Her Holiday Rancher

Gabe almost choked. Was his father serious? The two men sitting across from him hadn’t grown up at the ranch. As children they’d moved six hundred miles away to Northern California and never once come back, ignoring the requests to visit their dying father and say goodbye.

He half listened to the rest of the reading. Violet Hathaway, the ranch’s livestock manager, along with the Dempsey housekeeper of twenty-plus years, were to retain their jobs. Lastly, there was a mention of selling shares to one another and how the profits were to be distributed.

Profits, right. What a joke. There weren’t any, and hadn’t been since August had become ill.

“Questions?” Hector asked, sounding a lot like a parrot.

Gabe shook his head. He would read his copy of the will later, when he was less agitated and better able to focus, though it wouldn’t make much difference.

The empty hole inside him ached. He’d admired, respected and loved his father with boundless devotion. Now he feared he might have been wrong. Whether his father had realized it or not, he’d forced Gabe into partnership with his brothers and, by the looks on their faces, they were as unhappy about the outcome as Gabe.

“Are we done?” Cole asked, his tone sharp.

“Not quite.” Hector set his briefcase on the floor by his feet. “There’s the matter of the trustee.”

“Trustee?” Gabe’s mother leaned forward. “What is a trustee?”

“The Dos Estrellas and August’s other property are actually held in the trust he established. As with all trusts, a person or entity is designated to oversee the trust and carry out the terms of the will according to the decedent’s wishes. Typically, the trustee makes the distributions, and, in this case, will oversee the management of the estate per August’s instructions.”

“Dad hired a manager?” Gabe couldn’t believe his ears.

“Not exactly. You and your brothers will run the ranch. But’s the trustee’s job to make sure you’re running it according to the terms of your father’s will. For instance, your mother and Cara continue to live here as long as they choose and Cara’s mustang sanctuary is protected.”

That sounded reasonable, Gabe supposed.

“You should know your father gave the trustee full financial powers until the ranch operates in the black for at least one full year, and all his medical bills are paid off. The trustee’s duties will end only then or if the ranch is sold.”

“I don’t understand,” Josh said.

“Essentially, while you and your brothers run the ranch, the trustee will be pulling the purse strings.”

If Gabe wasn’t already in a state of shock, this latest bombshell would have knocked him to his knees. His father had preferred for someone outside the family handle the ranch’s finances over his son? His sons?

“Who’s the trustee?” Gabe asked.

Hector waited a beat before responding. “The Southern Arizona Bank.”

Mustang Valley’s sole financial institution. Gabe was familiar with them, like everyone else in the community.

“Why?”

“A trustee is supposed to abide by the terms of the will.” Hector shrugged. “Unfortunately, they don’t always. It can happen when family members are put in charge. Emotions run high. As a result, some individuals choose an entity, such as a bank, or an attorney, to act as trustee. They tend to adhere more strictly to the terms of the will and keep emotions out of it.”

Perhaps Gabe’s father had the foresight to realize forcing his three sons into an unwanted partnership would guarantee high-running emotions.

The front doorbell rang, startling several of the room’s occupants. Not Hector. He made his way to the large, ornately carved wooden door.

“Who could that be?” Gabe’s mother moved as if to rise. “I specifically requested no visitors this afternoon.”

“It’s all right,” Hector said. “I arranged for the representative from the bank to be here today in order to meet you all and put your fears to rest.”

He opened the heavy door. It swung wide, revealing a feminine silhouette cast in dark shadows from the sun’s slanting rays.

“Am I early?” the woman asked.

“Not at all, come in,” he said. “We’re ready for you.”

Gabe blinked as the representative stepped across the threshold, convinced he was seeing things. It couldn’t be. This had to be a mistake. Or someone’s idea of a sick joke. He wasn’t sure if he should shout in protest or laugh out loud.

Hector took the young, professionally dressed woman by the arm and led her to the center of the room as if she were on display.

“For those of you who haven’t met her before, this is Reese McGraw, assistant manager at Southern Arizona Bank and the trustee of August Dempsey’s estate.”

* * *

“THANK YOU.” REESE accepted the cup of coffee Raquel Salazar offered and smiled in appreciation. Other than the attorney Hector Fuentes, Gabe’s mother was the only one to show Reese any friendliness so far.

It was to be expected. Even under normal circumstances, no one in the Dempsey or Salazar families would be pleased to welcome her, the daughter of Theo McGraw. To learn she was the employee at Southern Arizona Bank in charge of overseeing August Dempsey’s estate, well, it must be a shock.

Gabe’s features hardened each time he glanced at her, which was often. If he was trying to scare her off, it wouldn’t work. Reese was here to stay.

It was, she mused, a far cry from the way he’d looked at her yesterday while waiting for her father and Enrico to arrive with the truck and trailer. When he’d buttoned her into the rain poncho, she swore the heat of attraction had flared in his eyes. Not to mention his touch lingered far longer than necessary.

The poncho had kept her warm, all right. That, and the effects of his proximity.

Reese silently scolded herself, alarmed by the direction of her thoughts. She’d known Gabe most of her life, but not once entertained any romantic notions about him. What had changed since their last conversation twelve years ago? Was it her or him?

“You are welcome,” Raquel said in her lilting Hispanic accent. “How is your father doing? He looked a little pale yesterday at the service.”

Reese gave a small start. Raquel had noticed her father’s appearance? Surely, she’d had much, much more on her mind at the funeral than Theo McGraw. Reese swallowed. Soon, her father’s symptoms would become increasingly apparent. Hiding his Parkinson’s would be impossible.

Good. His constant care, and the tremendous burden that came with it, were taking a toll on her, physically and emotionally. He needed help managing his symptoms beyond her limited abilities. Yet he refused to hire an experienced health care professional, convinced people in Mustang Valley would view him differently. Think less of him.

She wished he could see how wrong he was. The same people he feared would pity him had rallied to comfort the family and offer support during August Dempsey’s long illness. They would do the same for her father.

She blamed the damnable McGraw pride, which her father possessed in abundance. She, too, perhaps. Hadn’t she left town shortly after realizing she was pregnant with Blake Nolan’s baby, convinced people would talk behind her and her father’s backs?

“He was tired,” she explained to Raquel. “His arthritis has been keeping him awake at night.”

Her hostess sighed expansively. “I understand. I have my own complaints. Give him my regards, will you?”

“Of course.”

She patted Reese’s arm before gliding away.

Reese admired Gabe’s mother. While the sadness in Raquel’s eyes showed evidence of her grief and sorrow, she remained strong and stalwart. Perhaps, in a way, she was relieved at his passing. August had been in considerable pain at the end, and no one wanted to see their loved one needlessly suffer.

Funny they’d never married. August and his wife divorced twenty-plus years ago. Reese was curious. Reading the entirety of his will hadn’t provided any insight.