Hard-Riding Cowboy (Kinky Spurs 3)

“And so will your father,” Mom agreed.

Megan stared at her mom and Jenny. For years, they had endured this fight, when they actually really liked each other. They played bridge together. They were friends. She didn’t know how they’d endured this hell for so long. But Megan didn’t want to live with this anymore. She wanted away from it all.

She turned back to Nash and her dad, their mouths moving now, but all she heard was a loud hum. Her dad’s face was so red as he shoved a finger in Nash’s face. Hatred burned in Nash’s eyes. A haughtiness there that he had gotten under Clint’s skin. That he had won.

Tears slid down her face, and she could do nothing to stop them. They hated each other. She hated that this stupid fight had quite possibly been the reason Nash had originally been interested in her. She hated that because of the animosity, she couldn’t trust that Nash’s motivations were real. She hated the anger. She hated it all. She turned to Jenny, wiping away her tears. “Do you mind driving me home?”

“Not at all, honey,” Jenny said softly, her eyes sad and tender. “They’ll sort this out soon enough.”

Mom wrapped Megan in a warm hug. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”

Megan sank into her mother’s hug, needing the warmth more than ever. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Chapter 12

A good half an hour later, Megan’s cell phone rang for the fifth time, followed up by the eighth text from Nash: Don’t shut me out. Answer your phone. Again, like she’d done dozens of times so far, she stuck her cell back into her purse. She didn’t want to shut him out, but right now, she wasn’t thinking about anyone else but herself and the baby. She didn’t want to hear Nash’s promises and his reasons for fighting with her father or his apologies. She also didn’t want to hear her father’s views on the Blackshaw family.

The fighting, the anger, the rage . . . she wanted it all to stop.

At least she had learned one thing from this morning’s incident. While she had her mom’s and Jenny’s support, the only person she could count on in all this was herself. Her mother was right—she needed to let Nash and her father figure this out and where they fit into her life. But she also realized her mother was wrong. She didn’t need to wait for them to do that.

Which brought her back to the house she’d looked at with Harper and Emma. A house that was perfect in which to raise her child. One that was safe and happy. After Jenny dropped Megan off at home, she’d contacted Jannie who said the house was still up for sale and had even been reduced in price by ten thousand dollars.

Knowi

ng that she needed to get roots into the ground for this new chapter in her life, Megan contacted her longtime banker, Scott, at River Rock Bank. He was an older gentleman who had a knack for getting better mortgage rates than any of the other bankers in town. When she’d bought Kinky Spurs, he’d gotten her an incredibly low interest rate considering the market.

Though before she left her apartment for the bank, she had called in reinforcements. While she’d gone in alone to talk with Scott, bringing him a coffee in the hope that it would sweeten him up some, Harper and Emma waited in the bank for her. Megan sat in the client chair across from Scott in the small office with only two thin windows. His white eyebrows were drawn tight, creasing the wrinkles even more around his sharp blue eyes. She got the feeling from the tightness on his expression that he wasn’t going to give her good news.

And he didn’t.

In fact, he took the last few strands of her happiness and pulverized them.

“I’m sorry, Megan,” he began, sitting behind his large oak desk with a monitor set in the corner with a phone next to it. “The mortgage companies think you’re too much of risk to give you another mortgage on top of the one you already have.”

She sagged in her hard plastic chair. “Even with the income that I’ll receive from renting out my apartment?”

“Of course, that’s taken into consideration, but rental income is not stable income. They’ll look at your income from the bar alone. And that, I’m afraid, is not enough to carry the two mortgages.”

“To a bank, you mean,” she grumbled.

“Precisely, and trust me, I know that’s frustrating.” Scott leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his red tie. “What I’m seeing here is that you’d be fine.” He looked at his computer monitor before addressing her again. “More than fine, actually. With the low mortgage rates right now, the income you’ll receive from the apartment would cover most of your mortgage on the house. But I’m afraid those factors are not what the mortgage company looks at.”

Megan hesitated, hanging onto hope. “Is there anything I can do?”

Scott’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully while he tapped a finger against his desk. “There are higher-risk lending companies and private mortgages that you could go to, but it’s not something I suggest you falling into. The lending rate is high. In the end, it’s not worth it.” He paused then gave her a level look. One she had seen from people her whole life. “Could your father lend you a larger down payment?” he asked gently.

She hated that everyone went there, even if she understood why they did. Her parents were loaded. A long time ago, she had stopped defending her reasons for not wanting to take her father’s money. Not only was it exhausting to explain why she wanted to stand on her own two feet, but money with her dad created ties—business ties—that she never wanted to be a part of. Megan liked being his little girl, not his business partner. “Would a larger down payment make things look different for me?” she asked to understand her situation.

Scott nodded. “When you put, let’s say, twenty percent down, that changes your risk in the eyes of a financial institution.”

She could never come up with that. Of course, she could sell Kinky Spurs, but the bar was hers. All hers. She knew having a baby meant she would have to give up things, but she didn’t think it was good for either her or the baby for her to give up something that brought her joy and future income.

She pondered and felt the tightness of her grandmother’s ring. The ring was extravagant and worth upwards of thirty thousand dollars. If she sold the vintage ring to a pawn shop, she surely would get enough for a down payment for the house.

Her heart twisted, the gold squeezing tighter than before. The ring stood for so much. Meant so much. If it was either selling her ring, or going to her father, the latter looked like the better choice. But she really didn’t want to do that either. “Is a larger down payment my only option?”

“I’m afraid so,” Scott said gently, placing his hands flat on his desk. “If I could do more for you, I would, Megan.”