Page 26 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

duke

T he ranch house was silent, heavy with the knowledge that a storm was rolling in, and you knew it was going to be big because the herd was spooked, and the land was holding its breath.

Everyone was gathered in the great room—which was what everyone called it because, no points for guessing, it was massive—for the reading of the will.

It was the formal living room, the one that mostly sat untouched, reserved for parties, wakes—like the one we’d just had—or, in this case, the reading of a will.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the view beyond, leading out to the garden that stretched toward the river, its waters running swiftly.

Beyond, the Colorado mountains stood tall, their peaks still dusted with snow despite the early stirrings of spring.

A breathtaking, untamed backdrop for a moment that was as natural as death, the one guarantee we all had in life.

People were spread out. Some sitting, some standing. Elena stood by a tall window, away from everyone else. Her back was turned to the desk from where Nash’s lawyer would read his will and last testament.

Fiona put her hand on my thigh. We sat on a love seat, just the two of us, facing the desk: King and Queen, the royal couple.

I was going to be anointed officially, after all.

I knew there weren’t any surprises. Nash hadn’t changed his will and given everything away to someone else; no, I knew it was coming to me, all of it bar the bequests made to his long-term workers, for sure Hunt… maybe Elena?

I looked around the room as the fireplace warmed the great room. It was a ragtag group of people. Family, friends, cowboys, ranch hands—the people who cared for this land—and the interlopers, Fiona and me.

Mama had declined to attend the reading, saying it was too stressful for her, and I’d been relieved.

I’d have had to kick Elena out again, and I couldn’t because Jack McCready, who went by Mac, one of my father’s oldest friends, part cowboy, part lawyer, the only man Nash Wilder trusted to handle his legal affairs, had been clear that Elena, Hunt, and I must be present.

“Why are there so many of them here?” Fiona murmured.

“By them, you mean the people who work with their hands to keep this ranch running?” My patience was wearing thin.

Her disdain for the men and women who put in the sweat and hours to make this place what it was pissed me off—more than it should have.

And that was a whole other kind of fucked up because, not even a week ago, I’d been just like her.

I’d looked at this place as numbers on a page, a problem to solve, a deal to close.

But the second I set foot back on this land—reconnected with it, felt the earth beneath my boots, smelled the horses and the hay—respect poured out of me like it had just been waiting for the chance.

“Why are you so sensitive?” Fiona smiled as she said the words sharply.

No one would know she was pissed, but she was. She’d tried to have sex last night, and I’d told her I was exhausted. I was …with her. And the truth was that I didn’t want any other woman. I wanted my Elena . Talk about needing a therapist! I was all kinds of messed up.

Mac took a seat, and the quiet became quieter somehow. He looked down at the papers in front of him, his expression somewhere between a pissed-off bull and an old hound eyeing a rattlesnake—wary, tired, but ready to strike if need be.

“Alright, let’s get to it.”

“That’s blunt.” Fiona leaned into me and whispered.

Mac wasn’t one for platitudes; hell, no one around here was.

"Pretty damn sure y’all got a heap of work waitin’ on ya." He looked around the room, and then his gaze dropped on me. He gave me a head bob in acknowledgment.

The old coot wasn’t happy with me. He’d told me I was a fuckin’ jackass for selling the place my daddy and his daddy and his….

I told him I got the point and that unless Nash had given the ranch to someone else, the choice was mine. He’d agreed but let me know he thought I was a disrespectful asshole .

Mac let loose Nash’s last words. As he went through the list, I realized that Nash had thought of everyone, showing them respect.

A pocket watch for Cal, the one Nash always carried. A saddle for Roy, the same damn one he’d always borrowed and never returned. There were several others, all gifts and bequests thoughtful, full of affection.

"To Nokoni Red Clay, I leave my Winchester rifle. I always told you I’d outshoot you with it, and I was right. But since I ain’t here anymore, I guess you’ll finally get a shot at being the best."

A few chuckles rippled through the room.

Nokoni smiled, his eyes moist. I knew he missed his friend.

"To my wife, Gloria, I bequeath full ownership of all assets that were previously held in joint tenancy, including but not limited to her residence, personal bank accounts, and vehicle.

Any outstanding debts associated with these assets have been satisfied in full.

Furthermore, the monthly stipend she has been receiving shall continue in perpetuity, funded through a trust established in her name and managed by our son, Duke Wilder. "

I knew Nash would take care of Mama, and I was glad he had. She had worried even though I’d told her that if Nash wouldn’t, I would—and I could, considering my trust fund and the success of my business—but she worried all the same. I hoped this would help her sleep better at night.

“To Hunter Blackwood, I bequeath a parcel of land consisting of two thousand acres located in the southeast range, inclusive of quality grazing land and a reliable water source. Hunt, you always said you wanted a place of your own—now you have it.”

Hunt didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stared straight ahead. Finally, he spoke, his voice rough. “That son of a bitch.”

Mac smirked sadly. “Yep, that he was.”

Hunt nodded, swallowed hard, then looked down at his hands. He hadn’t known, I realized, and he was touched because this was Nash’s way of acknowledging him as his kin because my father had given him what Hunt would never have asked for, no matter how much he wanted it.

Elena was smiling, her arms folded, and her stance relaxed. Her hat was on a side table next to her. She looked happy. Again, I wondered if she and Hunt were...? No, it was not possible.

Mac flipped to the next page. “Nash left a letter for you, Duke, but he wants it read aloud.”

My throat went tight. Fiona grabbed my hand, and I let her—but it was Elena I looked at. She met my gaze and offered me a small, steady smile. And somehow, that quiet reassurance settled something in me more than Fiona ever could.

Hunt rose and came to stand next to me, his hand on my shoulder. Nokoni nodded at me. Cal and Roy put their hands on their heart to let me know they were with me. All these people who I was going to unemploy soon were supporting me.

Mac cleared his throat and began, "Duke, I know you’re listening to this hating me. Maybe you got a right to. But I hope that somewhere in you, you remember that I am, and always have been, your father. And I love you. You don’t have to believe it, but that don’t make it less true."

The room blurred. I locked my jaw and kept my face blank. I pulled my hand away from Fiona. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t want Fiona. I wanted Elena to hold my hand. I wanted her with me.

Mac kept reading. “I don’t know what you’ll do with the ranch, my son. Maybe you’ll sell it, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll leave, and maybe you’ll come back. But I hope you come back. I hope you see this place for what it is, for what it was always meant to be— yours .”

I breathed out unevenly. My chest ached.

"I wasn’t a good father. Hell, I was a lousy one. But if there’s anything left of me in you, I hope it’s the part that knows when something is worth holding on to."

I closed my eyes, and then Mac read the last part—the words that split my heart clean in two. "Take care of your mother. She’s always loved you. You’re all she’s got now."

Goddamn him! Goddamn him for saying that, asking that of me when he knew I’d do it anyway—Goddamn him for letting me know that he thought of her, making me hate him less .

Mac flipped through the remaining papers, adjusting his glasses. He picked up an envelope and held it up. “There’s a letter for you, Elena. You’re to read it alone.”

I didn’t let myself react, didn’t let the shock show.

He’d left her nothing—at least, nothing monetary.

And I knew why. If he had, I would’ve lost my shit because Mama would’ve lost hers.

Yet, this woman—the one sitting quietly across from me—was the reason Wilder Ranch still stood, the reason I had something to inherit, something worth millions.

She had taken care of my father like a daughter, even when he didn’t deserve it, even when he’d been an ungrateful, bitter bastard to her.

The unfairness of it clawed at me, but I shoved it down.

She doesn’t deserve more.

She didn’t. But the words rang hollow because the truth was, I was being petty, just like Mama. And I fucking hated myself for it.

“What do you think is in the letter?” Fiona mused aloud.

There were a few gasps.

Everyone turned to look at my girlfriend—some in disgust, some in shock. Out here, you branded your own cattle and minded your own damn business. Asking about a dead man’s private letter wasn’t curiosity—it was nosing where she didn’t belong.

Mac set the envelope aside. Elena didn’t move. Her stance didn’t change. She was still regal and controlled. Fucking stunning!

Finally, Mac said the last thing that needed saying. “ Everything else—every last thing—goes to my son, Duke Patrick Wilder.”

This was my right as his heir, but it felt wrong, bitter, acidic.

“Well, thank God for that,” Fiona mumbled.

“For Christ’s sake.” I glared at her. “ Stop talking .”

Some snickers went through the room because, by this point, everyone wanted my woman to shut the fuck up. She didn’t get the ways of ranch country.

But she doesn’t have to, Duke. You’re selling the place.