Page 24 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

“It doesn’t.” She sat up straighter but jerked the wheel hard so we would hit the biggest pothole in sight.

When my backside had returned to the seat, I said, “Something is bothering you about this.”

Brooke said nothing.

I’d spent a decade practicing the art of getting to the bottom of people’s concerns. Mostly in business ventures, but this wasn’t that much different. “How long has your family owned this property?”

“Four generations.”

Around the same amount of time had passed since my great grandfather had formed Harris Inc. I understood dynasties and wondered if that was the issue. “Are you concerned that the land is leaving your family?”

“No,” she answered too quickly.

If Robert had told her he was going to sell the ranch, it shouldn’t bother her, but she was obviously upset. Why? It was his land to do whatever he wanted with. Then I realized I was assuming part of that equation. I cleared my throat and said, “Brooke, did your father tell you he was selling the ranch?”

I watched for her reaction and didn’t miss the way her lips pressed together and her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

“I take that as a no,” I said.

She inhaled and nodded.

Now we were getting to the crux of the matter. “Did it come as a shock?”

She shrugged.

A handful of thick, heavy raindrops hit the windshield. Brooke glanced up at the sky and then turned the truck toward what Robert had told me was the horse barn.

We’d been out for almost five minutes, and with the weather changing, we should head back soon. If I wanted answers, I’d need to talk fast. “Are you upset about his decision to sell the property?”

More rain fell, quickly turning from a sprinkle to a deluge. Brooke kept going toward the building, and just as an impressive clap of thunder sounded, we pulled under an awning that sat next to the huge double doors of the barn. She put the vehicle into park, and for a moment, looked out the window at the ranch beyond.

Silence settled between us, and I imagined her reliving moments of her life that had been spent here. I felt the same way whenever I visited my great-aunt Greta’s property.

The rain clattered on the metal roof above us and splashed into the quickly accumulating puddles in the dirt.

I’d had plenty of practice being patient, so I waited for her to speak. It took almost a minute of gazing at her home before she turned to me. “I’m upset that my dad decided to sell to a spoiled rich kid who hasn’t done a hard day of honest labor in his life.” Anger still laced her voice, and her eyes tried to shoot daggers at me.

The sensation of someone wanting to metaphorically murder me wasn’t new. It happened once a week, but usually in an office. “You must know a lot about this place.”

“More than anyone else.” She added, “Besides my dad.”

“In your professional opinion, what is the state of the ranch?”

Brooke glanced at the barn. “The whole place is a mixture of newly repaired and falling apart. There isn’t much in between. Either a fence needs to be replaced, or a road needs to be scraped, or a piece of equipment breaks down. As soon as you fix one thing, another falls apart.”

“I imagine that’s pretty common with ranches.”

Her attention returned to me. “It is, although it might be different if I could throw as much money at it as you can.”

I did my best to ignore her barb about my wealth. “I told you, this isn’t a Harris Inc. purchase. This is for me.”

“Are you saying you don’t have gobs of money?”

What I’d personally made and invested outside of Harris Inc. didn’t even total a small percentage of the company, but it was enough. I’d worked hard to make sure the amount grew each year. “I’ve been saving, and I have some investors who are interested.”

She held my gaze. “I hope you do, because you’ll need it if you want to make this into a proper horse ranch.”

“I understand.”

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