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      And they had.

      Many times.

      As executor, Travis’s job was to make certain all of Brock Jarrett’s wishes were carried out to the letter. And Rhett’s father had left many...letters. Red Dog Ranch had been willed to Rhett in full—the land and his father’s vast accounts. But there were conditions.

      If Rhett rejected the position of director, then they were supposed to sell the land and donate the money from the sale to a charity Brock had stipulated. Even in death his dad had placed continuation of the programs offered at the ranch before his family’s long-term well-being. The only other option allowed in the will was for the property to pass to Boone, but Boone had been emphatic about refusing the inheritance. He wanted to finish seminary. He had a plan that didn’t involve the ranch and no one could fault Boone for putting God first.

      Well, Rhett refused to remove his mom from her home, from the land she loved. Even at the expense of his own happiness. His father had effectively tied his hands, making him the bad guy if he backed out.

      Rhett lifted his chin. He wasn’t backing out. He would take care of his family’s future, would succeed in a way his father never had.

      Kodiak made a small sound in her sleep, drawing Rhett’s attention for a heartbeat.

      He had placed his business, Straight Arrow Retrievers, on hold after getting the call that his father had passed away. But “on hold” might quickly become “closed forever.” A burning sensation settled in Rhett’s chest.

      It was too much to manage. Too much to juggle. There was no way he could keep his business, the ranch and the foster programs all running successfully. One of them had to go.

      His jaw hardened. “I’m going to find a loophole out of the foster programs at the ranch.”

      Uncle Travis frowned. “Even if you could—and I’m fairly certain you can’t—talk like that would have broken your dad’s heart.”

      “He knew how I felt about everything when he chose this for me,” Rhett said.

      While Red Dog Ranch had always functioned as a working cattle ranch, it also existed as a place that served children in the foster system. When Rhett was young, they had started hosting large parties for foster kids throughout Texas Hill Country for every major holiday. That had morphed into weekend programs that taught horseback riding and other life skills. The final addition had been building a summer camp on the property that was free for foster children to attend.

      The summer camp had been Brock’s pride and joy. It had seemed as if he lived all year for the weeks the ranch swelled with hundreds of kids. His father had poured his time and energy into every single one of the kids. Often as kids aged out of the foster care system, Brock had offered them positions on his property.

      Rhett cared about kids who didn’t have a home.

      He did.

      But it would be almost impossible to carry on his dad’s mission with the same passion. He scrubbed his hand over his jaw and blew out a long breath. As horrible as it sounded, he resented Red Dog Ranch and all that it stood for. His father had cared more about it and the foster children than anything else.

      Especially more than he’d cared about Rhett.

      Uncle Travis clicked his briefcase closed and stood up. He hovered near the desk, though. “A gift is only as good as what you do with it.”

      Rhett stood. Crossed his arms over his chest. “A gift and a burden are two very different things.”

      But Uncle Travis pressed on. “Your aunt Pearl, bless her, she never knew what to do when someone gave her something really nice.” He laid his free hand over his heart. “When I lost her and got around to cleaning out her stuff, you know what I found?”

      Rhett pressed his fingertips into the solid desktop and shook his head. Once Uncle Travis got started down a rabbit trail, there was no point stopping him.

      “Boxes of expensive lotions and perfumes that our kids had given her over the years.” Travis fanned out his hand as if he was showing an expansive array. “She’d just squirreled it all away. Jewelry that I’d given her and the kids had given her.” He pursed his lips. “All never worn.”

      Rhett offered his uncle a sad smile. Aunt Pearl had been one of his favorite people growing up and he knew, despite her stubborn streak, Travis missed her every day. Letting the man talk would do no harm.

      “Pearl grew up poor, you see,” Uncle Travis said. “I don’t know whether she was waiting for a time she deemed special enough to use those things, or if she just didn’t believe she was special enough to use them. But in the end it didn’t matter, did it? All those things, those pretty things, all of them went to waste. Unused. Rotting and tarnished or full of dust. Pearl never got to enjoy them because she didn’t believe she was worth enjoying them.”

      Rhett looped a hand around the back of his neck and rocked in his boots. “Why are you telling me this?”

      “Like I said—” Travis’s voice was wistful “—a gift is only as good as what you do with it.” His uncle tugged on his suit jacket and made his way toward the door. “Remember, son. ‘For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.’”

      It had been a while since Rhett had cracked the book. “I know the Bible, Uncle Travis.”

      He paused as he opened the door. “Ah, but do you know the heart of God in this matter? Have you sought that out, son? Because that’s more valuable than a hundred memorized Bible verses.” Uncle Travis shrugged. “Just a thought.”

      After his uncle left, Rhett fought the urge to sit back down and drop his head into his hands. Fought the desire to finally lose it over his dad’s death. Fall apart once and for all. But he couldn’t do that, not now. Maybe not ever.

      Way too many people were counting on him to be strong.

      Rhett mentally packed up every messy emotion in his heart and shoved them into a lockbox. He pretended he was jamming them down, squishing them until they were so small and insignificant they weren’t worth thinking about. Or talking about or sharing with anyone.

      No one would care about them anyway.

      Then he clicked the lockbox shut and tucked it into the darkest corner of his mind to be forgotten.

      * * *

      Macy was going to pace a hole in the floorboards at the front of the ranch’s office. Travis Jarrett had left half an hour ago, but Rhett still hadn’t vacated his father’s office. What was taking so long?

      She jerked her hair up into a ponytail.

      The second—the very second—he left that office he’d have to listen to her, hear her out.

      She’d make him.

      Macy paused near her desk and picked up a framed photo of her and Brock Jarrett. It had been taken at last year’s spring kickoff event for Camp Firefly—the free summer camp Brock ran at Red Dog Ranch for foster kids. She traced a finger over the photo—Brock’s smile.

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