Chapter 1
Chapter One
Jasper, Present Day
There’s a kind of silence that settles in after a funeral. The kind that makes you think everything’s about to change whether you’re ready or not. It’s not something you can grasp. Just a feeling.
And it’s how I feel right now.
My asshole Uncle Pete sits beside me in the lawyer’s office, one ankle crossed over his knee like he owns the place.
Like this just a formality. And hell, it kind of is.
We both know how this ends. Everyone does.
The ranch goes to him. That’s always been the plan.
In our family, there’s a strict order to how things go.
The ranch is passed down, generation after generation.
If my dad was still here, it’d go to him, but since he’s not, my uncle is next in line.
Which is bullshit, if you ask me. I’m the one who’s done all the work.
The one who’s done his best to keep the place from falling apart after my dad died.
Pete hasn’t done shit, and he never has.
He didn’t care about the ranch until he saw the dollar signs after my grandpa died.
But that doesn’t matter.
It’s never mattered.
“Go ahead,” my uncle says, impatiently waving a hand at Dwight, the lawyer. “Let’s get ’er done.”
I don’t say anything. My eyes stay on the envelope as it’s opened, something tight coiling in my chest, though I’m not sure why.
Dwight clears his throat, then looks from me to Pete before reading from the document. “I, Clyde Jasper Smith, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament…”
The words roll on, steady and practiced. I’m sure he reads dozens of these a week and can probably recite most of the verbiage in his sleep.
My uncle shifts beside me, already bored. “Skip to the part that matters, would you?”
Dwight doesn’t.
Good. I don’t trust this heavy feeling sitting in my gut.
“…all rights, title, and interest in and to the real property known as Wind River Ranch…”
Here we go.
My shoulders tense, waiting for it.
“…I devise and bequeath in equal and undivided shares to my grandson, Jasper Smith”—I hold my breath, something telling me he’s not finished talking—"and Chesney Jennings.”
Silence drops like a gunshot.
My head turns slowly. “What?”
Then my uncle scoffs in disbelief. I don’t have to look at him to know there’s a lethal scowl on his face. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
My brain is stuck on the first part. My grandson, Jasper Smith. Not my son. He didn’t leave the property to Pete… But why?
Dwight keeps going like nothing’s wrong, like he didn’t just drop a bomb strong enough to shake the entire building.
Pete leans forward, elbows on his knees now, all that easy confidence gone. “Hold on,” he cuts in. “Back up.”
The lawyer pauses, glancing at my uncle above his thick-framed glasses. “Mr. Smith?”
“My father had one living son. You might want to check that document again,” he mutters. “I’m the next in line for that property. Clearly, there’s been some kind of a mix-up.”
I feel his eyes cut sideways at me, like this is somehow my fault. The weight of his gaze makes me want to turn in on myself.
“The will is correct as written, I assure you,” Dwight replies dryly.
“No,” Pete practically growls, a short laugh under his breath. “No, it’s not. You expect me to believe he skipped me entirely and handed it to”—he gestures vaguely between us—“him? And a goddamn Jennings boy?”
There it is. The real issue. It’s not just that he left a portion of it to a Jennings, but because he left it to me, too.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, watching him instead of the lawyer now.
“The man was old as shit and damn near senile, but I figured he’d remember who actually deserves that place,” he mutters, but not quite under his breath.
My jaw tightens. “That’s funny,” I say evenly. “I don’t remember seeing you out there at five a.m., putting in the time, doing the work. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember ever seeing you putting in work anywhere on that ranch.”
His head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone, boy.”
“Then don’t rewrite history.”
The air is tense, like every single person, except for the lawyer, is waiting with bated breath to see what happens next. Dwight clears his throat like he’s considering stepping in, then thinks better of it.
Pete shakes his head, dragging a hand down his face before sitting back again, but there’s nothing relaxed about him now. “This is unbelievable,” he says. “I’m his son.”
“And I’m the one who kept this place running the last fifteen years with his other son,” I shoot back, my heart thundering.
Silence follows, thick and heavy.
For a moment, something flickers across his face—almost like recognition—but it hardens just as fast. “That don’t make it yours.”
I don’t miss the way he says yours, like it still should’ve been his. Like I’m just in the way.
Then the rest of it hits me, and I almost laugh.
Chesney Jennings.
“Out of everyone,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else, “he picked a Jennings.”
“That boy has no claim to this family,” my uncle bites out. “None. This is Smith land.”
“Apparently, not anymore,” I say, my voice quieter than his, but somehow, it lands harder.
Turning to me once more, his face twists up. “You think this is fucking funny?”
“Not even a little.” But what I do think is that this was intentional. Every bit of it. Not my uncle. Me. And Chesney. My grandfather didn’t overlook it. He didn’t forget. He chose this, and judging by the look on my uncle’s face, that might be the part he never forgives.
Dwight shifts papers as he tries to regain control of the room. “If I may continue…”
“Yeah.” Pete huffs. “Let’s hear how much worse it can get.”
I don’t look at him because I already know this isn’t just about the ranch. It never has been, at least not entirely.
“As a material condition of this devise,” he continues, cutting through the tension like it’s nothing, “neither beneficiary shall have the right to sell, transfer, convey, or otherwise dispose of their interest in the ranch for a period of one year.”
“One year?” my uncle barks, sitting up straight again.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, hands clasped together as I stare at the floor. What the fuck is happening?
“…during which time, the beneficiaries shall jointly possess, manage, and operate the ranch in good faith—”
My uncle lets out a harsh laugh. “He’s got to be fucking joking.”
“He was not,” Dwight says plainly.
“Absolutely not,” he booms, shaking his head. “We’ll contest it.”
Knew that was coming.
“It’s airtight,” Dwight replies. “Your father anticipated that possibility.”
Dragging a hand over my mouth, I exhale slowly as everything sinks in. Run Wind River, with Chesney Jennings, for a year. Or lose it. Lose the ranch that’s been in my family for generations. The ranch I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into since I was a kid.
“Should either beneficiary fail to materially contribute,” the lawyer goes on, “that beneficiary shall forfeit their interest—”
“So we make sure he fails,” my uncle cuts in immediately. “Kid’s been gone for years. He won’t last a week.”
Something in me stills. There’s no way my grandfather did this to hand us an easy out. He did it for a reason, even if I don’t know what the hell it is yet.
“Mr. Smith, I would strongly advise against that course of action. The will contains a non-interference clause that states any attempt by either beneficiary to sabotage or deliberately undermine the other’s ability to operate the ranch will result in immediate forfeiture of their interest, which shall pass in full to the remaining party.
Again, your father was very clear about this. ”
That shuts him up. For a second, anyway. “This is my ranch now,” he finally says, quieter now, but more firmly. “It was supposed to be mine.”
I don’t argue. He’s not wrong.
But neither is the paper in the lawyer’s hands.
“It’s not anymore,” I say as I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling for a second before my gaze drops to the desk in front of me, at the will that just rewrote everything I thought I knew. “When does he find out?”
Dwight folds the document neatly. “The documents will be delivered to Blue Ember Cattle Co. tomorrow morning.”
“But he doesn’t live there anymore.” He hasn’t for almost twenty years.
Dwight nods. “That’s his last known address in town. His family can accept the documents on his behalf.”
Nausea swirls around in my gut. Chesney Jennings back in town, on my land, working beside me like nothing ever happened... For three hundred and sixty-five long days.
I swallow past the growing lump in my throat. “Then I guess,” I say, my voice steady even if nothing else is, “we’ve got a year to figure out if this place survives him.”
Or if we don’t.
I thought the worst part of burying my grandfather would be lowering him into the ground.
But it turns out, the worst part is what he left behind.