Storms and Sermons (Sagebrush Cowboys #8)

Chapter 1

Cash

Daddy was dead and in the ground before I even knew he was gone.

And honestly? I didn’t much care either way.

The man was an asshole. Always had been, especially where I was concerned.

I recalled far too many screaming matches that ended in fist fights and bruises to miss him.

I hadn’t talked to him in years because of it.

And every time he sent me a letter, it went straight into the drawer in the bottom of the desk, unopened, and never to see the light of day.

I thought about throwing them all away more than once, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not yet.

So, when I got the news that he was dead, nothing changed. I went to work, same as always. I didn’t even tell anyone I’d seen his face in the paper that morning. Why would they care? As far as my coworkers were aware, I didn’t have any family. And that’s the way I liked it.

But when I got home late that night and saw the black Mercedes parked in front of my trailer, something felt off.

At first, I thought I was being raided. Maybe there was another junkie in the park trying to cook meth in his crawlspace again.

But this car didn’t look like it belonged to the cops.

It was too clean, too nice, and the guy standing beside it was wearing a three-piece suit.

“Can I help you?” I asked as I got out of my rusty truck.

“Are you Cash Callahan?” he asked, glancing down at a thick yellow folder in his hand. “Son of James Callahan?”

“Yeah,” I grunted. “Who’s askin’?”

“My name is Greg Cohen. I’m the executor of James’s estate.” He held out his hand to shake.

I couldn’t help but scoff, and I didn’t take his hand. “His estate? You’re tellin’ me that old bastard didn’t piss away his entire life before he died?” I crossed my arms, settling my weight back on one foot. “You aren’t here to get me to pay for his funeral, are you?”

Cohen seemed a bit thrown by my hostility, but he recovered quickly, lowering his hand.

“Not at all, Mr. Callahan. Your father’s funeral expenses were covered by his estate.” He cleared his throat. “I understand you two weren’t close, but I’d like to discuss some matters with you. Perhaps we could talk inside?”

I eyed him suspiciously. The last thing I needed was some slick lawyer trying to pull one over on me. But the thought of my old man having anything worth inheriting had me curious despite myself.

“Fine,” I muttered, fishing my keys from my pocket. “But make it quick. And if you try to sell me anythin’, I’m kickin’ you out.”

He nodded, that soft smile still plastered on his face.

I led him to my trailer, painfully aware of how it must look to someone who drove a Mercedes. The steps creaked under our weight as we climbed up to the door.

“It ain’t much,” I said, not sure why I felt the need to explain myself to this stranger. “But it’s mine.”

Inside wasn’t any better. Empty beer cans on the coffee table, dishes in the sink from three days ago. I hadn’t expected company. In fact, I did my best to keep people out.

“Want a beer?” I offered, more out of habit than hospitality.

“No, thank you,” Cohen replied, looking uncomfortable as he perched on the edge of my worn couch. “I’m still on the clock, so to speak.”

I grabbed a beer for myself anyway and dropped into the recliner across from him. “So what’d the old man leave me? His collection of empty whiskey bottles?”

Cohen opened his folder. “Actually, Mr. Callahan, your father left you his ranch. The entire property, which is approximately three hundred acres in Sagebrush.”

I nearly choked on my beer. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“I assure you I am not.” He pulled out some papers. “I took a look at the historical records, and it looks like the Callahan Ranch has been in your family for three generations.”

“I know the history,” I snapped. Clearly none of that mattered to my old man when he kicked me out. “Why me?” I asked, genuinely confused. “He made it pretty clear I wasn’t welcome there anymore.”

Cohen hesitated. “Your father was... complicated. But in his final years, he expressed regret about your estrangement. These are his words, not mine.”

I took a long pull from my beer, trying to process this information. The ranch. The place where I’d grown up, where I’d learned to ride, where I’d also had the worst day of my life when Dad caught me with my best friend Tyler Blackburn in the hayloft and told me no son of his was going to be a—

Well. That was a long time ago.

“There’s something else you should know,” Cohen continued. “The ranch isn’t exactly... thriving. Your father had some financial difficulties in recent years.”

“Of course he did,” I muttered. Just like him to leave me a money pit.

“There’s one more thing,” Cohen said, pulling out another document. “You have a cousin who still lives in Sagebrush. Brooks Callahan. He runs a small cattle operation adjacent to your father’s property.”

That name hit me like a punch to the gut. Brooks. We’d been close when I was a kid, before everything went to hell. He was almost like an uncle to me back then. I hadn’t thought about him in years.

“Brooks is still there?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

“Yes. According to your father’s notes, he checks in on the ranch occasionally.”

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. A ranch I never wanted, a cousin I hadn’t spoken to in over a decade, and the ghost of a father who’d rejected me. All of it was waiting for me in Sagebrush, Texas.

“When do I need to decide what to do with it?” I asked.

“The property is yours effective immediately,” Cohen replied. “But I would recommend that you visit soon to assess its condition and determine your next steps.”

I nodded slowly, already dreading what I might find. “And if I don’t?”

“The ranch is paid for, in full,” Cohen said, handing me the thick yellow envelope full of what I assumed was paperwork and the deed to the ranch. “It’ll probably take two years before the overdue property taxes cause a seizure by the county.”

I took the envelope, turned it over in my hand, then tossed it down on the coffee table with a thud, sending beer cans scattering. “Good. Let them take it. I don’t want his pity, anyway.”

“Mr. Callahan,” the lawyer sighed. “Can I speak frankly?”

“It’s a free country,” I grumbled.

“You’re what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five years old?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got a lot of life ahead of you and this ranch, even if you don’t want to keep it, could set you up for the rest of your life.

” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at me.

“You don’t have to keep the ranch. You don’t even have to like it.

But do you really want to let it go to waste over some squabble you and your father had? ”

“He was an asshole,” I shot back. “He disowned me.”

“Okay,” Cohen nodded. “So why not sell off the ranch, take your money, and go live your dreams in spite of him then?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. The idea of making money off the old man’s property and using it to spite him did have a certain appeal.

“How much?” I asked, suddenly interested.

Cohen shrugged. “Hard to say without seeing its current condition, but land in that area is valuable. Even if the structures need work, the acreage alone could fetch a decent price. A million, maybe more. Enough to live on for a long time without any worries.”

I let out a low whistle. That kind of money would change everything. I could leave this trailer park, maybe start over somewhere new. Somewhere no one knew me or my story. Maybe I could even get my life together and find some handsome fella to settle down with. That would really show my old man.

“I’d need to see it first,” I said, surprising myself with the words. “Before I decide anything.”

“I think that’s wise,” Cohen said, looking relieved. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and placed them on the coffee table. “These are yours now. The main house, barn, various outbuildings.”

I stared at the keys. They looked old and well-worn. I remembered them hanging from Dad’s belt loop as he worked around the ranch.

“One more thing,” Cohen said, tapping the thick envelope on the table. “Your father left you a letter in there. He asked that you read it when you’re ready.”

I stared at the envelope like it was a rattler. “I’ve got enough of his letters I never read,” I said.

“You don’t have to read it,” Cohen said. “That’s up to you. But he did write it the week before he passed.”

I scoffed, not moved by his words. “I’ll think about it.”

Cohen nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. He stood up and handed me his business card. “Call me when you’ve made a decision, or if you have any questions. The property taxes are paid through the end of the year, so you have some time.”

After he left, I sat there staring at the envelope and keys. Part of me wanted to throw it all in the trash, but another part, a part I didn’t particularly like, was curious.

A million dollars. Maybe more.

I grabbed another beer and popped it open, then grabbed the thick envelope and tore it open.

Inside, just as I expected, was the deed to the ranch, several copies of the estate holdings, a few years worth of tax records, blueprints, sales records for the cattle that no longer existed, and finally, the letter my father had written.

I stared at the front of it, my name written in his familiar blocky handwriting.

For half a second, I nearly turned it over and opened it.

But then, thinking better of it, I walked it over to my desk and tossed it into the lower drawer with all the other letters he sent over the years, and slammed it shut.

“Fuck you,” I grumbled, staring at that closed drawer.

“I’m gonna sell your ranch and go on a gay cruise across the world just to spite you,” I said through gritted teeth.

“And I’m gonna do everything you said I couldn’t…

be everything you told me I couldn’t be…

” I wiped hot tears away, furious they even dared to exist. “Fuck you for dying...”

I sank back into my recliner, draining my beer in a couple of gulps.

For a long moment I just sat there, the blood pounding in my ears.

None of this was fair or right. And yet, I already knew that I wasn’t going to work tomorrow, that I wasn’t going to be in this trailer anymore come the end of the week.

I was going to Sagebrush, back to my childhood home that I swore I’d never return to ever again. I was going to sell that ranch, take the money, and run.

And not a fucking thing on the entire planet was going to stop me.