by Leah Braemel
His eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me they’re happy to let a case drag on, aren’t you? You’re figuring this SSGT firm wants to wear me down, make me give up, is that it? Well, you can tell them I ain’t backin’ down. Them Gradys deserve to have their behinds handed to them on a platter.”
Of course this couldn’t go away quietly and quickly. She straightened and gave him her best stare, one that had more than once intimidated her opposing council’s witnesses to recant. “Okay, Tank. Let’s stop tap dancing here. What’ll it take for you to sign a waiver to clear the title?”
His chin rose almost as high as his nose. “Seventeen million dollars.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. Really? “For a faked land transfer?” she asked, arching her eyebrows. “There is no way my bosses would be willing to pay you that much to give up your claim.”
“Then they’ll just have to sue me, won’t they?”
Why? What would he get out of this? “Is proving you’re right and Ben’s wrong really worth the money it’ll cost you to fight us?”
“Of course it’s worth it.” He pounded his fist on the lounger’s arm. “I know the folks down at Carter Valley National are gonna put a hold on Bull’s Hollow funds if this don’t get cleared up soon. Seems to me your client’s got more to lose than I do.”
Which, unfortunately, was correct. She named another much lower figure, an amount approved by Kathy after they’d determined their own costs.
Tank cleared his throat and spat on the patio stones at the side. “Don’t insult me by offering anything less than ten million.”
At least he’d dropped his price by seven million. Now to get him to drop his price by another nine million nine hundred thousand and change. She added a couple of thousand to her original offer, only to be stared at. “All right. So you want to go to court. Since you’re so insistent George Junior exists, you won’t mind giving me his address and phone number.”
He settled back in his chair, the steel frame groaning under his weight. “I do mind. You got all those high-priced researchers. Find him yourself.”
Because there is no Junior, is there, Tank? Fine, if he wanted to play the game, so could she. “What’s the name of the lawyer you’re dealing with? We’ll need to verify a few details.”
“Some young fella over in Waco.” He rhymed off a name. The certainty in his voice moments before wavered. “Bonnie’ll get you his card.”
Once they’d realized Allie was working on Ben’s side, Bonnie had cleared away the cookies and let Tank do the talking. There was no sign of Bonnie’s normally present smile when she handed Allie their lawyer’s card. “You can get to your car around the side of the house. Save you tracking dirt over my new floors.”
“Of course.” Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, huh? Fine.
Disappointed to be let down by yet another person she’d trusted, Allie tucked the business card into a pocket in her purse, gave Bonnie a fake smile and a quick hug, air-kissing her just like a Hollywood pro, waggled her fingers in a wave in Tank’s direction then strode across the patio and toward her car.
You’re both lying through your teeth and I’m going to prove it.
Chapter Five
Sweat trickled down Ben’s forehead and stung his eyes. It crawled down his spine and gathered in places where it left him uncomfortable. So far that morning he’d worked with a team restringing the wire keeping the bulls from the cows. By the time he’d convinced himself they knew what they were doing, he’d strung what felt like a couple of miles of it himself. He’d met with Gabe about breeding a mare, and then had to hustle another crew to a break in a different fence on the opposite side of the spread, where at least twenty cows now ranged across the county road. They’d wrangled them back into place, only to get a call that a crew he’d set to cut the oats in the Sweetwater pasture was shorthanded. As chores went, running the massive combine was easy, though it required some coordination to keep it running the same speed as the truck driving beside to collect the oats that had been separated from their stalks.
Just as he was feeling things were going his way, he noticed the two swathers cutting hay in the neighboring field had stopped. With a sigh of frustration, he radioed the hand driving the truck to let him know of the change in direction. As the oat truck parked at the side of the field where they’d left off cutting, Ben pulled up his combine and jumped out. Both the drivers of the swathers had crawled under the machine his father had bought the year before. The one he owed a shit-ton of money to the bank for. The same bank pitching a fit over the damned land memorandum claim.
Annoyed at both the interruption and concerned there might be yet another expense, Ben squatted beside one of the pairs of feet sticking from beneath the machinery. “What happened?”
The youngest member of his team squirmed out; a streak of grease coating his cheek, the ranch hand blinked in the bright sunlight. “Sorry, boss. I think I ran over a pipe and busted one of the cutters.”
His back aching and his stomach growling, Ben stomped back to his machine and grabbed his bottle of water. He’d chugged back half its contents before he’d gotten control of his frustration. “How the hell did you not see the flag markin’ the damned well?”
The ranch hand turned rosy red beneath his already sun-reddened face. “Wasn’t payin’ attention, I guess.”
“Damned straight you weren’t.” His grandfather would have fired the hand on the spot, but given they were already shorthanded, Ben didn’t figure he had the luxury. “Go back to the main yard and find out where Dale is, and send him out here.” The older hand was a whiz at fixing the machines. “You’re on shovel duty the rest of the week.”
Considering it was already Wednesday, it wasn’t much of a threat, but it made his point. As the hand gathered his belongings, one of their two-seater ATVs roared over the hill toward them. Butch delivering lunch, thank God. Ben’s stomach was about hanging on his spine. “You caught a break, kid. Butch can give you a ride back.”
It wasn’t until the ATV stopped that Ben recognized the passenger was Allie.
His breath caught in his throat watching her climb off the ATV, her jeans hugging her very fine ass. Her white sleeveless V-neck tee clung to her curves like a second skin, outlining the lace of her bra until it looked like it was part of the cotton pattern. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, just like she’d worn it back in high school—the sun shone off it, striking gold highlights off the auburn like a halo. While the work boots were practical, he mourned the loss of her fuck-me heels.
“Down boy,” he sternly reminded his libido.
The grizzled old cook reached for a basket fastened to the back. “Hey, boss man. I noticed you missed lunch.” He bobbed his head toward his passenger. “And Ms. O’Keefe here was lookin’ for you, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone and bring her out to see you.”
“Thanks.” Ben grabbed the basket while trying—unsuccessfully—not to ogle Allie. “Hey, Butch, Take Cody here back to the main yard, will you? And if you see Dale on the way, have him head up here with a tool kit?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
The hand had barely taken his seat before the old man gunned the quad out of the field.
She waited until Ben had split up the lunch packets with the other hand before she spoke. “I hope you don’t mind me tagging along.”
“As long as you don’t mind me eating while we talk.” He lowered himself to the ground in the shadow and rested his back against the massive wheel.
Her perfume wafted over him as she lowered herself to the patch of grass beside him. Her earrings sparkled in the sunlight, drawing attention to spot where the shell of her ear met the curve of her neck, a place he used to love to nuzzle. Not just because it meant they’d be body-to-body but because it made her giggle, a sound he loved.
Resenting the years they’d lost, he distracted himself by unwrapping the sandwiches. “Looks like there are a couple of ham and cheese, and—you’re in
luck, a toasted peanut butter and jelly. They still your favorite?”
He shoved the PB&J toward her unasked then froze when he noticed her blinking rapidly as if she were about to cry. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s just...you remembered I like PB&Js.” She focused on the sandwich instead of him. She unwrapped the sandwich like it contained a gold nugget. Or a gold ring. “Just like you did with all the other food you brought over.”
“It’s just a sandwich.” He took a big bite of his ham and cheese, her comment that she’d realized it was him not Butch who had selected what foods he’d brought over fueling a smug satisfaction deep in his belly.
“Not once in the five years we were married did Lewis remember that I liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” She picked up the toasted sandwich and sank her teeth into it.
Ben found himself entranced by the way her lips closed around the bread, the way her tongue darted out to clean off the peanut butter clinging to her lips. Obviously this Lewis was a moron. Or blind.
“Oh my God,” she groaned, “it’s just the right side of gooey. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had one like this?”
“Ages, I’m guessing.” There was no logical reason for him to feel so pleased. It’s not like he’d personally made the sandwich. Or even thought to ask Butch to make her one. But there was no denying how his chest swelled up in pride at her reaction.
She inhaled softly, her full lips forming a soft O, when Ben wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb.
Shoot. He hadn’t meant to touch her. It had been more instinct. Something he would have done when they were dating. Except you’re not dating her, dumbass.
“You missed some.” He stuck his thumb in his mouth, his body reacting to how she’d leaned into his touch. And the way her pupils had widened like she hadn’t had an orgasm since the last time she’d seen him. Which of course she must have. She’d been married for five years. A subject he didn’t want to think about.
Was he a fool to consider asking her out on a date? Asking her to see if they might still make a good couple? Maybe she was here for a reason, not just to help him protect his ownership of the ranch, but maybe someone, somewhere, had given him a second chance.
He cleared his throat and focused on unwrapping his second sandwich. “What brings you out here? Please tell me you talked to Tank and he’s signed off on the claim.”
“I’m afraid not. He’s demanding ten million to make it go away. Mainly to tick you off, I think.”
Figured. “Can’t say it surprises me, but you could have told me that when I got back to the house tonight. There was no need for you to come out all this way.” But he couldn’t deny he was pleased she had. And curious as to why she hadn’t just phoned him. Then again, there were so many dead spots on the spread, she could have phoned him only to be sent to voice mail. Which he hadn’t checked.
“I figured you’d want to know. Besides, I need you to phone Ackerman and Freeman and give them permission to discuss ranch business with me, specifically your grandfather’s will.”
“I thought Logan was fixing to do that.”
He snatched at the sandwich wrapper she’d discarded as a gust of wind swirled. She’d reached for it at the same time, and their fingers ended up touching. Allie’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed as she pulled back her hand.
“I guess Logan forgot or got busy,” she’d lifted her sandwich and spoke to it, instead of him, “and I’ve already checked at your mom’s place because she could probably sign a release too, but she’s visiting your grandmother.”
Shoot, he’d forgotten Ma was in Dallas. “Logan’ll probably get to it—you only asked him yesterday.” He chewed another bite, watching her not watching him. “Tank said something else, didn’t he? Something you’re having to work up to.”
“Yes, but you won’t like it.”
“I don’t like any of this, but I’ll deal with it. Now spill.”
After she’d finished relaying Tank’s claims, his sandwich lay forgotten on his lap. “Are you kidding me? I told you the other day, if Gramps knew he had another kid, he wouldn’t have turned his back on him, and if he’d added him to a will, it wouldn’t have been as a last minute handwritten will.”
“Are you sure?” The doubt in her voice told him she wasn’t.
“Of course I’m sure.” Annoyance prickled his sense of honor, not only that she doubted his grandfather’s morals, but that she’d doubt him. “Gramps may not have been the nicest guy but he wouldn’t have turned his back on family. And any kid of his, no matter who the mother was, would have been family. Don’t you remember how big he was on Gradys looking after their own? He wouldn’t have sent the kid away, and even if he did, he would have made sure the kid was acknowledged somehow.”
“I’m not so sure. Life was different back in the fifties or sixties when this kid could have been born.” Though her face was carefully blank, there was still a tinge of doubt to her voice. “If George had an affair, it would have been a scandal, not only for him but for your grandmother too. It makes sense that they’d try to keep it quiet.”
He flexed his hands against his irritation and replayed her words. No matter how much he fought it, there was a ring of truth to her argument. “I don’t know, maybe he and Gram would have adopted the kid, pretending they got it from some poor unwed mother somewhere, but he would have made sure the kid was looked after right from the start. He wouldn’t have needed to write a holographic will. It would have been in the original will.” He could, however, imagine his grandmother destroying a will if one existed. “He didn’t have another kid. I’d bet—” He’d been about to say “the ranch on it” then realized that’s exactly what he was doing. “Someone’s setting Gramps up.”
“It’s always a possibility. But we need to prove Tank is lying, or at least wrong.”
“Huh, never thought you’d admit that,” he muttered.
“I’m not your enemy, Ben. I’m here to help you prove your claim, remember?” She finally looked at him. There was no trace of enmity in her large expressive eyes. Despite her earlier withdrawal, she rested her fingers on his hand in a move probably meant to reassure him, but it only served to increase his desire to turn his hand over and hold her hand.
His gaze dropped to her full lips, and fought an urge to pull her onto his lap and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. And then sit with his arms wrapped around her, listening to the wind blowing through the remaining oats and damn all the work he had left to do. Sometimes being grown up and responsible sucked.
“I know your grandmother might not admit it, but what about your mother, or one of your father’s relatives—maybe one of his aunts or uncles who would tell you the truth?”
He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, unwilling to break their tentative connection. “The only relative Gramps had was Aunt Opal, but she moved out to California fifty years back. I’m not sure we have an address or anything on her—she and Gramps weren’t exactly close. Then there’s Gram’s brother Charlie, but if Gram wanted it kept quiet, he wouldn’t say anything either.” Though he might reveal some detail if Logan had a quiet word with him.
“Would your dad have known? Or your mom?” She tightened her grip lightly on his, as if she knew mentioning his father would cause the dull ache of grief to flare up.
He flipped his hand over and laced his fingers with hers and squeezed in wordless thanks, especially since she considered him the enemy. Or maybe she didn’t any more. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having problems figuring out their relationship or whatever this was called. “I’ll ask Ma tonight, but I gotta tell you, I think Tank’s leading you on a wild goose chase.”
“I agree, there’s something off about his claim that this heir sold him the land. But I also need to tell you that heirship claims can be very complicated and very costly.”
“Good thing I’ve got you then, isn’t it?”
“It is.” She bit her bottom lip
for a moment before meeting his gaze. “I should tell you that it is part of my job to decide if your family deliberately tried to deceive us when you took out the policy with us.”
Before he’d learned of the news of Tank’s outrageous claim of his grandfather’s affair, he’d have laughed, but now the seed of doubt had been sown, he couldn’t find it in him to crack a smile. “This is all news to me—so no, we weren’t trying to deceive you.”
They finished off the rest of the sandwiches in addition to the muffins and fruit Bitsey had packed. Wishing he had some way to delay her leaving, some reason to keep her close, Ben stood and held out a hand to help Allie to her feet.
“Hang on, you’ve got grass on your pants.” He brushed his hands over her behind and down her thighs, telling himself that he was simply being helpful. Not that his body bought into the excuse. What was it with him needing to touch her? She’d made it clear she wasn’t looking to revive their relationship. He wasn’t sure they should get back together again either, yet he couldn’t resist her. Forcing himself to remove his hands from her butt, he straightened.
“Did Butch say when he’d be coming back to pick you up?”
Allie shook her head. “I figured you’d call him.”
“No cell service out this way.” He let his gaze skim her as an idea formed. She’d loved helping her father with the big machines. “Since you’re not in your fancy city clothes, are you up for getting your hands dirty? I have to work on this one, see if I can get it fixed, but I need to get the oats cut too and I can’t do both at the same time. It would help out a lot if you drove the combine. Or I can have Joe drive the combine and you can drive a swather.” Which would be easier considering she wouldn’t have to coordinate with the collecting truck catching the oats.
Figured she’d eye the combine with an almost unholy glee. “It’s bigger than the one you used to drive. Are you up to it?”
“Are you dissin’ me, Grady?” She hooked her thumbs in her waistband and squared her shoulders, her smile broadening. “Because I can handle this baby as good as you any day.”
