Cade Coulter's Return

He glanced at her, lifting a brow as if surprised at the thread of defensiveness in her voice. “I didn’t say there were. But this is a big ranch. Three people aren’t enough manpower to do more than barely keep this place running.” He flicked another glance over the buildings. “Where are the other two?”

“Pete went to town for mail and groceries. J.T. isn’t due home from school for another couple of hours.”

“School? How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

He swore under his breath and glared at her.

“How old is Smith?”

“Sixty-five.”

“A kid, a guy on Social Security and a girl. What the hell was the old man thinking?”

“If you’re referring to your father, I suspect he was doing the best he could with what he had,” she said, an unmistakable snap in her tone.

He gave her another dark, unreadable look. “Yeah, I expect he was.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through thick black hair, raking it from his forehead in a frustrated gesture.

Mariah had seen Joseph make that same gesture a hundred times, and the likeness between father and son was suddenly sharpened.

Cade turned away and led the big horse to the corral. Yanking the lock bar free, he swung open the gate and walked the horse in, unsnapping the lead rope to set the animal loose. The stallion immediately trotted to the water trough and hay rack on the far side of the enclosure.

“I’m heading into town to talk to the attorney,” Cade told her as he unhitched the horse trailer from the dusty truck. “I should be back in a couple of hours.” He yanked open the pickup door and paused. “I’ve been on the road for days and I’m tired of restaurant food. Does anyone cook around here?”

“We take turns. Supper’s on the table in the bunkhouse at six. Tonight it’s chili.”

“I’ll be here.” The engine turned over and the pickup rolled forward, swinging in a U-turn.

Moments later, Mariah stood alone next to the empty horse trailer, watching a plume of dust rise behind the truck’s wheels as it sped down the gravel lane toward the highway.

So that’s Joseph’s oldest son. Mariah wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected but the hard-eyed, dangerous-looking man bore only a passing resemblance to the laughing ten-year-old boy in the family portrait hanging on Joseph’s wall.

And when his green eyes had briefly flickered with heat after that first slow, assessing stare, she’d burned. The brush of his gaze was as physically arousing as if he’d reached out and slowly trailed his fingers over her bare skin, from her chin to her toes and back again.

She hadn’t expected to be attracted to Cade Coulter.

It was a complication she didn’t want. And it was sure to cause trouble, she thought with conviction. She’d simply have to set aside her attraction, she told herself, and focus on her promise to Joseph that she would do everything she could to encourage his sons to remain on the Triple C. She was determined to fulfill her vow and see Joseph’s last wish come true.

With renewed determination, she turned on her heel and walked toward the bunkhouse. She needed to start the chili simmering. She had only a few short hours until dinner—and Cade’s return.

Chapter Two

A half hour after driving away from the Triple C, a beaming receptionist ushered Cade into Ned Anderson’s office. The attorney rose and leaned over the gleaming surface of his desk to shake Cade’s hand.

“I don’t mind saying I’m damn glad to see you, Cade.” The attorney waved him to a seat in one of the leather armchairs facing the desk and dropped back into his own chair. “I was beginning to wonder whether we’d be able to locate you and your brothers.”

“How long have you been looking?” Cade asked, curious.

“Ever since Joseph passed away.” Anderson peered at Cade over the tops of reading glasses, his eyes shrewd. “I assumed he had current addresses for all of you but discovered too late that he didn’t. Do you have any up-to-date contact information for your brothers?”

“Yes.” Cade took his cell phone from his coat pocket. “I can give you their cell phone numbers and last known addresses.”

The attorney jotted notes on a pad as Cade read off Zach, Eli and Brodie’s information. “Excellent,” he said with satisfaction when Cade finished. “I’ll pass this on to the investigator immediately. Hopefully he’ll be able to talk to them all within a day or two.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I left messages on all their cell phones as soon as I got your letter. That was five days ago and none of them have checked in.”

Anderson frowned. “Why not?”

Cade shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s not unusual to wait awhile for an answer.”

“How long is ‘awhile’?”

“Depends on where everyone is.” Cade noted the attorney’s lack of comprehension. “None of us spends a lot of time in one place,” he explained. “Brodie’s a champion bull rider and follows the rodeo circuit—usually rents an apartment in a different place each year after the season ends. Eli’s a silversmith—sometimes he rents a studio but often apprentices with another artist. When he’s studying, he might spend a year or more living near the master teacher’s studio. And Zach …” Cade paused, a half-smile curving his lips. “Actually, Zach’s the one we use to keep in touch. He works for a company in San Francisco and bought a condo there years ago. He travels a lot for his job, though, and since I haven’t heard from him, I’m guessing he’s not in San Francisco right now.”

“So you have no idea how long it may take to reach them?”

Cade shook his head. “No.”

The attorney sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. His chair squeaked as he leaned back. “That complicates matters.”

“Why?” Cade asked bluntly.

“Because the Triple C is barely holding on by its fingertips and only you four Coulters can save it.”

Cade’s gaze narrowed as he straightened in his chair. “I don’t understand.”

The attorney sat forward, took a thick file from a stack on the corner of his desk and flipped it open. He sifted through documents before sliding a sheaf of papers across the desk. “This is a copy of your father’s last will and testament. You’ll want to read it carefully, but briefly I can tell you that, with one exception, Joseph left everything he owned to you and your three brothers.”

Stunned, Cade stared at Anderson for a moment before picking up the document.

“You’ll notice on page three,” Anderson continued, “that Joseph left the Triple C to all of you in one-fourth shares. He also left each of you control of individual aspects of the ranch. In your case, he left you all the cattle and any other livestock. You have the power to sell any of them you want. But you can’t sell the land. None of you can sell any of the Triple C acres without express consent, in writing, of the other three.”

If Cade didn’t have the will in front of him, he wouldn’t have believed Anderson. But the document was clear. He scanned the typed pages quickly, stopping abruptly when he reached page five.

“He left my grandparents’ cabin and three acres to Mariah Jones?” The quick flash of anger echoed in his words.

“Yes.” Anderson didn’t flinch from Cade’s hard stare. “Joseph died of cancer. Mariah Jones took care of him, and it was my observation that he viewed her as a daughter.”

“I’ll bet he did.” Cade’s growled response held sarcasm. He didn’t believe any man, even one Joseph’s age, could look at the blonde and not see a beautiful, sexy woman. He tossed the will onto the desk in front of him. “That cabin sits within yards of the barn and is part of Triple C headquarters, plus it’s landlocked and surrounded by Coulter land. Is there a way to break the will and keep it part of the ranch?”

“No,” Anderson replied. “A clause provides any heir challenging any part of the will shall have their portion of the estate gifted to the State of Montana’s park system.”

Cade frowned, silently considering the problem before deciding to shelve it for the moment. Not that he believed there wasn’t a way to keep the cabin in Coulter hands, nor that Mariah Jones hadn’t somehow manipulated Joseph to convince him to leave her the valuable property. The cabin was important not only because of its location—his grandfather had built it with his own hands. It was part of Coulter history and he’d find a way to reclaim it. “You said the ranch is hanging on by its fingertips. What do you mean?” he asked, returning to the larger issue of the Triple C.