Chapter 3 Three

"Yeah, Calvin," Hank snapped into the phone the moment Calvin, his lawyer, picked the call on Monday, not bothering to acknowledge Calvin's greetings. "Do you have any news for me already?" His tone was clipped, and impatient as always.

"I'm afra...," Calvin said cautiously, his voice trailing off. "The..."

"Get to the point, Calvin," he growled, his voice a low rumble that echoed the state of his grumpiness this morning.

"Hank," Calvin cleared his throat. "I'm afraid...I am still on it, not yet through with the land deal."

"What the hell do I pay you for, Calvin?" Hank Sawyer shouted back at Calvin as he paced around his office. He needed to buy the land bordering his vast ranch to expand his operations yet again.

"Why did I hire you? You can't close a deal for a piece of land?" He demanded, walking to the window. His brows furrowed as he listened to Calvin's response.

"Those are excuses!" He bellowed. "You know I hate excuses. I want results by the end of the week." He started walking back to his desk. "If not, you will get fired, I'll get a better lawyer."

He ended the call as he rounded his desk and tossed the phone down against his massive desk, his face a mask of displeasure. He had been counting on this deal. It's already delaying his plans for the purchase of some machines he hoped to bring on the ranch for meat processing.

"Damn it!" He growled, running a hand through his thick, salt and pepper hair in frustration. "Those Savage bastards!"

He knew he couldn't afford to let this deal fail. Hank had to convince those landowners to make them see the value in his offer. He just had to find a way to win them over.

"And there is that title brat, Carol," he muttered under his breath. As he sank in his chair; the leather cracked under his weight.

Calvin had been at it with the family who owned the land for over one year, which was unusual. He had a feeling that Carol Savage was trying to sabotage the deal. Now, it seemed, his plans were in jeopardy. Carol Savage, the daughter of the owner of the land had set her designs on him for a very. Ever since his wife died. The woman was too lousy for his liking, he would never have anything to do with her.

He knew Calvin was a damn good lawyer, but he knew what Carol could do. He just had to pour out his frustrations on Calvin.

Forty-eight years old Hank had built his ranch from the ground up by sheer hard work. He started out as a ranch hand in one of Texas's old ranches and grew through the ranks, even when he was attending college. He established his own ranch a few years after college. Now, he was the richest rancher on this side of town.

He powered up his laptop and started typing a letter to his financial advisor. The phone on his table rang as he finished sending the mail. He snatched the receiver up, wondering why his secretary didn't pick up.

"Hank," the voice of his mother floated into his ear.

"Mama," he whispered and leaned back in his seat. He knew it was going to be a long call.

"Good morning to you too," Mrs. Sawyer said, sounding unhappy. "Why didn't you go for dinner last night?"

Hank's eyes narrowed. "Mom, I never said I would go."

His seventy-nine years old mother and his younger sister were always in the habit of trying to pair him up every now and then with those they thought were suitable to be his wife, and it was getting on his nerves already. Both of them thought a woman and kids would change his life. But he didn't think so, at least not anymore.

"Why are you doing this, Hank?" His mom asked, her sadness was palpable over the phone. "You need a wife...you need to have your own kids. I want to see my grandchildren before I go to meet your father."

"Mom," he said exasperatedly, knowing he had to stop her now. If not, she would go on and on. "I'm in the middle of something. Let me call you back."

"Make su..."

Hank cut off the line. He was done with love and marriage. "Marriage, children, my foot," he muttered under his breath and rose from his seat. "I am done, I don't want that bullshit anymore!"

He walked to the other side of the room and reached for a bottle of whiskey from his liquor cabinet. Hank poured himself a generous measure, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. He took a long swallow, the burn a welcome distraction from the gnawing frustrations of the day.

Hank got married at twenty-four to the love of his life, Mandy. They were married for seven years before she and their then four years old daughter were knocked over by a drunk driver on their way home from the grocery store. Both of them, along with the drunk driver, died before they got to the hospital.

Hank's life took a new turn the day his most precious gifts died. The light of his life waned, he became a man of few smiles, his good moods became rare. He was always grumpy, always finding fault, a stormy cloud perpetually hovering above his head.

He remarried five years ago after his mother's persistence but his new wife claimed she didn't feel loved. Truth be told, he never opened his heart to her. He only married Ashlyn to make his mom happy. She divorced him a year after the wedding and the only thing he felt was relief. He just wanted to be left alone.

*********

When he returned to the cottage later in the evening after the close of work, he was expecting to be greeted by the usual quiet solitude of his house, but to his dismay, Patricia, the housekeeper, who was also a distant relative was in there. The familiar smell of cleaning supplies and the soft hum of the vacuum cleaner greeted him.

Hank never liked being around during cleaning. He hated the smells and sounds of house cleaning. "Patricia," his face scrunched up in irritation, and he asked, "Why are you just cleaning up by this time?"

Patricia, who was always gentle and caring, replied, "Didn't I tell you I had an impromptu dentist appointment this afternoon? I told you Mary Ann couldn't get a space for me except at two o'clock."

"You would have left it until tomorrow." Hank grumbled under his breath and stomped into the kitchen to get some water to drink. To his dismay, he found that Patricia had rearranged everything inside the refrigerator when he opened it. His favorite yogurt carton was tucked away in the back, and the milk was on the top shelf, at the back, making it difficult for him to reach.

"Patricia! What is wrong with you? You know I hate when you reorganize things!" he shouted, his patience wearing thin.

Patricia, who was used to Hank's outbursts, shouted back, "Stop whining, Hank! I'm just trying to do my job here. Now, let me finish up, and I'll be on my way."

"You don't talk back to me!" Hank snapped back. "I am your boss."