warned about. That was exactly what she needed to avoid to get ahead.

She had a bright future ahead of her, no doubt about it. She'd already done as much in a year as anyone could have possibly asked for. The company was expanding, was building. They were putting more people to work, they were turning more profits, and they were bringing manufacturing back in America.

All of those things were what was important. The important things to remember.

The other stuff? Not that important, in the long run. She could learn to cope. It was just feelings, after all. She didn't need to listen to them, any more than she needed to feel anything else.

Men didn't worry about feelings. They didn't worry about what they were going to do about their precious whatevers. They made decisions based on logic and reason and feelings took a backseat when they had to.

It was only by reminding herself of that, over and over again, repeating it to herself until she practically heard it repeating in her head without even needing to try, that she could stay sane. Because that was the only way to drown out the urge to go over. To see him. To talk it out.

But there wouldn't be any point in that. There's nothing to talk out. The problem isn't inside her, and it's not inside Philip. It's everything else in the world that's the problem.

It's the world where she can't really let herself be herself, because she'd look too weak. It's the violence of the business world. It's how people look at her when she says she runs a factory. The way they look her up and down, surprised.

If she's going to be able to deal with that, she can't have some man in her life who they can immediately look at and say, oh, he probably does it. She's just there as some kind of figure-head. She's just there as T-and-A.

This was her business, her baby, and she wasn't going to give it up. And if she wasn't going to give it up, then she had to make sacrifices. For her father's legacy. For everything.

If she made those sacrifices now, it would be worth it in the end. She'd get what she needed to get. She just had to hope that she didn't screw it up first. She had to hope that she wasn't going to let her weakness get to her over and over and over again.

This time was a mistake. She could recover from it, but it was a mistake, nonetheless. In the future, though? Could she keep saying the same? Could she keep claiming that even though she knew better, she just made a mistake and she'd do better next time?

No. This had to be it. And she had to walk away.

She picks up the phone. It's going to be a couple more days before they can officially cut the ribbon, but maybe it would be a mistake to stay here. Too many risks. Too much temptation. She wants to stay too much.

So the answer is pretty obvious, in the long run.

Just walk away. Someone else can come on up and finish out the job. She's been neglecting the home factories for too long anyways, in her effort to get things taken care of here. So she'll return to Nevada, she'll check out how things are going back home, and when they're ready to open up the factories, she can come back and make a few speeches, cut the ribbon, and get the h.e.l.l out of here.

A man's voice answers the phone. Her a.s.sistant been staying in Colorado the last couple of days. Her eyes and ears around the home plants. He was supposed to head back to Nevada in a couple days. She'll just take his place, and he'll take hers here.

"I need you to get me a plane ticket."

"Anything else?"

"Not really. Send the information to my email."

"Of course, ma'am."

It's a good plan, really. Truly it is, because if she were to stay here another minute longer, she might have to stay for good.

Leaving is the right thing to do. It's the right way to go. And if it hurts... well, that's fine, too. Because sometimes you have to get hurt in business. If it's the right decision, it really doesn't matter if it hurts or not.

You do it, because the right decision is the right decision, and the success of her business is what the real priority is. Not her feelings, and not avoiding pain. You can't avoid pain in a factory.

It comes for you whether you like it or not. Long hours, hard work. The only thing that the average person who works for her doesn't have to deal with is painful decisions, like the one that she's having to make now.

They don't have to make any decisions at all, except when to go to their boss to report a problem. That's intentional. They work their a.s.ses off down there. She's done it before, and no doubt she'll have to do it again at some point, if something goes really wrong.

It's because of how hard they work, because of how much effort it costs them, that she doesn't want them having to make hard choices.

Because G.o.d only knows, she's not breaking her back every day, and doing the right thing now is about the hardest thing she's ever had to do.

Chapter Forty-Five.

The new place still fits like someone else's clothing. He wakes up every morning to find that he's in someone else's house. The stuff's all in the wrong place. It's not where he left it.

Philip Callahan's been working on routine for so long that it's strange and a little bit terrifying to have to deal with a new environment. But there's not much other choice.

There was some part of him that had, at one point, thought that the new place was going to be an adventure. A new place to explore. New people to explore it with. New work to be done. New horses raised.

That was a mirage. A fantasy. An illusion, at best.

He woke with the sun and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. They stung badly. He should have been asleep hours earlier, but he hadn't gone to bed until late. Why would he? What would be the point anyways?

Deep breath.

The boys would be there in a minute, and he wasn't going to let them see him in a sorry state like this. They'd been good the past two weeks. The move went well. Randy was healing nicely. No more concerns about hospital expenses meant that the mood had lightened considerably.

But even still, there was a cloud over everything, and Callahan knew exactly what it was that rained on everyone's parade: it was him.

It was like he was sucking the life out of the room. He'd been like this before. Worse than this before. Truth was, this was nothing compared to after Sara died. But there was just enough of it there, just a hint that if things went too much worse, then things could go bad.

He shouldn't have felt so bad. It was just a little fling. She was, what, fifteen years his younger? And he'd already had happiness once. He shouldn't have expected it a second time. He shouldn't have let himself think of it as anything but a physical thing. A way to pa.s.s the time.

The minute that he'd allowed himself to think of it that way, he'd already lost control of everything. He'd already started down the road to this frustration.

The beat-up truck pulls into the driveway. It's paved, not like his last place, where they'd just pull up on the lawn. Nice and civilized. The property was larger, but so was the house. So was the house, and he got to live in it all by himself.

It was dark and cold at night. The way he'd expected an old house to end up feeling, really. Like there was nothing there for anyone but the ghosts and the memories of people who weren't living there any more.

"Morning," he growls.

James has the gall to look almost concerned.

"You slept alright, boss?"

"I slept fine."

n.o.body believed his lie. Randy shouldn't have been in the truck. He's still hurt, and not in any shape to be fooling anyone. But he slips out the side anyways.

"Mornin' boss."

"What are you doing here?"

"Here to work, boss."

Callahan's jaw tightens. "No you ain't. Go on, sit on the porch or somethin'. Busted ribs, and 'goin to work' he says, Jesus H. Christ."

"Hey, I told him not to, but he's here anyways." Michael's got his hands up and spread wide, a symbol of his everlasting peaceful att.i.tude. Which is almost certainly horses.h.i.t, incidentally.

"Y'all know what to do. Get to it."

"Hey boss?"

Callahan rolls his eyes at the concerned tone in James's voice. "Yeah?"

"If there's something we can do, don't be afraid to mention it."

"f.u.c.k off, kid. Go get to work."