All for a Cowboy

“Tea, then.”

Five minutes later Jordan had a jar of iced tea in front of him and was stirring sugar into the bitter brew. “Iced tea’s not supposed to be this strong,” he muttered as Emery read over the inheritance documents Jordan had given him, letting out an occasional snort.

“Don’t be a sissy,” Emery replied absently. He hadn’t asked about the accident, had barely acknowledged Jordan’s injuries other than telling him he looked like hell. And Jordan was thankful. He was tired of having the accident define him, tired of living the aftermath.

Emery gave one final snort and when he raised his eyes, Jordan instantly knew he’d been hosed. “How’d she do it and how bad is it?”

“It’s just a guess,” Emery said, scooting closer to Jordan so that he could point to a clause in the document. “But you see here where it says that while you’ve inherited Hank’s share of the common tenancy, all the leases will be honored?”

“That’s what it says?” He wasn’t stupid, but legalese was damned hard to follow, using twenty-five words to say what five could.

“Yeah. And my guess is that Miranda must have inherited Hank’s farm lease on the place.”

“Great,” Jordan said flatly. The lease had been made to protect Hank’s farming operations on the land they shared, and it’d only been made in case something happened to Jordan and Becky inherited.

“That makes no sense,” Jordan said, looking up from his drink. “What does she want with a farm lease? She encouraged Dad to stop farming our place when the guest ranch took off. I think they only raise enough hay to feed the livestock now.”

Emery shrugged. “Probably to keep you away from the place. It isn’t like you two got along.”

“No. She hates me.” And he returned the sentiment with enthusiasm.

“So you come back from the service—” Emery’s gaze lingered on Jordan’s injured hand for a moment “—plan to take up residency and, surprise, even if Hank were still alive, Miranda controls the operations on the land. Just another way to stick it to you.”

“Dad wouldn’t have let her do anything to me.”

“Not while he was alive.” Emery’s voice softened. “But he was sick off and on, you know.”

“I know. But why have her inherit the lease? Why screw me over?”

“He may not have known. It could have been one small clause in a new will he signed. Or it may not have happened at all.”

“No. Miranda wouldn’t do something without covering her butt legally—especially if I’m involved.” Jordan pushed the tea aside and pulled the box toward him. Pulling out another paper, he handed it to Emery. “The tenancy agreement.”

“I know this conveyance,” Emery said, unfolding the document. “I wrote it.” He skimmed it anyway before saying, “Standard tenancy in common. You and your dad owned the property equally. You both have—or, rather, had—the right to lease, rent or sell your half. Upon sale of the entire property, the proceeds are to be split evenly, which no longer matters since you inherited Hank’s part of the land.” Emery twisted one corner of his thick white mustache. “Do have a copy of the lease in that magic box of yours?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t write this agreement,” Emery said as he took the folded paper from Jordan. “Lucy was sick then.”

“I remember,” Jordan said. Emery’s wife had died not too long afterward, sending Emery into a tailspin. “That paralegal that hooked up with Lucy’s nurse wrote it.”

“Wonderful fellow, young Jasper.”

“Lucy’s nurse seemed to think so.”

“But her husband didn’t.” Emery scanned the paper. “Fairly straightforward. Hank leased the meadows and fields for operations. He had rights to the barn, the tool and equipment sheds, the equipment itself...everything south of the east-west fence line.” Emery waved his hand and read on silently. “He had rights to seasonal recreational use.” The old man cracked a smile and met Jordan’s eyes. “Damn, but I loved those hunting trips. Remember how fast Dr. Hartley could butcher a deer? And how Milton Dexter wore those damned electric socks that kept shorting out?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jordan said, even though he’d probably only been ten or eleven at the time. “Anything else in there?”

“You had to maintain fences to keep livestock out of the fields. Money would exchange hands yearly.” He looked up. “Have you gotten money?”

“A check went into the bank January first. I never got around to returning it.”

“That check may well be yours.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You may not have a choice.”

Jordan’s gut twisted. “I don’t get this. If Miranda has the farm lease, then why was Shae McArthur there? It isn’t like she’s going to jump on a tractor or anything.”

“I do remember Shae as being a bit too prim for farm work. Her sister, on the other hand...”

“Yeah. Liv was okay,” Jordan agreed absently. “Am I jumping the gun, Em? Any chance that she didn’t inherit and we’re reading a whole lot into this?”

“There’s a chance.” Emery’s frown deepened as he again studied Jordan’s face. Jordan knew he honestly did look like hell and it wasn’t because of the scars. The quick look he’d taken in the rearview mirror had startled him. Heavy stubble covered the unscarred part of his face and the lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper than before, his cheeks gaunter. He looked skeletal. He felt skeletal—as if everything that mattered had been stripped away, leaving him nothing but a shell of what had been and would probably never be again.

Jordan took a sip of the overly sweetened tea. “I’m going to have to talk to her.”

“Let me do it. As your lawyer.”

Whom he couldn’t pay. “No. I can handle this.”

“You don’t have to,” Emery repeated.

Jordan shot him a speaking look. “I know I look like I just stepped out of the asylum, but that’s what a cross-country trip and three breakdowns will do to a guy. I’m fine.” He somehow got the lie out while staring Emery down. It even sounded convincing. “All I want is the truth so that I know how to proceed.”

“Proceed with what?”

“Making Miranda miserable.”

“And yourself?”

Jordan scowled at the lawyer, not comprehending.

“Making Miranda miserable is going to come at a cost,” Emery explained.

“Believe it or not, I’m quite familiar with misery.”

“Yeah, boy, I bet you are,” the old man said softly, folding the documents and sliding them across the table. “Sorry I wasn’t in contact after the accident.”

Jordan dropped his gaze, studying the pit marks in the ancient mahogany table. “I...didn’t want contact.” He’d sent his cousin Cole away when he’d come to visit.

“And now?”

Jordan just shook his head, still focused on the tabletop. “I don’t know what I want other than some solitude. That’s why I came here.” He placed both palms on the table and looked up at the ceiling. Looked anywhere but at Emery, who he was afraid was going to suggest the obvious. “I hadn’t expected this.”

Emery then did exactly what Jordan had dreaded, yet expected. “There are some resources here, you know. The VA—”