Page 27 of Grumped By the Mountain Man

“What’s going on?” she asks, lifting a brow. “It’s not about Uncle Buckee again is it?”

“Uncle Buckee?” Beau asks.

“Our Great Uncle Oliver. Long story about how he got the nickname,” Cali says.

“It’s always Uncle Oliver,” Ash says, shaking his head. “You know he’s the last living Forester sibling so the family ranch and homestead near Moonshine Creek was left to him.”

“But he’s always promised he’ll divide it amongst us cousins upon his death,” Jaxon says. “It’s what all the Forester siblings agreed upon.”

“Exactly. Well, he just landed himself in the hospital, again,” Cole says. “And he’s upgraded his will with a new clause. He had it read to us at the hospital a few hours ago. He insists it stays within our family, but he thinks it should only be handed down to the Forrester descendants who have a family.”

“Aka those who are married, pregnant, or have kids,” Kai says miserably. “And preferably in that order.”

“Why would he want to do that?” I ask.

“Splitting it amongst so many people created a lot of headaches in the prior generation, especially with those who didn’t have an heir to pass the land down to. Sometimes they tried to sell or gift it to outsiders before their death but the family always managed to put a stop to it. Uncle Buckee doesn’t want the hassle, headache, or risk again. He thinks it’s easier to just split it amongst Foresters who have heirs, or who are likely to have heirs. That’s where the marriage thing comes in, though we tried to tell him that was no guarantee of an heir either. He wasn’t hearing it though. You know how traditional and family-oriented he is.”

“But he can’t base an inheritance on the condition of marriage and kids,” Jaxon asks. “Can he?”

“He can and he will,” Heath says. “The ranch is technically his and the clause is totally legal. If he passes away tomorrow, only Cali will get the ranch.”

“If he lasts until you and Ayla get married, then it’ll be split between Cali and you,” Ash says. “That leaves us fresh out of luck.”

“Unless you get married within a few weeks,” I say weakly and the boys only look more miserable.

“We may be against Buckee’s absurd conditions, but none of us are against marriage and creating families in general. The problem is, none of us are dating anyone,” Heath says. “Who in the world are we going to find to marry us ASAP especially here where there’s barely any single women?”

“Well, how is Uncle Buckee?” Cali asks and the Forester’s all go red with shame.

Sure, it’s understandable that they’re upset about this new development, but what about their uncle? Surely they cared for the man?

“Is he stable?” Cali says. “We’re speaking death over him but he may last another few years. I mean this isn’t the first time we thought Buckee was on his way out. The man lives in the hospital with all the accidents he has around the ranch.”

“As stable as Uncle Buckee can ever be,” Heath says with a sigh. “But time is still fragile just like he is. It’s bad, Cal. What if he passes next month?”

We all frown.

“Let’s hope Buckee pulls through,” Jaxon says. “I’ll go visit him in the morning.”

“I’m coming,” Cali says and I nod in agreement.

“But in the meantime, you better start looking for brides,” Jaxon says, his mood lightening again as he settles me on his lap and reaches for the tray of ribs and corn. “Like you said. I’ve already got mine. Forever.”

The cousins act comically revolted at our sugary sweet kiss before grabbing plates and digging in.

“Sure, just let me pull up Amazon,” Heath grumbles grabbing a corn. “I’ve got Prime shipping, so I’m sure my bride will arrive in three, two—”

A massive crash from the front yard, has Heath dropping the buttery corn back onto his plate.

We all jump to our feet and book it. Some go around the wrap-around porch, and others, including Jaxon, Heath, and me take the shortcut through the house.

In the driveway, a beat-up truck has pummelled into the back of Heath’s shiny new pickup.

The driver is slumped over the wheel, seemingly unconscious, with her dark, chestnut hair obscuring her face.

“That smoking is a bad sign,” Grant says pointing to the hood when the initial shock wears off.

Well, not completely.

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