“She did. But she loved photography more. Dad said he never wanted me to give up what I was passionate about, he just wanted me to be smart about it. Build a good foundation, maybe get some business education so I could run a successful business in order to do photography as long as I wanted.” Xander sucked in a breath. “But you know how it was after Mama died. We were kind of shit at communication and I took everything he said incorrectly and personally.”

“I was told I was supposed to take over for Dad.”

“We all knew you would. Wait—you were told?”

“DB laid it out pretty clearly.” I looked at Xander. “What would you have done if he’d told you that?”

Xander frowned. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Well, he wouldn’t have, for one. He made some comment once, about me being soft. I left for a long ride after that and didn’t come back until after he was gone.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I don’t remember DB very well. Just that he was always bitching about the Cartwrights, or telling you everything we weren’t doing good enough at the ranch. He wasn’t a happy man, but he didn’t deal with Mama’s death well.”

“None of us did.”

“You didn’t want to work at King Oil?”

“More like I didn’t realize I had a choice. Dad told me something similar. He worked hard so we wouldn’t be shuffled into a life that we didn’t get to choose, like him and Mama.”

“Yet that’s exactly what happened to you.”

“We are shit at communication.”

“So what now?”

I stooped and snagged the sketch of how we’d fit the planks into Savvy’s office. “We put a new floor in.”

“Aiden.” He paused until I met his grave gaze. “You tell me that you never wanted the job you worked so hard for and then you want to drop the subject?” Xander had been the aloof one, but he wasn’t letting this topic go. He wasn’t avoiding the conversation and doing his own thing.

“It’s done. I’m moving forward. We’re talking about adding new positions and I’m going to propose a reorganization.” Once that was done, Grams and the rest of the board willing, it’d get better. The demand on my time. The stress. The lack of enthusiasm for sitting through hours of meetings. I had no idea how long it would take, but I had to fix what I’d helped keep broken at King Oil. I had to do this for me and Kate.

Dad’s question kept ricocheting through my head. How long could I keep doing this?