The Rancher's Texas Match. Brenda Minton

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СКАЧАТЬ shook his head. “I have children at home.”

      “Bea, this won’t take a minute.” Harold cleared his throat and shook out the papers. “If you’ll just give me five minutes to read this. And then we can take care of the details.”

      He started to read. Silence held as the members looked from one to the other, clearly astonished. Tanner glanced across the table and made quick eye contact with Macy Swanson and got caught in those green eyes of hers. She looked wary and like she was pretty sure she shouldn’t be involved. She also looked like someone still hurting. The grief for her brother had turned to pain for a little boy still missing his parents.

      Listening as Haverman read the final will of one Cyrus Culpepper, curmudgeon and stirrer of the pot, Tanner thought that maybe they’d all just been tossed in the middle of a big old mess.

      I, Cyrus B. Culpepper, am writing this on my deathbed with, per my doc of over forty years, only days or weeks to go. I may be about to meet my maker, but I am of sound mind and hereby bequeath the bulk of my estate to the Boys Ranch, as I was once a resident myself back when the ranch first started in 1947. Yes, that’s right. I might be an old curmudgeon who can’t tolerate a thing, but since I was once a troubled kid who was turned around by the Boys Ranch, I want to do something for the place. However, I have conditions. When I lived at the Boys Ranch, there were four other original residents who I lost touch with. I would like you to bring them together for a reunion at the ranch on March 20th, a party on my birthday for the 70th anniversary celebration of the Boys Ranch. That gives you six months. Now, now, quit your bellyaching—given all the newfangled technology, search engines and social media nonsense, you’ll probably find them lickety-split. Though I never tried, so who knows? I suppose I’ve gotten a bit nostalgic in my old age and leave it up to you whippersnappers to do my bidding.

      Oh—and one more thing. I had a son, John Culpepper, who I didn’t get on with too well after his mother passed. We were estranged, but I know he had a child, a girl—Avery—who lost her mother. I heard, well after the fact, that my son died when the child was young. I have no idea what happened to her, and I’d like to invite her to the ranch to receive an inheritance.

      If the terms of my will are not met, I’ve instructed my attorney, Harold Haverman, to bequeath the estate, minus a small endowment to the Boys Ranch, to Lance Thurston, a real estate developer, to build a strip mall bearing my name. Sometimes you have to provide the right incentive.

      Now for the boring part. The “bulk of my estate” is to include my ranch house and all the outbuildings, livestock and land except for the cabin in which I grew up and the five acres of land it sits on. That cabin, five miles from the ranch on the outskirts of town, and land is bequeathed to Miss Avery Culpepper, to be given to her in March. I was a self-starter and believe everyone should be, but I also believe I did wrong by Avery and want her to have what she likely would have garnered over the years as my granddaughter. The rest of my bank accounts and investments are bequeathed to the LSCL Boys Ranch.

      Yours, Cyrus B. Culpepper

      Everyone was talking at once. Outrage. Shock. The library fairly rattled with raised voices. Fletcher Snowden Phillips, last remaining kin of the founders of the boys ranch, was the loudest. He was crowing that the ranch was meant to be at Silver Star and nowhere else. For a man constantly trying to litigate against the ranch, that rang false.

      Gabriel Everett pounded the gavel on the table, and a hush fell with just a few last-ditch remarks from those wanting to voice concern.

      “It looks as if we’ll need volunteers.” Gabriel looked over the group that had gone suspiciously quiet. No surprise. Everyone had something to say until they were asked to contribute more than words.

      Macy Swanson raised a tentative hand, and Gabriel gave her the floor. Tanner leaned back in his chair, wondering what she planned on saying...and why he was so interested to hear it.

       Chapter Two

      “I’ll volunteer to help find one of the people on the list. If anyone needs use of the library computers, they’re available. Social media is probably a good place to start searching.” She made quick eye contact with the people at the table, and when she got to Tanner, she faltered. Their gazes connected and she felt her cheeks flush.

      Gabriel Everett sat down at the head of the big table. He looked too relieved when Macy volunteered. And she felt a little apprehensive. She wasn’t a part of this group, of this town, or their lives. Every single day she woke up in Haven she felt like a fraud. She could buy boots, show up at church, even cook a decent dessert for the monthly potluck. But she was as far from country as a person could get.

      And she’d never been a part of a community, not a tight-knit place like this. People asked questions, they prodded, they wanted to be involved in her life and have her involved in theirs. She’d never been that kind of person. She’d grown up in a sprawling neighborhood, but she hadn’t known her neighbors.

      So why in the world had she raised her hand to volunteer? Because Gabriel had looked like a lost giant standing at the end of the table waiting for someone to say something?

      Now that she’d opened her mouth to volunteer, everyone was staring. Tanner Barstow, blue eyes and too-handsome face, wore a frown as he studied her from across the table. She glanced at Bea, hoping for a little moral support.

      Bea patted her arm and smiled big. “Well, there you go. We’re all sitting here stunned, and Macy is jumping right in. Gabriel, give us that list again so that Macy can write them down, and we can figure out who is doing what here. It seems to me that we don’t have time to waste. We need that ranch.”

      “And what if we can’t find those four people and the granddaughter?” Fletcher Snowden Phillips stood. He was tall, middle-aged, with thinning hair and a scowl that could have put off the most well-intentioned person.

      Macy shivered in reaction to his growling voice. As a lawyer, Fletcher knew how to back people down. And she knew that he had long wanted the boys ranch closed. She found that hard to believe, considering his grandmother Luella Snowden Phillips, along with the Lone Star Cowboy League, Waco Chapter, had started the boys ranch. His own father, Tucker, had been the reason for the ranch. A neighboring rancher had helped put Tucker back on the straight and narrow, and later on, mother and son had done what they could to save other boys.

      “What if these people have passed, or are too sick or just unwilling to come to this event Cyrus wanted us to plan?” Seth Jacobs, a rancher from closer to Waco, asked. Macy had met him at the boys ranch.

      Harold Haverman tapped the pages of the will on the table and stood, sliding the papers back into a folder. “If you don’t find the people he has asked you to find, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

      “I think the will clearly states that the property will be turned into a strip mall.” Gabriel shook his head as he made the observation.

      “That’s a mighty big strip mall,” Tanner drawled in that low, easy voice of his. He grinned at Gabriel. “I find it hard to believe Cyrus would do that to his pride and joy.”

      “It isn’t for us to say what Cyrus would or wouldn’t have done,” Beatrice chimed in. “We have to make sure that ranch becomes the property of the League because we have boys waiting to be a part of our program.”

      “I get that, Bea, but it seems a little like a wild-goose chase to me.” Flint Rawlings, foreman of the boys СКАЧАТЬ