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“You, on the other hand, want our child to have a legacy, don’t you?”
It’s getting easier to say those words without triggering a panic attack.
Our. Child.
At his nod, I step toward the desk and take a seat opposite him. His phone, forever in his hand, receives a few taps, and a welter of light floods the desk.
“Better?”
“Much.”
He leaves me in silence to read the agreements and myriad papers that are unsurprisingly simple because this isn’t necessarily a merger here. Colton will be acting as a guardian of sorts untilour childcan inherit.
Head bowed over the documents, I hold out my hand. In silence, he places a pen on my palm. I know it’s accidental, but his fingers drag over the tender skin there, and how I contain a shiver is a miracle worthy of canonization.
That slight contact has the tiny hairs at my nape standing to attention. It rushes along my spine, spurring every nerve ending into wakefulness.
And that’snothingto the party taking place in my panties.
With a shuddery breath, I force myself to focus.
Legalese. Addendums. Codicils.
They’re a language I can hide in.
A language I shouldn’t need to hide in because Colton’s only a temporary husband.
So why is my body not obeying my brain?
When I’m done, the task that should’ve taken ten minutes having tripled in time because of my drifting focus, a slip of paper slides onto the desk in front of me. But it’s different. The paper’s yellowed and there are a bunch of crinkles marring the sheet.
“Your uncle’s will?” I sputter.
His hum is an invitation to read the contents.
As I do, my eyes grow wider with every clause.
“Where did you find this?”
“I didn’t. Mrs. Abelman did when she was packing up Pops’s stuff.”
“You mean he kept this?!”
Nodding, he rubs his thumb over his top lip.
“I knew the man was arrogant, but this is proof he’s an imbecile.”
“Clay left him nothing but a parcel of land outside Estevan. Eight years ago, they discovered an oil field on it. They reckon there are twenty million barrels of oil to extract. That document’s proof he owns it—not me.”
Flabber truly gasted, I mumble, “So, he never had any rights to run the ranch?”
“No. It always irked me that Uncle Clay picked him over me. He used to tell me that I’d be the next person who’d protect the Seven Cs.
“When Pops took control, I didn’t think to question it. I just figured Uncle Clay changed his mind as it’s only tradition that sees the eldest son of the next generation inherit everything.
“Prior to the oil being discovered, Pops would only have had his trust fund to get by. They meter out the dividends annually. Recipients don’t receive a bulk sum.”
“And if you have fancy taste…”