“Why were you crying?”
He nodded. Seemed to be making some kind of decision. Natasha hoped it was in favor of answering her question. She waited some more. Heard the water in the stream just in front of them. But watched him.
With fall having come and gone, there was little growth around them. Just dust and brownness. Rock and...him.
He sat back. Glanced at her again. And then toward the creek.
“My father was a thief.”
He’d shocked her again, this man who’d seemed so straightforward.
With a sense of foreboding, she listened.
“Like a lot of ranchers, Gerald Longfellow didn’t trust banks. He kept his money, a lot of it in gold pieces, in safes on the property and in the house. My father, who’d worked on the ranch since he was a kid, spent years stealing from him, bits at a time, sums that grew larger as my father’s gambling addiction got worse. By the time Gerald found out, he’d taken a quarter of a million dollars. And gambled every dime of it away.”
Natasha focused on the facts. On her way to the solution she felt certain was going to be necessary. Ask. Answer. Act.
“Gerald could have prosecuted him, sent him to jail, but he wasn’t that kind of man. He understood that my father had a problem. He offered him a chance to get help, to fix his life, to make restitution. Had legal papers drawn up whereby my father agreed to work at Longfellow Ranch for nothing but room and board. No wages. Just free labor. Free room and board. He’d pay back his debt but have no cash to squander. Gerald would provide for my needs until the debt was paid, or until I turned eighteen.”
“Gerald sounds like a guy I would have liked.”
Spencer nodded. “When I knew them, they were both men I...liked.” He glanced her way, grinned and then sobered immediately. “Who’m I kidding? I idolized them both. I thought they were best friends.”
“Maybe they were. Maybe that’s why Gerald made the deal he made with your father.”
She wasn’t sure where this was going. But the insight it was giving her into her business partner was invaluable.
“The legal agreement stated that neither my father nor his adult heirs could receive a dime of Longfellow money, including ranch profit, until the debt had been paid in full.”
The ax fell.
Quietly.
And lay there embedded in the dirt beside the stream.
* * *
SPENCER NOTICED THE change in Natasha immediately. She was a smart woman. A businesswoman who would immediately begin to catalog possible problems and ramifications.
He’d known when he’d told her the truth what he was exposing himself to.
The only thing he couldn’t figure out was why he’d done it.
“I didn’t know about any of this until I was thirteen.” He was determined to finish the story he’d started. “From my very first memory of living with Sadie, the first night I moved into her home when I was six, the night that Gerald and my father died, she let me know that I was living on borrowed time. She said that Spencer Barber wasn’t good enough to do all of the things she expected me to do, and that’s why I became Spencer Longfellow. She told me, every day before I left for school that first year, that if I didn’t look and act good enough, I could lose everything. That I’d have to go live with strangers in a strange place. I think at first she was just panicked. Later it became a way to control me.
“In her own way, I believe Sadie cared about me. She just couldn’t conquer her own demons. And maybe I kidded myself about that. Maybe she was incapable of feeling love. She’d been raised without it.”
“Your name...was it legally changed?”
Good. She was sticking to the facts. Exactly what he’d have expected out of her. What he needed from her.
“Yes, as the paperwork in your folder shows.”
“Did Sadie have a will?”
“Yes.”
“And she left you the ranch?”
“When I was thirteen, Sadie showed me a copy of the legal agreement between my father and Gerald Longfellow. I’d been getting mouthy, fighting back against her constant barrage of telling me I had to earn my right to be a part of Longfellow Ranch. I’d told her that she had no right to talk to me like I was less than she was. She’d said something about her having to make certain that she wasn’t letting Gerald down, that she was raising me to be worthy of Longfellow heritage, and not one who would take from it as my father had, and it all came out from there.”
He could have remembered it word for word if he tried. But had no desire to.
He hadn’t answered the real question she’d been asking.
“No one but me...and now you...know those papers exist. But they’re there. If someone looks hard enough, they’ll find them.”
“Then what?”
He looked at her. “I don’t know. When Sadie was alive, they were legally binding. I know that much. I worked like a dog but never had a penny in my pocket. She gave me a credit card for gas and essentials. She trusted me.”
“A trust well-placed.”
He’d kept meticulous records of every purchase he’d ever made. But liked that she didn’t doubt him again.
“After she died, I found out she hadn’t included the document in her papers. I could let the document die with her, in the hope that it never came to light again, or I could bring it to light and see how the chips fell.”
The choice he’d made was pretty obvious.
“I’d spent a lifetime lying,” he said.
“You were taught as a grief-stricken little boy, by the sole semblance of family you had left in your life, that lying was the only way you’d be safe, have family or a home.”
She had his back.
For the moment.
“You asked me if Sadie left a will.”
He could feel her staring at him.
“She left the farm in trust...to me.” He looked at her then. “Right now I am the living tenant and have sole say in the running of the business, but I am not technically the owner. Yet. I have to show a profit until I am thirty-five, and then the ranch is mine.”
“So the document between your father and Longfellow is no longer legally binding.”
She focused on the best part. He nodded.
“She honored her husband’s wishes by making you prove you wouldn’t squander the ranch before it becomes yours.”
He’d understood that, too. And nodded again.
“I’m assuming you’ve shown a profit every year?”
“I have. But that doesn’t change the fact that this could come out,” he told her now.
“You aren’t a Longfellow and technically you don’t own the ranch. You might not have legally committed fraud, but you look fraudulent. And you’re the son of a crook. As far as the show and Longfellow Beef are concerned, it’s a PR nightmare.”
He knew Natasha was worried when he heard her statement.
Which escalated his own growing concern. If only he’d been satisfied just to show a small profit each year, he could have quietly turned thirty-five in a few years and been home free.
But no, he’d gotten greedy. Had to make it big. Had to have the best beef. He’d brought Longfellow Ranch into the limelight. And if public perception turned against him for his lies...if he lost money because of it...
He was not going to lose his home. The ranch. Ruin Tabitha and Justin’s future. Their security.
Their very identity.
He couldn’t.
No matter what he had to do...
“I think that you should let me talk to my lawyer.” Natasha’s voice broke into his ruminations. Rescued him for the moment. “She can make discreet inquiries. I’ll find out where everything stands. We can’t make a decision until we’re fully informed.”
He nodded. And wished he’d never met her.
“We could just leave it alone,” he suggested, without any real oomph. She wasn’t going to do that. And he didn’t blame her. He wouldn’t expect or even ask her to.
“Family Secrets is involved now,” she said. “The ease with which my lawyer found the name change means that anyone who digs will find it. And to anyone looking for dirt on you, the name change will be a red flag, throwing up questions as to why...”
If Claire found out...
He stood. “It’s best that we face this now,” he said. “I need to be armed. I can have my own attorney look into it...”
She was shaking her head. “He’s local, Spencer. Let’s keep this one step away from you, from the kids, if we can.”
One step away. Her plan was sound.
But he didn’t like her doing his work for him. Didn’t like the idea of anyone in his business. Period.
But for Justin and Tabitha...he’d do anything.
“Call your lawyer,” he said.
And walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
NATASHA DROVE BACK to Palm Desert. She had an early afternoon meeting with Sharon. They were going to do this in person.
And as quickly as possible.
The Thanksgiving show was only weeks away. She needed time to rescript it without the engagement, to rescript the coming year’s themes and content.
To rescript her life.
But after no more than a cursory glance-over, she didn’t think about any of that as she drove for endless miles in what was seemingly the middle of nowhere.
Everywhere she looked, she saw Spencer as a little boy, alone in the desert. As a teenager, learning to drive and seeing beyond the ranch. As a college boy, traveling this very road. He’d lost so much. Starting with his mother at birth.
He’d never known the nurturing love of a mother.
Then, at six, to lose both men who were father figures to him.
To be raised by a woman who, no matter her motivation, had been cruel to him. Withholding the one thing he’d needed most—love and affection.
And shortly after her death, his young wife had left him—letting him believe his country ways were an embarrassment to her elite and powerful family.
Somewhere along the way, tears appeared on her cheeks.
No wonder Spencer wasn’t open to love again.
In so many ways, he was like the woman who’d raised him. Striving for the things that had seemed forever out of his reach—acceptance, belonging. Security.
And, like her, he’d prevented the possibility of further hurt by refusing to love again. The only difference between him and Sadie—and it was a huge one—was that he loved his kids. With every ounce of love inside of him.
It was no wonder to her now why he clung so tightly to his ranch. To the legacy he would pass on to his children. No wonder he got antsy in the city—or anytime he was away from the ranch overnight.
It was also no wonder why he’d had only a loveless marriage to offer Jolene. Or any woman. Except for with his kids, Spencer Barber Longfellow wasn’t capable of giving his heart away.
* * *
NATASHA HAD SAID she’d call as soon as she knew anything. Spencer spent all day Wednesday out working fences. With more than two thousand acres to cover, there was always fence line needing repair or adjustment. Parts of the property still had Gerald Longfellow’s old wooden fence posts. Spencer wasn’t going to tear them down until he had to. So he painted them when necessary, treating them with waterproofing so that they’d last another lifetime. And he restrung the fencing that ran between them.
Mostly, those jobs he did himself.
As a penance. And a reminder.
He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. Wasn’t sorry he’d kept up the lie after Sadie died. The ranch had been trusted to him. He only had to work hard and make it pay for it to be his solely and completely. If not for him, Longfellow Ranch would have fallen out of the hands of anyone who loved it, knew its history or cared about its heritage.
He’d done it for Gerald as much as anyone. For the man who’d saved his father from jail, and in so doing had given Spencer not only a home but also a father. Gerald had made a decent man out of Frank by staying by his side, taking away all the means by which he could feed his gambling addiction, being the friend who had his back. Because Frank had been willing to do the work. To earn the second chance.
Gerald had made an honest man of Frank. He’d helped him buy back his soul.
Spencer was a couple of miles from the compound, painting a post in the cool November sun, when his cell phone buzzed just before two.
“The agreement between Gerald and Frank was null and void upon Sadie’s death.”
She didn’t even say hello.
He appreciated her more in that moment than ever before.
“And there is nothing overtly illegal in what you’ve done. You have the legal right to represent Longfellow Ranch in business dealings. Which is what you’re doing. Your name is legally Longfellow.”
She was confirming what he already knew.
“Our problem isn’t a legal one,” she continued without giving him a chance to speak. “It’s a public-relations land mine.”
He’d known that, too. When it came to selling beef, reputation was everything. A hit, even a temporary one, could render him destitute—one year’s lack of profit was all it would take.
And if he had no home, no job... Claire would swoop in and take his kids.
The thoughts had been pounding him down all afternoon.
He stroked his brush against the wood his father’s hands had cut. Standing on the ground his father had dug to bury the pole. And looked at the hundreds of others just like them, neatly aligned for as far as he could see.
All hand-cut, hand-placed, by his father.
“Is there anyone else who might know that Sadie told you about the agreement?”
“I have no way of knowing that.”
“But you said that no one but you and Sadie knew about it.”
“As far as I’ve ever known, that’s true. But she might have told someone when I was a kid that there was an agreement regarding my inheritance. Someone could have overheard her going on at me about it...”
He couldn’t guarantee that no one knew...
“And what about the trust? Who knows that you are only a living tenant until you’re thirty-five?”
“Again, I have no way of knowing for sure, but as far as I know, only the attorney and I. And he can’t divulge anything.”
“Sharon suggested that we just leave this alone. And hope that Claire, or anyone else, fails to find what I found.”
He could continue to live the lie. Again. For just a few more years.
Relief swept through him. He’d do anything for his kids.
He looked at the long row of perfectly straight posts. Thought about a man who’d given up his freedom to make good for his son. Frank had died an honest man.
What he’d left to his son was the example of hard work. Of giving everything you had to do the right thing. To protect and provide for your children.
“I’m not going to lie anymore,” he said. “You found it easily. I’ve had warning.”
He couldn’t read into her silence.
“I’ll get back to you,” she said.
And the line went dead.
* * *
SHE CALLED AGAIN less than an hour later.
With paintbrush in hand, he stood upright, gazing at the horizon.
“I haven’t been to my PR firm yet. I’ve been here talking to Sharon.”
Her lawyer, still.
The sun was shining so brightly it hurt. Giving way to skies perf
ect in their pristine blue. Together they seemed to be a spotlight on his shame.
Could he breathe easier or not?
“There is a way to make this whole thing go away.”
He froze, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other hand dropping his paintbrush. “Legally and aboveboard? Officially go away?”
He knew her well enough to figure that was the case.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Whatever it takes. I’ll do it.”
“As a living tenant and eventual recipient of the trust, you could sell the ranch.”
The expletives springing to the fore were unspeakable. He’d thought, for a brief second there, that she’d had some hope to offer him. Something new.
“I cannot sell my ranch.”
“Actually, you can, though I understand that you don’t want to.”
He frowned. Feeling a permanent headache coming on.
“You could sell it to me, Spencer. And then I can sell it back to you. We would have to wait until you turn thirty-five so it doesn’t give the appearance of something underhanded between you and me, and we’d have to discuss sales amounts...”
He shook his head, disappointed again. She was sweet, trying so hard on his behalf. And that sweetness was actually making this all a little easier. But it didn’t solve the problem.
“If you buy the ranch, the money goes to the ranch, not...to me. I wouldn’t have the money to buy it back.”
“You’ve got the money I paid you for Family Secrets.”
“You paid the ranch.”
“I also paid you to cohost. That was for your services, Spencer, not the ranch’s.”
She was right. Both ways. He had some money of his own. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“The best solution is for me to buy the ranch. And when you turn thirty-five, I will sell it back to you.”
He was becoming his father.
Had already been his father, if he took a good hard look. By living the lie of being an owner instead of a living tenant, by pretending all these years that he was a Longfellow in more than name only. Natasha was giving him a chance to buy his soul back.
“Yes.”
The Cowboy's Twins Page 20
