Page 9 of Cash

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 thesaddle. “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?—”

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