At First Sight. Tamara Sneed

would be treated to a fifteen-minute evaluation of every move he had made.

      “Did you check the corn?” Lance called back.

      Graham struggled for patience. He loved his father, but the man did not know how to be an invalid.

      “Yes, Dad, I checked the corn,” he called back through clenched teeth.

      He heard his mother’s soft laughter behind him. Graham turned to her, taking in her amused expression and glowing brown skin. Her short black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, but she still had a smile that could light a room. No matter how much Graham wished and hoped and dreamed to get the hell out of Sibleyville and return to his life, he also could admit that he would miss his parents. Especially his mother.

      Eliza Forbes was not a Sibleyville native. She had met Graham’s father in New York thirty-five years ago, and after dating long-distance for three months, she had married him and moved to California. And, as far as Graham knew, she had never looked back, despite the disdain and shock of her decidedly east-coast family. But Eliza might as well have been a Sibleyville native. She could out-ride and out-shoot most men, and seemed to thrive on the sometimes extreme weather and rigorous farm life.

      “He’s driving me crazy,” Graham muttered, motioning up the stairs, where Lance no doubt sat with his binoculars.

      Eliza smiled in understanding, but said, “You know he loves having you around.”

      Graham felt that flash of guilt he always felt whenever his parents expressed their joy at having him near after years of his living overseas and only visiting during the holidays.

      “And I like being here,” he murmured, then added, “But, Dad is driving me crazy. Either he has to let me do the planting my way, or he can limp out to the fields and do it himself.”

      “I heard that,” came Lance’s voice as he teetered down the stairs with the aid of a cane.

      Graham rolled his eyes, but couldn’t restrain his grin. His heart had momentarily stopped when his mother had called him with the news of his father’s heart attack. After rushing home and standing over his father’s hospital bed, Graham had finally realized that his father was only human. Graham had never fully recovered from the idea of losing his father. That fear—along with a fair amount of guilt—had kept him in Sibleyville for six months. And his father knew it. The old man was as healthy as a horse now, and Graham swore Lance needed his omnipresent cane as much as Graham did. But he just wouldn’t own up to it.

      “I also checked the soy beans, the animals and I lassoed the moon, so it would shine specifically on our house,” Graham added.

      His mother smothered a giggle while Lance’s eyes narrowed.

      “You’re a real smartass, y’know that?” Lance muttered, as amusement twinkled in his eyes.

      “I wonder where he got it from,” Eliza teased Lance, caressing one of his stubble-covered cheeks. Lance smiled down at his wife and for a moment Graham knew that neither of his parents remembered that he was in the room.

      Graham was used to their moments of total immersion in each other. A small part of him wanted to ask his parents how they did it, but that would have led to too many hopeful questions on their part. Graham was thirty-two years old and their only child. He knew their grandparenting biological clock was clicking.

      Eliza turned back to her son and said, “Someone called for you earlier. I took down the message in the kitchen.”

      Graham left his parents to their secret caresses and walked into the kitchen. His mother’s kitchen looked like every television or movie kitchen set in the country. Warm, shades of yellow, sturdy wood furniture and even a cookie jar shaped like a cow on the counter. He took a still-warm chocolate chip cookie from the jar then grabbed the telephone mounted on the wall. He read his mother’s elegant handwriting on the notepad next to the phone and smiled to himself. He should have known. He quickly dialed the international number.

      “Speak,” greeted the male voice on the other end of the telephone.

      “Do you answer all your calls that way?” Graham demanded of his best friend and financial day trader, Theo Morgan.

      “Only when they come from area codes belonging to some godforsaken small town in the middle of nowhere,” came the prompt reply.

      “Glad to know you haven’t become all warm and cuddly in the six months I’ve been gone.”

      “Warm and cuddly? Not in this life,” Theo grumbled. “Hold the phone a second, Forbes.”

      Graham heard the muffled sound of Theo ordering people around and then the rapid-fire sound of computer keys being struck. Graham felt a brief pang of jealousy. While Graham was rotting away in Sibleyville, Theo was in Tokyo. Living. Graham and Theo were the same age, but Graham had several more years of experience at Shoeford than Theo and was eligible for the next promotion while Theo was not. That, Graham suspected privately, drove the competitive Theo insane. However, the two men had become friends, or as close to friends as one could be with Theo.

      “Forbes, I will deny it to my dying day, but things just aren’t the same without you here,” Theo said, coming back on the line, without preamble. “I feel like the lone Black man on the planet. When are you going to stop playing John Wayne and get back to work?”

      Graham leaned against the wall and stared out the window over the sink at the pasture and trees growing unimpeded in the distance. There weren’t views like that in Tokyo. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Graham still hadn’t decided.

      “I’m in farm country, Theo. I am the lone Black man on the planet,” Graham retorted.

      “You have a point,” Theo responded. His voice lowered to a whisper as he said, almost desperately, “Seriously, man, when are you getting back here? How long does it take to find a private nurse for your father and a guy to temporarily run the ranch? I mean, it’s one ranch, Graham. We make in ten minutes what that ranch probably puts out in a year.”

      “Breathe in deep, Theo, because I’m about to tell you something that may rock the foundation of your world,” Graham said, then waited a beat, before whispering dramatically, “Sometimes it’s not about money.”

      “Now, you’re truly talking crazy.”

      “This ranch has been in my family for five generations. We don’t turn it over to strangers.”

      “Depp is retiring,” Theo said flatly.

      Graham widened his eyes and tried to speak, but no sound came out. Depp Shoeford was the brother of the CEO and owner of Shoeford Industries. He also happened to be two hundred pounds of dead weight, whose only contribution to the company was to help usher in Casual Friday. But, his brother loved him—or, at least, pretended to in public—and Depp had been one of four vice-presidents approved by the Board of Directors.

      “I’m sure you know exactly what this means,” Theo said. “The Board is voting on the new VP in two weeks. You have to get back here for the vote…like yesterday.”

      “Jude wouldn’t dare appoint anyone else. It’s mine. He knows it. The Board knows it. Everyone knows it,” Graham said, but even he heard the doubt in his words.

      “Big words coming from a man in a small town,” Theo shot back. “While the secretaries may swoon over your dedication to hearth and home, it hasn’t won you any fans in corporate.”

      “I’m trying,” Graham muttered, frustrated, while running a hand down his face.

      “Try harder,” Theo snapped. “Kent is trying to snatch this thing from under your feet. And you know what they say—out of sight, out of mind.”

      Graham cursed and tried not to strangle the phone. He should have known. He and Dennis Kent had been competing for the same raises and promotions since they had started at the company ten years ago. Fortunately for Graham, Kent had the personality of a wet rag. Unfortunately for Graham, Kent had the work ethic of