Page 3 of Want You Back (Second Chance Ranch #1)

Chapter 3

Maverick

Now

“You can’t sell.” My father’s lawyer was a dour-faced ancient man who was unmoved by my question of how fast we could get the ball rolling on a sale. Mr. Ernest, who had not offered a first name, sat across from my older sister and me at the large wooden table in the ranch house’s formal dining room, wrinkled hands folded on a stack of crisp white papers bound with shiny metal clips.

“Why not?” I’d arrived late, already out of sorts from my encounter with Colt Jennings, and I was in no mood to be thwarted from my mission to rid myself of this unwanted responsibility as fast as possible. Colt’s plea to not sell echoed in my brain, making my stomach clench. There had been a time when I would have done anything to earn a smile from that rugged, too-serious face, but that time had long passed. Now, I simply wanted the hell out of Lovelorn, Colorado.

“The terms of the will and the trust are clear.” Mr. Ernest passed a packet of papers to Faith and me. “You both have to reside here at least one year before any sale of the ranch and assets.”

“That can’t be legal.” Over her years as a Houston-based society wife, Faith had cultivated a soft, cultured voice. Not moving to read the papers, she drummed a petal-pink nail against the packet. “No one informed us about the formation of any trust.”

“Like Dad would have called a family meeting.” I snorted at the very thought. I couldn’t say I was shocked that he’d attempted to hogtie my and Faith’s ability to sell. The ranch came first. Always.

“You can, of course, choose to fight the will and the terms of the trust.” For someone so skeletal, Mr. Ernest had a surprisingly stern voice. “Probate can often take years to sort itself out, longer if there are multiple challenges.”

“So you’re saying we’re stuck here either way?” Faith toyed with her gold necklace. “For a whole year?”

“You are welcome to obtain your own counsel and consider all your available options,” Mr. Ernest said stiffly, aloof expression revealing confidence his firm’s documents would withstand challenge.

“I’m still paying off my latest divorce.” Faith groaned. She shifted on the hard wooden chair, no padding for Melvin Lovelorn’s guests. “I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. It’s why I need a sale. I’ve already fielded calls from several development groups.” Developers. Colt’s worst fears come true, yet likely our best chance of a big sale. Not many could afford the asking price for this many acres outright. Faith turned her gaze in my direction. “I can’t afford a mountain of legal bills.”

“Don’t look at me.” I held up my hands. “Divorced, currently unemployed, and not inclined to fight a losing battle.” I’d spent years building my reputation in the hotel industry, only for one failed marriage and a disaster of a renovation reality TV show to turn it all into worthless dust. “You know our father. He didn’t do things by half-measures. The trust will likely hold up. That’s just our luck.”

I hadn’t checked the date on the paperwork, but I had no doubt my father had spent years planning for this very moment. He wasn’t the type to leave a loophole. Unfinished chores were the worst of sins in Melvin Lovelorn’s book.

“So you’re suggesting we just…what?” Faith gave an aristocratic sniff in my direction, highlighted blonde hair bouncing like the punctuation mark to her disgust. “Give in? Spend a year here?”

“Not give in. But we could start the clock ticking.” I couldn’t say that I’d spent years in worse places, but I’d spent years on other soul-sucking projects. I was, at heart, a pragmatist. For all my impatient nature, I’d learned the art of waiting to reach goals. Also, being at the ranch without my father couldn’t be any worse than growing up here with him. I could rattle the phones about new projects from here as easily as from my LA condo. “It’s summer. Hannah has no school anyway. What if we take a few weeks and consult some experts on how expensive it would be to fight the provision?”

While I wasn’t about to fork over what little remained of my savings, it wouldn’t hurt to investigate exactly how ironclad this will was. And unlike me, Faith was a fighter. If there was room to argue, she’d find it.

“You sound like you actually want to stay.” Head tilting, Faith studied me through horrified eyes.

“Trust me, I want to sell as much as you do.” I gestured around the room. The formal dining room, with all its dark woods and somber paintings, had always freaked me out as a kid. “I hate this place. Stuck in the small town we escaped for a whole year sounds like misery to me too, but what alternative do we have?” I turned back toward Mr. Ernest. “Who does the ranch pass to if we don’t agree?”

“Ah.” Mr. Ernest held up a spindly index finger as if scoring a point. “Your father was insistent that the ranch stay in Lovelorn hands. If you don’t agree to the terms, a distant cousin has been discovered in New York. Quentin Lovelorn, the third.”

“We’re not the last Lovelorns?” Faith visibly recoiled, pushing her chair away from the table with the force of her objection. “I hate him already.”

“Me too,” I readily agreed. “And this is why we need to at least consider complying. I’m not letting our inheritance—or Hannah’s—go to someone we’ve never heard of.”

My sister could be insufferable at times, but she’d given me my niece, who had one of the sweetest dispositions ever. Neither Faith nor I particularly deserved to inherit the ranch, but Hannah deserved all that was good in the world and a secure future.

“God.” Faith gazed skyward at the paneled ceiling before standing and stalking to the built-in corner liquor cabinet. “I need a drink.”

“Are you sure?—”

“Maverick.” Faith whirled at me before I could finish the question. “I’m a grown woman who needs a drink.”

“I thought you did Dry January?” I’d been beyond relieved when she’d announced her newfound sobriety at the start of the year.

“Luckily, it’s June.”

“Ahem.” Apparently bored by the brewing sibling conflict, Mr. Ernest snapped his briefcase shut with a decisive click. “All the documentation is in the paperwork. If you wish to have someone look at the will and trust, by all means, do.”

“Oh, we will.” Faith’s tone was ominous. She’d had work done, a tightness around her temples and forehead that made scowling impossible, but she continued to have the best glare west of the Rockies.

“If you decide to stay, we can review all the existing ranch financials at another time.” Mr. Ernest addressed the offer to me while Faith poured herself a very generous scotch.

“Thank you.” I showed him out of the dining room, passing through the front parlor to the covered wide front porch. “We will be in touch.”

I shut the door and headed away from the stifling parlor toward the kitchen with the far more welcoming great room beyond. This was the warm and cozy part of the house, a newer addition to the lodge, and while Brita, my favorite cook, was long gone, at least here, I could breathe.

Well, breathe until Grayson, the foreman, ambled in through the back door. He was around ten years older than me and far more silver, but I remembered him best as a pensive young man trailing behind his father, the prior foreman. The two of them had shown up back when Mel and my mother had been alive, a package deal of two-for-one ranch hands that quickly did the impossible and earned my father’s trust.

And mine. I’d never had reason to doubt Grayson’s word or loyalty, so I stood my ground next to the coffee maker rather than give in to the urge to beat a hasty retreat.

“Legal done?” Grayson wasn’t one to mosey around a conversation. He poured himself a cup of coffee—black, of course. “How soon ’til the For Sale sign goes up?”

“A year. Apparently.” I made a vague gesture. There was no point in lying to someone I respected as deeply as Grayson, and he’d find out soon enough. “My dad wants to force Faith and me to live here for a year before we can think about selling.”

“Fuck.” He drew out the word in a low groan.

“You didn’t know about the terms of the will?” I’d never entirely understood why or how Grayson continued to put up with my father. For years, I’d assumed they’d worked out the sort of friendship I’d never managed with either, but Grayson gave a decisive shake of his head.

“No, Maverick. Despite working for your father more or less my whole adult life, I’m pretty sure he didn’t care for me more than he did any other human.” He offered a bitter laugh. “He wasn’t about to discuss his will with me. Would have ruined his image of being damn near invincible.”

“True. He didn’t like anyone.” I took a second to make my own cup of much-needed coffee, doctoring it with plenty of creamer. “Hell, I’m honestly surprised he didn’t just leave it to you. You at least know how to run a ranch.”

“Well, thank you. I think.” Grayson wasn’t big on smiling any more than he was on lengthy conversation, but his lips moved in the barest curl that might have been amusement.

“Place would have fallen apart without you years ago, and we all know it.”

“Does that mean I’m not fired?” Tilting his head, he gave me a long stare. “The bunkhouse is all kinds of nervous too. Everyone was expecting y’all to sell and sell fast.”

Hell. In my hurry to rid myself of the place, I’d forgotten other people were depending on the ranch, good people who didn’t deserve to be left unemployed. Like Colt had rightfully said—damn him—my father’s death would leave a mark on the area. No one deserved this turn of events, and I felt highly inadequate to deal with the challenge. My hands clenched helplessly.

“God. I didn’t think about layoffs. I hate this.” I closed my eyes briefly, head tipping skywards, the same frustrated gesture Faith had done earlier. “I have no clue how to run this thing. I’m not a rancher.”

“You could try.” Grayson gave a deceptively casual shrug, gaze staying pointed. “If you don’t want to lay folks off and you can’t sell, why not try to make a go of it? I’ll stay on and help.”

“Thank you.” I swallowed hard. I had done little to earn his support or sympathy, but I wasn’t stupid enough to turn it down. “That’s very kind.”

“Not wanting to job hunt isn’t kind.” Grayson snorted. “The market for banged-up foreman is rather small.”

He’d left the ranch for a time in his twenties to pursue his fortune on the rodeo circuit, only to return with a new limp and haunted eyes. He could dismiss his accomplishments on the ranch, but he was damn good at his job. My father wouldn’t have kept him on all these years otherwise.

“Hell, I bet you turn down offers on the regular.”

“None that mean anything.” He gave another shrug, gaze cryptic. “Cook already quit, but if you’re hungry from the drive, I can wrangle you up something.”

“Nah. I can cook. Later.” I waved a hand. No way could I eat right now, nor could I stomach his pity. “I need to get out. Clear my head.”

“Two-day drive didn’t do the trick?” Eyes narrowing, he gave a barky laugh. “I could saddle you a horse.”

“God, no.” I shuddered at the thought. I had nowhere to go?—

Wait.

A glimmer of a memory snaked out and caught hold. And just like that, I knew where I was headed and what might help.