Chapter 19 #2
“He set you up to fail,” Willa says softly. “He made it so you couldn’t sell, and he made it so you couldn’t live there without them.”
“Exactly,” I say. “He trusted them with his legacy. He didn’t trust me.”
“I’m so sorry, Saramaria,” Willa says. “That’s a terrible betrayal.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Josie asks, leaning forward. “There has to be an angle.”
I swirl the dregs of my cocoa. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning.
There are a few avenues. I could argue that the leases are invalid because Anthony wasn’t of sound mind when he signed the last one.
He was elderly, maybe showing signs of dementia.
It would require medical records, maybe a hearing, but it’s possible.
” I pause, thinking. “Or I could look into adverse possession. They’ve been living there for years, improving the land, maintaining it.
If I can prove they acted as owners without my permission, I could sue to eject them.
But that would mean admitting my grandfather knew about it and did nothing, which hurts my case. ”
“Is there a way to buy them out?” Willa asks. “Pay them to leave?”
“They don’t want money,” I say, thinking of Boone’s face when he talked about the ranch being his home. “They want the land. They feel entitled to it because they put the work in. And honestly... they did put the work in. The place is running. It’s profitable. They saved it from ruin.”
Josie squints at me. “You sound like you’re defending them.”
“I’m not,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “I’m just looking at the facts. If I go in with a sledgehammer, it’s going to get ugly. Long court battles. Appeals. They could drag it out for years. And in the meantime, I’m stuck there. With them.”
The thought shouldn’t make my stomach flutter. It shouldn’t make me think of Boone carrying me out of the rain, or Rhett boiling water for a bath, or the way Knox talked to chickens this morning.
“You could try to coexist,” Willa suggests gently. “Just for a while. Until you figure out a long-term strategy.”
“I can’t coexist with people who stole my inheritance,” I say, but the words feel weak. “Besides, they hate me. They think I’m just a city girl trying to cash in.”
“Do they?” Josie asks. “Because they ran into a storm to find your dog. They dragged your mattress out to the living room so you wouldn’t freeze. That doesn’t sound like hate to me.”
I don’t have an answer for that. I’m distracted by the sound of the truck pulling in.
“Your men are back,” Josie says.
Not my men.
“Let it go,” Willa chastises her best friend. “She’s already stressed enough as it is.”
I stand up, needing to move. “I should get going. I’m glad I came to see you. Please know that you can text me whenever, okay?”
“Thanks, Saramaria,” Willa says, standing up too. “And I’m glad you came by.”
“Sorry about…” Josie gestures toward the door as she speaks. “I didn’t have to say that.”
“It’s okay,” I’m quick to soothe. “Besides, we’re friends. I wouldn’t hold it against you. And thanks for the cocoa.”
“Stay safe with the storm rolling in.” Willa takes my hand and squeezes. “Please be careful.”
“I will,” I promise.
I hug them both, feeling a fierce surge of affection for these women. They are the friends I chose. Not because of biology or paperwork, but because they see me.
I walk out to the truck. Boone is leaning against the hood, talking to Knox. They stop when they see me.
“Hey,” Knox says.
“Hey guys.” I climb into the back seat.
“Is she okay?” Boone asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as he starts the car and starts driving.
“She will be,” I say. “Her pack is taking her to get registered today.”
“Smart,” Knox says from the passenger seat. “Gives them legal standing. If I were them, I’d do the same.”
“Did you get the generators?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yeah,” Boone says. “Two big industrial ones. One for the house, one for the barn. We’ll hook them up when we get back.”
“That must have been expensive,” I say.
“Worth it,” Knox says. “Can’t have the pipes freezing. And we need power for the water pump.”
I look out the window. The rain has stopped completely, and the sun is trying to break through the clouds. The landscape is a soaked, muddy mess, but there’s a stark beauty to it.
My mind drifts back to the conversation with Josie and Willa. The legal angles. The options.
Adverse possession. Unsound mind. Breach of contract.
They’re all aggressive moves. They’re all designed to win. That’s who I am. I’m a lawyer. I fight to win.
But as I watch the miles roll by, a different thought creeps in, uninvited and persistent.
If I win, what happens to them?
If I invalidate the leases, if I prove Anthony was incompetent, if I kick them out... where do they go?
Boone has been there since he was a teenager. He has no other home. He has no family. Knox uses the ranch as his retreat from the circuit, the only place he feels like himself. Rhett left a pack that destroyed him and built a new life here.
If I sell the ranch, they’re homeless. If I keep it and evict them, they’re homeless.
I picture Boone standing in the rain, demanding I get back inside because it’s too cold. I picture Rhett boiling water on a wood stove because I was having a panic attack about being dirty. I picture Knox running into the dark to find my dog.
They’re annoying. They’re stubborn. They’re infuriating.
But they’re also... good men. In a world where Jack Dalton exists, where my grandfather could be so cruel, where my fiancé could betray me with my best friend... these men are solid. They’re real.
“Cost is on me,” I say suddenly.
The truck goes quiet.
“What?” Boone asks, looking at me in the mirror again.
“The generators,” I say. “And the food last night. And the fuel for the trucks. You’ve been paying for everything on the ranch. Maintaining it. Feeding the cattle. That’s my responsibility. I should reimburse you.”
Knox turns around in his seat to look at me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” I say. “But I want to. It’s my ranch. Those are my expenses.”
Boone’s eyes are dark in the mirror. I can’t read his expression. He looks back at the road.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he says.
“Okay,” I say.
I lean my head against the cold glass. The conversation dies down. Knox and Boone start talking again about the generators—the wattage, the fuel consumption, the transfer switch. They use terms I don’t understand, discussing it with the same intensity they discuss bull riding.
Their voices wash over me, a low hum of masculine energy.
I stare at the back of Boone’s head. At the way his hand grips the steering wheel. I think about the bruised knuckles on Rhett’s hand that I noticed earlier.
I’m the lawyer. I’m the owner and the one with the power. So why do I feel like the one who is losing?
Maybe because I don’t want to win if the cost is their home.
I close my eyes. The legal briefs in my head are messy, the arguments tangled. The law doesn’t offer a clear path. It just offers a battlefield, and I’m not sure I want to fight anymore.
The truck hits a pothole, jarring me. I open my eyes. We’re turning onto the dirt road that leads to Meadowlark. The ranch is ahead of us, the roofs of the cabins peeking through the trees.
It looks like a home. Not a property. A home.
And I’m the intruder who is trying to tear it down.
The thought sits heavy in my chest as we pull up to the house. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I know that whatever decision I make, it won’t be just about the law.
It will be about them.
We climb out of the truck. The heavy thud of the generators hitting the muddy ground vibrates through the soles of my boots. Knox wipes his hands on his jeans, leaving dark smears of grease and dirt.
Boone’s already unhooking the chains from the truck bed, his movements efficient and brisk. The rain has held off for the drive back, but the sky is a bruised purple, swollen with the promise of more to come.
Rhett walks over from the woodpile, stripping off his work gloves. He looks tired, his shoulders slumped slightly, but he offers a tight nod.
“Power isn’t back yet,” he reports, his breath puffing in the cooling air. “But I got the wood chopped and stacked on the porch. Should be enough for a few days.”
“Good,” Boone says, slamming the tailgate shut. “Because looking at that sky, I’d say we aren’t going anywhere for a while.”
He turns to me. I’m standing near the porch steps, clutching my coat tight around myself. My hand throbs—a dull, persistent ache that seems to echo the headache settling behind my eyes.
“Weather doesn’t look like it’s improving,” Boone says, gesturing toward the horizon where the clouds are rolling in like dark mountains. “We need to stock the pantry. Make sure we have enough non-perishables to last a week. And feed for the animals. I saw the barn supply is running low.”
“I can help,” I say immediately. I hate standing here while they work. I hate being the passive observer in my own life. “I can organize the pantry. I can make a list.”
Boone frowns, his eyes dropping to my hand. The splinter wound is healing, but the bruise from the fall is still a vivid yellow and green across my wrist.
“With your hand?” he asks, skepticism heavy in his tone. “You’re better off not. You’ll just aggravate it.”
“I can type with one hand,” I argue, stepping forward. “I can carry boxes. I’m not an invalid, Boone.”
“You’re injured,” he counters, his voice leaving no room for argument. “We don’t need you making it worse. We can handle it.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. It’s not just his words; it’s the way he says them. Like I’m a child. Like I’m a delicate piece of china that might shatter if I lift a can of beans.
“I’m fine,” I snap.
“Saramaria—”
“Forget it,” I cut him off. I turn on my heel and stomp up the porch steps. “Do whatever you want.”