Page 1 of Ryder

Prologue

Ryder

“What are you doing, Ryder?”

I grit my teeth and take a deep breath before turning to face my ex-girlfriend. I knew there was a good chance I wouldn’t get away with moving out of this apartment building without her noticing. “Moving.”

Her eyes are wide as she steps through the open doorway. It’s open because two men are currently loading my truck. Since Stacey lives two doors down from me, I couldn’t have avoided her catching me in the act of packing if I’d tried.

“Moving where?”

“My grandfather died. I’m going to deal with his estate.” I don’t tell her where. I don’t really want Stacey to know where I’ll be. I’m over her and not the least bit interested in rekindling anything.

“You’re from upstate New York, right?”

“Yep.” That’s where I was born and raised, but that’s not where I’m going. The truth is, I’ve never been to my grandfather’s estate in my life. I never even met the man. But I’m not sharing that with my ex. She doesn’t need to know I’m heading to Arizona.

She looks around at the few boxes left and the empty apartment. “I kind of thought we might get back together one of these days,” she says with a slight pout.

Stacey and I were never going to get back together. We shouldn’t have been together in the first place. We met at a local bar, realized we were neighbors, and scratched each other’s itches for a while. It ended a few months ago. It had never been anything worth mentioning.

The loading guys step back into the apartment and around Stacey. She looks at her watch. “Shit. I’ve got to go. Text me your new contact information?”

“Sure.”

She hesitates a moment, and I think she might come closer to hug me or something, but instead, she gives a little wave and leaves. I’m already a footnote in her busy life. I’m fine with that.

While the guys take the last of the boxes out, I lean against the counter and pull the letter out of my back pocket to look at it for the tenth time.

It’s from the executor of my grandfather’s estate. My father rarely spoke of my grandfather when I was growing up. He referred to him as “the old geezer.” That’s all I know about him. My grandmother died a few years before my father left home. We never once visited my father’s childhood home. I certainly didn’t know the old geezer was wealthy.

According to this letter, Amos Wilde was ninety-five years old when he passed. Not only did he own a sizable estate but the entire town of Wilde, Arizona. I have no idea why I feel compelled to pack up and head clear across the country, but I do.

The truth is I work from home. I’m a web designer—an IT nerd. I make pretty good money, but it feels like fate that I got a notice letting me know my rent was about to go up, almost out of my budget, on the same day I received this letter.

Nothing is keeping me in New York. My parents still live a few hours north of here, and I haven’t told them I’m heading to Wilde. It feels like I should wait until I arrive and assess the situation before informing them.

I don’t know why my father fell out with his father almost fifty years ago, but Amos is gone now. What’s left is the estate, and according to this letter, a sizable inheritance was set aside for any grandchildren willing to move to Wilde and manage the estate for at least ten years.

I’ve had this letter for five days. Why waste time? I packed up, paid two guys to load my shit into the truck, and I’m going to take three days to drive it across the country.

Even crazier, I haven’t told my brother, sister, or any of my cousins. I assume all of them received the same letter. I’m close enough with my siblings to check in every once in a while, but not my cousins. I don’t know them as well. I’ve called no one. I’m going to show up in Wilde and wing it. I wonder who else might arrive. None of them have contacted me, either.

Call me crazy, but I’m doing this. I’ve got nothing to lose and possibly everything to gain.

Chapter1

Ryder

As I jump down from my truck and stretch my legs, I feel eyes on me. Not surprising. I’ve come directly to the lawyer’s office, which is in the middle of Main Street. It’s a small town. I bet the citizens of Wilde don’t see ten-foot moving trucks pulling into parking spots here every day. I wonder if they know about my grandfather’s death and his will.

I glance around casually as I head toward the office of Thomas McAndrews, Attorney at Law. Several people have stepped out of their businesses to stare at me.

A bell rings over the door as I open it, making me chuckle. How small town can you get?

“Come on back,” a man yells from somewhere deeper in the office. There’s a reception desk where I’m standing, but no one is sitting at it.

I head toward the short hallway and the open door on the left. When I step inside, a man in his late sixties rises from behind his desk. “Can I help you?”

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