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Jon had his own spread farther north and two twin girls he’d been raising alone until recently. Gen and Abby had to be about six by now. Ben’s assistant sent them birthday and Christmas gifts every year. With any luck, Ben would be breaking in a new assistant before long and instructing them to add the girls to his gift list.
“Shoes say a lot about a man.” Ben gave his brothers a hard stare and let it drift down to their footwear. The last time Ben had faced these two, they’d tried to convince Ben that Zoe jilting him at the altar was a good thing.
“She was only interested in your money,” Ethan had said.
“If nothing else, her running away with Big E proves it,” Jonathon had added.
“But you knew they were eloping,” Ben had spat back.
It hadn’t been enough that Ben had suffered through the humiliation of standing at the altar as friends and family filled the church. His brothers had known their grandfather and Ben’s fiancée were running away together. And they hadn’t said anything!
They’d let Rachel tell him.
Rachel.
For the love of Mike, she was Zoe’s best friend and his opposing counsel even then.
Rachel had tossed her blond ringlets over one shoulder and glared at Ben. Gone was the casual camaraderie they’d had as teenagers; not surprising given she’d just lost the Double T’s water rights the day before. “Did you honestly think Zoe would move away from her family and friends to live with you in New York City?”
Ben had to keep himself from shouting, Yes! Instead, he’d said through stiff lips, “Marriage to me seemed more likely than my twenty-seven-year-old fiancée eloping with my seventy-two-year-old grandfather.”
Big E, Zoe, Rachel, Jon, Ethan. Five people he’d thought were family. Five people he’d never trust again.
He’d done little more than exchange text messages with his brothers in five years. Even then, his replies were often brief—I’m fine. Can’t get away. Not coming home for Christmas.
And then ten days ago, Ethan had texted and left voice mail, and then texted and left voice mail again: Big E has run away from home. Double T taking us to court over water rights. Help.
Ethan’s second text and voice mail had come on a bad day. Ben had been coming down from the sixty-seventh floor in the elevator, escorted by Transk, Ipsum & Levi security, carrying a box with his personal belongings. His stomach had long since reached the lobby, having plummeted there when his boss told him he was being removed as lead counsel on a big case and—oh, by the way (as if it was an afterthought)—fired for unethical practices.
Unethical practices? Being a lawyer was about bending the law to justify your client’s stupidity. The utility company had broken federal laws regarding safety standards and people had been killed. In their homes, no less. Leaving husbands without wives and kids without fathers. Ben had been brokering generous settlements with survivors, apparently, not to the client’s satisfaction.
A cherubic face drifted through his memory. Big brown eyes. Gummy smile. That baby didn’t know what it meant to be orphaned yet.
That child had made Ben rethink what constituted a fair settlement in a legal case that was spinning out of control, spun faster by Ben’s actions to make things right. And coming down in that elevator, he’d felt the need to lean on someone.
In that moment of weakness, he’d stepped out of the building in midtown and called Ethan back, agreeing to return to Falcon Creek to defend the ranch.
Now here Ben stood, back where the cow pie had hit the fan five years ago, staring at the faces of the brothers who could have warned Ben he wasn’t getting married.
“You think Ben convinced Rachel to back off?” Ethan said to Jon.
“Nope.” Jon eyed Ben like the time he’d caught him trying to feed his beets to the family dog under the table.
Ethan tsked. “Then he’s going to need a pair of jeans and boots.”
“He’s your size, not mine.” Jon knelt and rubbed his dog’s black ears.
“I’m standing right here, gentlemen.” Ben shook his head. “I’m not going to be staying long enough to wear boots.”
“He’ll be in boots by sunup.” Jon gave Ben a half smile.
“Definitely.” There was nothing half about Ethan’s smile. It was wider than a pregnant heifer’s hips.
The sun beat down on the back of Ben’s neck. He sighed and shook his head once more. He had things to do. The latest in Montana water rights to research. And the legal precedents behind those rights. “I don’t have time to play home on the range.”
“He wants us to think he hasn’t forgiven us for being right,” Ethan said smugly.
“I haven’t,” Ben said as darkly as any villain.
Jon ignored him, continuing to pat his dog on the head. “But we know better, because there’s no other reason he’d show up in Falcon Creek.” Ben’s older brother was far too smug when he added, “Family means forgiveness.”
Ben scowled, possibly with his entire body. “When you apologize for humiliating me, then I’ll forgive you.”
Five years ago, Jon and Ethan had presented their case for letting the revised wedding plans and ensuing drama play out. They’d thought Zoe was wrong for him. And sure, Ben had probably dodged a bullet when Zoe chose to marry a wealthier Blackwell, but he lived by the strict rules of the court. He’d been wronged. Restitution had never been made. His brothers owed him a sincere apology and a reason to trust again.
“You’re lucky I’m here at all.” Ben lowered his chin. “I wouldn’t have come if Big E and Zoe were home.”
“That solves where he’s sleeping.” Ethan pointed toward the henhouse near the main barn.
Jon chuckled, albeit briefly, and then stood. “But seriously, Ben, I’m glad you came home. All hands on deck tonight. We’ll need you to bus tables for the ranch guests. Mrs. Gardner is helping us out and making tamales.”
“I’m not the hired help,” Ben said firmly, despite the prospect of homemade tamales. “I’m your lawyer.” For two weeks and two weeks only.
“Prima donna, more like,” Jon muttered. “I suppose your pride won’t let you come inside until you’ve had a poke at someone. Go ahead. Give it your best shot, little brother.” He angled his jaw Ben’s way.
Ben’s fingers clenched so hard around the handles of his briefcase and suitcase, his knuckles popped.
Ethan hurried to stand between the two. “Or we could go inside, have a beer and give Ben a chance to get even with a couple hands of poker.” Ethan wasn’t smiling when he turned to Ben. “I told you. Big E and Zoe have run away. The ranch is in trouble, both financially and in terms of resources. Primarily, water resources. We need you.”
Without another word, Ethan and Jon walked inside their old family home. With one inquisitive look at Ben, the black-and-white dog followed, leaving Ben little choice but to do the same.
Ben crossed the threshold and stopped. “What the—” He nearly dropped his bags. He turned, looking outside to make sure he was still in Montana. There were the Rockies. No mistaking those peaks. He turned to take in the interior once more.
The house looked like a Wild West boudoir. Red velvet wallpaper. Crystal chandeliers. Furniture that wasn’t for flopping on at the end of a hard day on a ranch. The chairs and sofa were white and prim, not to mention they weren’t made for anyone over six feet in height. A black lacquered table with gold pinstripes sat in the dining room in front of a large gilded mirror that looked like the one the evil queen used in Snow White.
“Zoe redecorated.” Jon sounded disgusted.
“You should see the master bedroom.” Ethan sounded horrified.
“Or not,” Ben murmured.
Both brothers turned to Ben, who was trying to remember what the place had looked like when he’d left. Blue plaid couch. Brown leather recliner. Coffee table scarred with circles from glasses of ice tea and cold cans of beer.
“You dodged a bullet,” Jon said.
“In other words...” Ethan slung his arm around Jon’s shoulders and grinned at Ben. “You should thank us.”
Jon tipped his hat back. “Yep.”
“Nice try, but you’re missing the point.” Ben didn’t want to come inside, but he did anyway. Far enough in that he could see the kitchen, with its white marble counters, pink-trimmed cabinets and sparkly pink tile backsplash.
“He’s not forgiving us,” Ethan said, hanging his head.
“Not yet,” Jon said.
Not ever. That’s what Ben wanted to say.
But the words stuck in his throat as firmly as that red velvet wallpaper was stuck on the wall.
* * *
THE DOUBLE T was quiet when Rachel pulled up in front of the main house after she’d left her office.
The late afternoon heat lingered, but would soon give way to the evening mountain chill. Rachel took a moment to study the ranch house, seeing beyond the white clapboard that needed paint to how it must have looked in the 1920s when it was new. Dormered windows. Black shutters. Gray metal roof. Great-Grandpa Thompson had built the house for his bride.
When Rachel was growing up, at this time of day, there would’ve been ranch hands finishing up their chores, preparing to go home or to cook something in the bunkhouse. Today, only Henry, the ranch foreman, and Tony, a part-time ranch hand remained. And the yard was empty.
“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy said from the rear seat of the truck. How Rachel’s baby loved the sound of her own voice.
“Yes, sweetheart.” Rachel smiled as she walked carefully around to open the door. She was still wearing her suit and heels, not having time to stop at her little house on the other side of town and change. She had a number of chores to do here before Poppy’s bedtime. “We’re going to see your grandma and mine.” Her mother would feed Poppy and give her a bath while Rachel did some ranch paperwork. She freed Poppy from her car seat and grabbed her diaper bag.
“Na-na-na-nahhh.” Poppy clapped her little hands and then pointed to the house, a regal command that made Rachel laugh.
“You’re a princess, just like I was.” She’d had the best of both worlds—a cowgirl with Daddy’s credit card. Although nowadays, she wished she’d been raised differently. If Dad had demanded she work on the ranch, she’d be better equipped to run the Double T.
She drew her daughter closer, breathing in the scent of baby powder and shampoo. Poppy was so perfect, sometimes Rachel never wanted to let her go. Those blond curls. Those big brown eyes. Those chipmunk cheeks. If her marriage had to fail, at least Poppy was more than worth it.
And what was the silver lining to her legal practice failing?
There didn’t seem to be one. Divorces. Living trusts. She barely cleared enough to earn a living wage. Pride made her keep the office open.
And the Double T? Things were just as grim here. Water was going to make or break her family’s ranch. But this time, she was going to beat the Blackwells. She was sure of it.
Ben’s handsome face came to mind. He represented everything she resented about the Blackwells. Ben and his brothers were raised to be ranchers, but they didn’t care about their family heritage or tradition. They’d all moved on, coincidentally after stealing the Double T’s water all those years ago. Even Zoe, who was only technically a Blackwell, had little sympathy for the struggles of the Double T.
Rachel opened the white picket gate surrounding the ranch house and carried Poppy toward the front door. The heat and her load made Rachel sweat. She kissed the top of her daughter’s golden head. “I love you, sunshine.”
Poppy grinned up at her. “Ma-ma-ma-mahhh.”
This was real. This was good. Mommyhood. Caring for family. Going to bed every night knowing she was making a difference.
A sound had her looking back. A white-faced heifer poked its head around the barn.
“How did you get out?” Rachel asked, hurrying to get Poppy indoors where it was cooler. “Remind me to text Henry,” she said to Poppy, hoping that saying it out loud would jog her memory once she got inside. Her memory lately was spotty, and Henry was ancient. He didn’t work after dinner, which was fast approaching.
Win back the water rights.
Set the ranch to rights.
Get a signed custody agreement.
Learn how to be a better rancher.
Her list was daunting.
“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh,” Poppy breathed, pointing at various items, including the comfortable brown sofa and matching recliner. She loved her grandma.
The small living room was empty. As was the kitchen, which had been remodeled in the 1980s when Rachel’s parents married. Oak cabinets. White ceramic tile counters. Flowery linoleum nearly worn away in front of the sink. The room may have been dated, but it was filled with the warm smell of something good in the oven. Nowadays, Rachel appreciated someone else cooking for her.
“Hey! Where is everybody?” Rachel dropped her diaper bag near the front door.
“Back here,” Mom called.
With Poppy on her hip, Rachel went in search of the family.
Mom was pinning quilt pieces on the bed in the master bedroom, bright red-and-green material that formed pinwheel blocks. Fanny, Mom’s white toy poodle, leaped off her dog bed and began yapping at Rachel and Poppy. She was hard of hearing and had to make up for the pair sneaking up on her with faux indignation.
Mom shushed Fanny and muted the TV. “We’ve been crafting to avoid the heat.” She stood on the other side of the bed wearing a blue-flowered blouse and black capris. Her highlighted blond hair was cut in a front-slanted, fashionable bob and her makeup was flawless. Lisa had married a rancher but had never quite embraced the wardrobe.
Rachel suspected her own makeup had melted off sometime after lunch when emotions had run higher than the heat. She’d prepped Nelly O’Ryan for a court appearance tomorrow, while Nelly’s toddler, Alex, and Poppy had played with plastic blocks on the floor. Nelly was seeing her soon-to-be ex-husband for the first time in a month and was scared to death that Darnell would take out his frustrations on her afterward.
There had been tears, not all of them Nelly’s.
When Rachel was younger, she’d been unflappable. Crying in public? That wasn’t her thing. Now that she had Poppy, her hands shook when she got nervous and she cried at every Hallmark commercial.
“Good thing you’re here,” Mom said in the overly bright voice she’d been using since Dad died. “We’re arguing over which is better—the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice, or the movie with Kiera Knightley.” The movie was playing on the television. “You can be the deciding vote.”
“You should pick Colin Firth and the BBC if you want a Christmas gift this year.” Nana Nancy was knitting in a chair in the corner. Rachel’s grandmother was short, short-haired, short-tempered and, like her knitting needles, slender and pointed.
“There can be no penalties for voting.” The cheer in Mom’s voice was tested. “I’m sure Rachel knows that the movie version empowers Elizabeth.”
“I’m as neutral as Switzerland.” Rachel looked for a place to set Poppy down where she’d be no trouble.
“Ga-ga-ga-gahhh.” Poppy bounced impatiently, extending her arms to her grandmother. Rachel set her down and she crawled over to Lisa’s feet, using her grandmother’s capris to bring herself to a wobbly stand.
Fanny circled, wagging her pom-pom tail as she sniffed Poppy for stray crumbs.
“Poppy only goes to you first because you feed her.” Nana didn’t like coming in second to anyone. “See?” She caught Rachel’s eye. “Your mother just slipped Poppy a Cheerio and yet she didn’t want me to bribe you for your vote on Pride and Prejudice.”
“Babies get low blood sugar if they don’t eat regularly.” Mom had the cereal stored in covered containers in the living room, kitchen and bedroom, reminiscent of the way Dad used to keep kibble around to train their ranch dogs.
Rachel loved her mother and grandmother, but neither woman asked how Rachel’s day went or about her meeting with Ben. Didn’t they care about the Double T? Didn’t they care that generations of Thompsons were weighing heavily on Rachel’s shoulders? Didn’t they respect her for taking on the reins of the ranch? She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but how could she not? Their fate was in her hands. “I go to court tomorrow against the Blackwells. They won’t win this time.”
“Water,” Mom grumbled. “That’s what broke your father’s heart. We should—”
“Don’t start about selling the Double T.” Nana clicked her knitting needles angrily, looping purple yarn faster than a drummer hitting a cadence for a marching band. “This land has been in our family for seven generations.”
“And it’ll be in it for seven more,” Rachel promised, mentally crossing her fingers and knocking on wood.
