Free Right Brother by Patricia McLinn

in her own hands. How could she sit back and let him—another Stenner male—control her financial future?
    On the other hand, arguing for arguing’s sake made no sense. And she saw that nothing she could say would change his mind. Not yet, anyway.
    â€œYou’re the owner,” she said mildly, then watched his reaction.
    God, owner of Stenner Autos.
    The thought flashed across his face like a neon sign, even though he tried to mask the dismay. Whether it had been his own work or the fates, he certainly had spent a good chunk of his life getting away from this, and now here he was. Back. What the hell was he doing here?
    And then, just as fast, his expression covered all the turmoil.
    But she thought she could hear the faint click of a crack in the ice she was standing on.
    â€œYes, I am the owner.” He tipped his head back again. “You’re wrong about that first step, though.”
    â€œPaint the ceiling,” she guessed.
    â€œFix the roof,” he amended. “So it stops leaking. And then paint the ceiling. Then I’m going to have to hire people.”
    Her turn to correct him. “ We’re going to hire people.” Having given in on the general manger point it was even more essential that she stake her claim to authority. That didn’t mean it was easy. “I know the people to hire. You don’t. I researched all that getting the dealership ready for sale.”
    He looked at her from under lowered eyelids. “Okay. We’re going to have to hire people. How do you propose we go about that?”
    Since she’d worked hard on her research, she felt only a shiver of nerves under the confidence. Faked confidence, sure, but she’d learned during her blighted real estate career that well-executed fake confidence could be as good as the real thing.
    â€œI have a list of possible candidates for the most important jobs.” She put a copy on the counter. He reached for it, but if she’d wanted him to have it she would have given it to him. She pulled it out of reach. If he started reading, he’d stop listening—another lesson from real estate. “I made some calls. I’ve got five people coming in tomorrow.”
    â€œTomorrow? Good lord, you don’t waste any time.”
    â€œThere isn’t any to waste. We should open at the end of July, so we’re up and running when new models come in. We have a lot to do, and we can’t wait.”
    â€œThat part is going to have to wait,” he said flatly. “I’m leaving in the morning. I wasn’t planning to stay for more than a day or two. Now…well, I’ve got to get home, make arrangements, get more clothes.”
    â€œThen we’ll start this evening,” she said with a calm she didn’t feel. This wasn’t all that much different from selling a house. Once you had a prospect on the line, you didn’t want to let them get away, let them think too much, let them change their minds.
    And since she’d sold exactly one house—a whopper of a sale, true, but the seller had been her best friend’s mother and the buyer had been her best friend’s soon-to-be husband, so it didn’t exactly qualify as a compelling feat of salesmanship—she knew about letting buyers get away.
    Would Trent change his mind? Renege on the deal?
    â€œI’ll call right now to switch the appointments,” she added.
    â€œNobody’ll want to change their plans and come in this evening.”
    â€œAre you kidding? Around here, folks would walk on nails for a good job.”
    Â 
    Already thirsty and knowing he had an evening of talking ahead of him when the interviews started, Trent strode across the main drive to get a soft drink from the machine nestled under the trees that divided customer parking from the car wash next door.
    You had to give Drago its due. He couldn’t imagine many places where a vending machine left outdoors and