Page 8 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“Thanks.” I open the door, then glance back with a smirk. “And best of luck with your cowboy calendar.”
Belle grins. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got abs.”
I laugh, shutting the door and making my way toward the lawyer’s building.
I step into the reception area, greeted by the scent of old leather and lemon polish. A woman behind the desk looks up from her computer with a polite smile.
“Hi,” I say, brushing kitten fur off my shirt.
At that exact moment, a side door opens and an older man steps into view—late sixties, gray hair neatly combed, wire-framed glasses, crisp shirt tucked into perfectly pressed slacks. He moves to a side cabinet, searching for a file.
I glance back down at the receptionist, saying, “I’m Sophia Hollis. I emailed earlier about meeting with Mr. Hartwell to discuss an urgent matter.”
She stares around to the older man, who is now turning his attention to me.
Recognition flashes across his face. “Ah, Ms. Hollis, yes, I was just reviewing that file. You’re right on time.”
He gestures toward the side door in reception. “Come on back. I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”
I follow him into a warm, wood-paneled office lined with legal booksand framed photos.
“Please, have a seat,” he says, settling behind his desk. “Can I offer you some water? Coffee?”
“I’m good, thank you.” I sink into a chair. “Mr. Hartwell, I’m hoping we can make this quick. I’ve already met the current tenants of the ranch from my inheritance, and they’re interested in buying. I am happy to sell the ranch to them immediately. So if we could just?—”
“Ah.” The corners of his mouth curve down, and my stomach sinks. “I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.”
He pulls out a thick folder and adjusts his glasses. “Mrs. Martinez was very specific in her will. The inheritance comes with conditions.”
“It does?” My voice comes out higher than intended.
“The person who inherits the place must live on the ranch premises for three months before he or she can claim full ownership or authorize any sale.”
The world tilts. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Three months’ residency, Ms. Hollis. The will was originally written for her grandson, but upon his passing and your designation as his beneficiary, the terms transfer to you.”
“Three months?” I stand up so fast the chair rolls backward. “I have to live there? With cowboys who are already unsure about me?”
He leans back in his chair. “I’m afraid so. If you choose not to fulfill the residency requirement,the ranch defaults to the next of kin, a Mr. Ronan Blackwood, as per Rose’s will conditions.”
“This has to be a joke.” I sit on the edge of the seat because I need the money from this ranch to survive.
Not want…need.
I have less than five hundred dollars to my name. My job as a social media freelancer sounds great on paper, but after rent, utilities, groceries, and the endless stream of bills I keep shoving to the bottom of a drawer, I’m barely staying afloat. One emergency, like, say, a bull wrecking my rental car and me needing to pay the excess, and everything starts to unravel.
This ranch… it’s the first good thing to land in my lap in a while. A chance to breathe. Maybe even get ahead for once instead of clawing just to stay even. I didn’t plan for it, and I sure as hell didn’t expect it, but when I saw that will, I thought,Finally, something breaks in my favor.
And now this?
Three months, stuck in a place I don’t belong, surrounded by strangers who look at me like I just stole their future.
I press my palms to my thighs, trying to ground myself, but all I feel is that tight coil of panic under my ribs. I can’t afford to lose this chance. I won’t.
“I understand this is unexpected?—”
“Is there any way around it?” I ask weakly.
