CHAPTER 2
Cash
RAISE HELL
PULSE THUMPING, I stare at the empty doorway. A sinking feeling takes root in my gut.
What the hell just happened? And how can I still smell City Girl’s perfume, even though she left?
“You’re serious.” I turn to Goody. “Garrett left the ranch to her.”
Goody nods as she folds a manila file. “That’s what the will says, yes.”
“Then we’re fucked.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, though. If he’d left the ranch to me—” My voice catches. I look away, tapping the bottom of my fist against the table. “I’d take care of it. The people. The land. The animals. She’s in charge, all of that goes to shit.”
“You don’t know that,” Goody repeats. She opens a zippered pouch on the table beside the folder.
“She wore pink cowboy boots, Goody.” I wince. “Shiny ones. New ones.”
“Be that as it may, let the dust settle, and then we’ll see what happens.
We have to respect Garrett’s wishes.”
Pushing up to my feet, I grab my hat. “I respect Garrett more’n anyone.
That’s why I won’t let this stand.”
“He did leave you something.”
“What’s that?”
She digs into the pouch and holds out a key. “A lockbox. It’s here at the Lonestar.” The Lonestar Bank & Trust Co. is the only bank that has a branch
in Hartsville.
Looking down at the key, my chest twists. What the hell was Garrett smoking when he wrote this will?
“Any idea what’s in it? The lockbox?” I ask.
Goody shakes her head. “Only thing he told me is that it was precious to him. He didn’t want to risk losing it, so he brought it to the bank.”
I screw up my face, more confused than ever. Garrett wasn’t warm and fuzzy. He definitely wasn’t sentimental. Can’t imagine he owned any family heirlooms, much less stowed them safely away in a lockbox.
That mean he put cash in there? Jewelry or guns? But none of that seems right, either.
Whatever the case, it’s not gonna be what I want—the ranch.
“I’ll give it a look.” I tuck the key into my pocket. “Thanks, Goody. Tell Tallulah I said hi.”
Goody gives me a warm smile. “She misses seeing you at The Rattler, you know.”
I was a Friday night regular at Hartsville’s infamous dive bar, until a line- dancing accident sent me to the hospital six years ago. The concussion kept me from working on the ranch for weeks, and shit hit the fan while I was away. Can’t risk that happening again.
My knees and feet throb as I head down the hallway and out the door.
I’ve been up since three and was on horseback, working cattle, at half past four. I’m so tired I could fall the fuck over, but I don’t have the luxury of collapsing. Especially now that my plans for my family’s future just went up in flames.
I draw up short when I see the fancy SUV parked next to my truck. That wasn’t there when I ducked into the pharmacy before heading to Goody’s office earlier. The vehicle belongs to Mollie, no question. People in Hartsville drive practical cars. Ones that don’t have $500 tires and cost an arm and a leg to fix.
The Range Rover is just as shiny and ridiculous as its owner.
Rounding the front of my Ford, I jam my hat onto my head and resist the urge to roll my eyes at the grumble of the Rover’s supercharged engine.
Mollie’s got the dang AC going full blast at all times, no doubt. A princess like her would wither in the heat.
Did she drive this thing to the funeral? The one none of us—the people who knew Garrett best—were invited to?
The SUV is white. Its paint, tires, and lights are dusty from the drive from Dallas, but the vehicle is obviously brand-new.
It’s also enormous, equipped to scale mountains or, in Mollie Luck’s case, troll parking decks at malls in ritzy suburbs. Thing must’ve cost well over a hundred K.
The only six-figure sum I’ve ever seen was on the first Lonestar Bank & Trust Co. statement I opened after my parents passed. It detailed the amount of the home equity loan they’d taken out to cover the ranch’s losses after beef prices took a nosedive in 2010.
I’m still paying that fucking thing off.
Then again, paying that bill means we’ve managed to hold on to Rivers Ranch for another year. And my brothers and I have been able to pay because of Garrett Luck.
He wasn’t perfect. But he was kind to me when no one else was, and he was always a man of his word. It’s not like him to say one thing, but do another.
Also not like him to leave his life’s work in the hands of a spoiled brat with a sense of entitlement as big as her goddamned mouth.
But here we are.
I miss Garrett. So damn much. He was the father figure I needed over the past decade. What in the world do I do without him?
Right now, I just gotta pray the truck my daddy bought used back in ’96 makes it through another calving season. I keep my head down as I dig my keys out of my pocket and unlock the driver’s-side door. I don’t want to see Mollie as much as she don’t wanna see me. Even if I couldn’t stop staring at her back in Goody’s office.
My stomach swoops at the memory of Mollie’s eyes. Same as her daddy’s, dark brown and deep set. Expressive.
Gripping the chrome door handle, my bones go heavy. This grief—it’s gotta get gone already. I have too many people depending on me to keep feeling this busted up.
I’m pressing my thumb into the button that unlatches the door when I hear a low moan.
Glancing over my shoulder, I look through the Rover’s passenger-side window and see City Girl slumped over the steering wheel. My stomach swoops again when I see her back convulsing in time to what appears to be deep, heaving sobs.
They’re loud enough that I can hear them over the engine.
For a second, I feel sorry for her. I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Even her.
But then I remember she barely knew her daddy. I remember the sad look Garrett would get when he talked about her. I remember attorneys calling the ranch, telling us they were “retrieving” his body so they could transport it to Dallas. Garrett didn’t live there a day of his life.
A voice sounds over the sobbing. Bluetooth, coming from the Rover’s speakers. Mollie’s on the phone.
“Get out of that hellhole and come home,” a woman says. “That money belongs to you, sweet girl, and I’ll make sure you get it, come hell or high water.”
“I don’t understand,” Mollie replies. “Why make me work for it this way?”
“Your dad…he was always so damn difficult.”
“That’s an understatement.”
I climb into the truck and start the engine. I hold the steering wheel in a death grip, my knuckles white. I’m already sweating, my shirt sticking to my back.
Mollie’s not upset because she lost a father.
She’s upset because she didn’t get her money. That’s all Garrett was to her—an ATM.
To me, he was everything. The father I lost. The mentor I needed. The friend who kept me sane when I was drowning in grief.
Losing Garrett could very well mean losing everything now. Our way of life. The land we’ve called home for five—no, six generations, since my niece, Ella, was born a few years back.
I just lost everything, but here’s this spoiled city girl, sobbing over the millions she has to wait a year to get while calling the man who saved my life and my family “difficult.”
Mollie is pretty. Anyone with two eyes and a pulse can see that. But nothing turns me off more than her kind of carelessness. Her sense of entitlement.
Yanking on the gear shift, I put the truck in reverse and whip out of the parking spot. Glancing at the Rover, I see Mollie’s head pop up. Even through the tinted glass, I can see how swollen her tearstained face is. My chest twists.
I ignore it and hit the gas. Mollie Luck is not my problem.
Figuring out how I’m going to support my family—and keep all six of us together while honoring Garrett’s memory and his work—is.
My truck doesn’t have AC, so I roll my window all the way down. Hot, humid air blows into my face. Glancing up at the sky, all I see is haze. We need rain, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to get it today.
If Garrett were still alive, we’d be in an ATV at this hour. Too hot to be on horseback if you don’t need to be. Probably over by the bend in the Colorado River that marks the western boundary of Lucky Ranch. We’d be surveying wildlife, maybe, or casting a line in a shady spot.
Garrett loved the river. Almost as much as he loved hunting, nineties country, and spicy ranch waters.
But he loved nothing more than the daughter he talked about often, but who never came to see him.
Why the fuck did he say he was leaving Lucky Ranch to me if his will said something different? We talked constantly about the ranch’s future. He was obsessed with the place. Like me, ranching was in his blood. His granddaddy bought the first ten thousand acres that eventually became Lucky Ranch back in the early 1900s. It’s been in the Luck family ever since.
Garrett took me under his wing when I was 19, right after my parents died. I’d dropped out of college to care for my four younger brothers and run our family’s ranch. He helped me set everything to rights. Even if that did mean selling off every last steer and spare tractor tire to pay my parents’ debts. I swore I’d restore Rivers Ranch to its former glory one day. But back then, it was about survival.
With nothing left for us on our ranch, Garrett hired my brothers and me to work on his. It was fair pay, plus we got room and board. We couldn’t afford the upkeep on our family’s house on Rivers Ranch, so being able to live in the cushy bunkhouse Garrett built on his property meant we could rent out our childhood home for some much-needed cash. He helped me teach my brothers everything they needed to know about working cattle. Being on a ranch as established and successful as Garrett’s ensured we all got a world- class education.
I often wondered why Garrett was so good to us, a ragtag crew of orphans. He was rich. Successful. He didn’t need to be generous. But I think we kept him from feeling lonely. He and his wife, Aubrey—Mollie’s mom— divorced long before I was in the picture, and she took Mollie with her back
to her hometown of Dallas.
But like my dad, Garrett was a family man at heart. And I think we became his family over the years.
My brothers and I worked hard. We love the land like it’s our own. We ate every meal with Garrett, inhaling Patsy’s cooking as if it were our last day
on earth.
He loved us, same as we love him.
Still, I never expected Garrett to turn to me one day and ask, “What do you say to taking over when I’m gone? Can’t think of anyone better to run the place.”
My throat is tight. I slow when I approach Lonestar Bank, ducking my head to look out my passenger-side window at the building’s glass doors. The lights are on inside, but there’s a sign on the door. I don’t need to read it to know the manager, Harley, is “out handling business and will return in the morning.”
Aka business was slow today, so he cut his staff loose and went four- wheeling out by Starrush Creek.
Guess I’ll be checking out the lockbox another day, then.
Sweat drips into my eyes as I drive out of town. I swerve to avoid a pothole, then slow when I see a familiar figure ahead, its outline fuzzy in the heat.
Only my brother would ride to and from town when it’s this hot. And he’d only do it if he had money to collect from his weekly poker game.
Wiping my eyes on my shirt, I stick my head out the window. “Please tell me you took some rich motherfucker for all he was worth.”
Wyatt turns his head and grins down at me from the saddle. “You’re the only rich motherfucker left in these parts. How’s it feel, being owner of Lucky Ranch?”
I squint up at my brother. A beat passes.
He frowns, pulling on his horse’s reins. “Shit.”
“Yep.”
“What happened?”
“No idea. Garrett forgot to update his will maybe? I don’t think he’d lie to
me.”
“He’d never lie to anyone.”
“Ranch is going to Mollie Luck. She gets everything—the operation, the trust.”
Wyatt’s eyes bulge. “She ain’t ever been out here.”
“I know.”
“She’s gonna sell it.”
“I know.”
Wyatt looks out over the hills, simmering in the heat. “Cash —”
“I’ll figure it out. I got some ideas.”
My brother casts me a dubious glance. “No, you don’t.”
“I can —”
“You can’t do everything, Cash. Let us help. We’ll come up with something—you, me, the boys. Patsy and John B. There’s a poker tournament in Vegas —”
“You know I can’t spare you that long when we got hay to bale.”
“Ella’s in preschool now, three mornings a week. Sawyer will be around more.”
Ella is my younger brother Sawyer’s three-year-old daughter. She’s cute as hell and the apple of everyone’s eye on the ranch.
I let out a breath. Sweat rolls down my temples. The inside of my truck feels like an airless oven. “She’s gotta live on the ranch for a year—Mollie.
Play pretend as the boss lady. Only way she’ll get her money. It’s in Garrett’s will.”
Wyatt stares at me. “That makes zero sense.”
“No shit. Garrett and Mollie didn’t talk much, sure, but he would’ve told me if she ever expressed any interest in the ranch. She would’ve visited, you know? To put her in charge of everything…” I shake my head. “Seems
reckless.”
“Garrett was not reckless.”
“Exactly. Makes me feel like he’s sending us a message.” So does the whole lockbox thing. I decide not to tell my brother about the key in my pocket. I don’t want to get his hopes up. Figure I’ll see what I’m working with and go from there.
“Maybe.” Wyatt lifts a shoulder. “Or maybe he just wanted to keep the
ranch in the family.”
We are his family. I’m certain of that.
Before he promised me the ranch, I never assumed I’d get a dime from him, other than the wages he paid me.
I never expect to get anything from anyone. Expectations lead to hope, and hope leads to disappointment.
Maybe that’s what pisses me off the most about Mollie—how she feels
like the world owes her something.
No way I’m working for her.
Then again, do I have a choice? What am I gonna do if she actually comes to live on the ranch? Yeah, I’m the foreman, which means I call the shots when it comes to pretty much everything that goes on at the property. I oversee a staff of fifty. I manage budgets, repairs, equipment maintenance, our calving operation and veterinary programs, not to mention hundreds of thousands of acres of land.
I get shit done. But ultimately, the person who owns Lucky Ranch is the one who signs my paychecks and those of my staff.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, hard. We really are fucked if Mollie is that person. Not only will her sense of entitlement make her a nightmare to work with, but she also has no idea what the hell she’s doing.
Let’s not forget, she’s going to sell the ranch the second she can. Where will that leave us? At the mercy of some billionaire asshole with a cowboy fantasy?
“I got eight hundred bucks.” Wyatt pats his worn leather saddlebag. “I wasn’t planning on taking it to the bank, but I can deposit it if that would help? Should buy us some time —”
“Harley closed the Lonestar early again. But really, Wyatt, you should be careful riding around with that kind of cash.”
He glances over his shoulder at the Beretta shotgun tucked behind his saddle. “I’ll be just fine.”
The shotgun was a gift from Garrett for Wyatt’s twentieth birthday. I don’t think I’ve seen my brother without it since. Probably why he’s a crack shot. Good thing, considering Wyatt runs an illegal poker ring out of The Rattler’s basement.
“Rent from the house should cover our bills this month. Keep the eight hundred for a rainy day.”
Wyatt glances up at the sky. “None of those in sight.”
The heat is killing me. I let off the brakes. “Were you able to fix the tire on the baler?”
“Duke patched the hole, yeah. It was a nail. Changed the oil in the tractor
too.”
“And the cutting —”
“Got it done. Also, John B and Sally were just arriving as I left to look at
the four cows we were worried about. Sally thinks it’s just a virus. I reckon they’re about wrapped up with their examination by now.”
“Good work. See you at supper, then.”
Wyatt smiles. “Patsy’s making her cottage pie. See? It don’t all suck.”
Just mostly, I think as I hit the gas.
The sun-bleached pavement glimmers in the heat. I feel short of breath.
Throat tight, pulse drumming.
I hit the knob that turns on the stereo and crank it as loud as it’ll go. I’m able to rein in my runaway heartbeat as the opening notes of “My Maria” fill the truck.
I fucking love Brooks & Dunn. Been into them ever since Garrett introduced me to their first album, Brand New Man.
I have a lot to do back at the ranch. Chat with John B—short for John Beauregard, his middle name—about those cows. I should check on the fence some ranch hands were supposed to repair in the southeast pasture. I need to call the mechanic to schedule routine maintenance on our feed trucks. Text our farrier to remind him of our appointment tomorrow. Dude always mixes up his dates.
Ryder said his throat hurt this morning. I wonder if he got strep from Ella? We keep passing that shit around.
Maybe it’s because I have so much to do that I drive right past the manicured entrance to Lucky Ranch, its gnarled oaks providing much-needed shade to the vibrant green brush below.
I need a breather. Time to think. I keep waiting to feel less anxious—less overwhelmed. Garrett passed months ago. I should at least be able to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time by now. But I’m worried that if I stop moving—stop doing all the things for all the people—something bad will happen again.
It’s a waste of gas, but I know I’ll fall apart if I dive back into the chaos right now. And the last thing everyone needs is a foreman—a brother—who can’t do his job.
Music blaring, I drive another ten minutes. A dirt road appears on my left, the land around it blistered and broken, a shade of gray-brown that makes my chest hurt. The rusted wrought iron arch above the road reads Rivers Ranch Est. 1904.
Once upon a time, this land was well tended to. Granted, it wasn’t as green as Lucky Ranch. Few ranches are. Garrett took his role as steward of
the land seriously. Together, we worked with conservationists to make the ranch a haven of biodiversity.
I’d love to do the same for Rivers Ranch. But that kind of project takes time. And money. Lots and lots of money. Money I thought I’d have in hand today. Between the cattle and oil operations, Lucky Ranch is a highly profitable enterprise. Even with Mollie receiving Garrett’s monetary assets, the ranch generates so much income, I’d have plenty left over to revive Rivers Ranch.
It’s a smart investment; combining the two ranches would allow me to add lucrative revenue streams to our portfolio. I could increase the size of our cattle and oil operations. Add a hospitality element, maybe renovating my childhood home into some sort of event venue or bed-and-breakfast. Set up a hunting camp that could be rented out or used by local schools for wildlife projects.
It’d be an enormous undertaking, but a worthy one. It would bring revenue to our community, making Hartsville a destination for hunters, weekend travelers, wedding parties.
Instead, that money is going into Mollie’s pocket. I can only imagine what she’ll spend it on. A newer Range Rover? More shiny cowboy boots that wouldn’t last a day on a working ranch?
I turn onto the road, wincing when the truck lurches as I hit a divot.
That’s new. The empty front pasture stretches out on my left. A fence, long since abandoned to the elements, sags in several places.
I’m hit by a memory: my dad helping me pull on my work gloves before he squatted beside me next to that fence. He was teaching me how to repair it.
It was early morning, spring. Lots of sunshine. Warm enough to leave Duke in his car seat in the back seat of this very truck, the windows rolled down. I remember him singing to himself as Dad patiently helped me dig a deep hole in the ground, the dirt softened from all the rain we’d gotten that year.
I will never forget how proud I felt when the post was up, and Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Now that’s one fine-looking fence, son. Well done.”
Duke had started to fuss, so we climbed back into the truck and headed to the house. Mom fed us a laughably huge lunch: burgers slathered in pimento cheese, homemade sweet potato chips, broccoli casserole. All washed down with toothache-sweet lemonade.
For dessert, there was—what else—Texas sheet cake. Pretty sure my brothers and I polished off the whole thing. Ryder had so much frosting
smeared on his face and arms that Mom had to hose him down in the backyard. Then she hooked up the sprinkler, and we spent the afternoon running around in it like the little lunatics we were.
Those were good times.
The best.
My chest hurts even more knowing they’re gone for good, and so is Garrett.
I turn down the music and take a lap around the ranch. House looks okay, but everything else has gone the way of the fence. The hay barn is missing its roof, thanks to a tornado outbreak five years back. The irrigation system quit working ages ago, and now every pasture I pass is barren.
I want to make more memories here so badly. To preserve the memory of my parents and honor all the hard work they put into Rivers Ranch. To create a place where my brothers can thrive and feel safe.
Sometimes, late at night, I even catch myself fantasizing about raising a family of my own here, alongside my brothers and their families. Life wasn’t easy on the ranch, but it was a magical place to grow up.
Swallowing hard, I turn around and head back to the main road. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. But I’ll be damned if some stuck-up city girl gets in the way of giving my family the life they deserve.
She wants war, I’ll give her war. I still got some fight in me.
Fight’s all I got left.
