Page 7 of Rip Ryder's Second Chance

“Hell, you’ve heard the rumors just like everyone else in town. Tuck apparently left this place to that girl. You know, I don’t have a problem with her, I remember her as a kid, but she ain’t got the experience to take on this place. Some of the boys think Tuck lost his marbles, especially when he kept Buddy on as a hand and gave him ten acres over on the south side. It’s all leaving a bitter taste in their mouths.”

“It’s all rumors, Parson. They’ll lead you into trouble each time.” Rip had heard the rumors too. They’d been spinning since Tuck passed. The “girl” they referred to was Noelle Evelyn. A part of his past that he’d rather leave firmly in the rearview. “You know Tuck thought of Buddy as a son. And just for theory’s sake, Noelle left fifteen years ago and hasn’t been back since. What makes you think she’ll come now?”

“What makes you think she won’t?” Parson scoffed. “I ain’t no genius but this place is worth millions. Who would walk away from an opportunity like that?”

Rip didn’t want to talk about her, or all the what ifs. “Tell the boys to relax and just do their jobs.”

“Will do,” Parson said sheepishly.

His phone buzzed and Rip pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was Derry Lutz, Tuck’s attorney. He certainly had good timing. “Hey, Derry.”

“Hey, Rip. I’m heading out to Bluebird. I should be there in about ten minutes. Can you meet me at the house so we can go over some details about the ranch?”

“Sure. See you in a bit.” He clicked off and shoved the cell back into his pocket. “Parson, get a lock on this gate and tell Buddy the next time he falls asleep on the job he needs to find another way to make a living outside of ranching.”

Once he dropped Parson off at the barn, Rip continued to the two-story, yellow sided farmhouse with the wraparound porch. Two years ago, Tuck had the place remodeled, spending a good chunk to add on and modernize the home. Rip couldn’t say he understood why Tuck went to the trouble because he lived there alone after his wife passed away, they never had any children, and the old man had lived nearly seventy-five years without caring about such things as a contemporary kitchen with updated appliances, Italian flooring, a master suite with a fireplace and bed fit for a queen, including one of those fancy bathtubs that fit two.

But it was none of Rip’s business.

He lived in the guest cottage anyway.

He slid out of the truck and made his way up the wide stairs to the porch, opening the screen door. “Bea? You here?” he called out to Tuck’s sister who had moved in soon after learning about his diagnosis.

The rail-thin, silver-haired woman wearing pearls and purple sweats came down the hallway, wiping her hands on a towel. “Rip? I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“Derry called. Wanted me to meet him here. I’ll wait for him on the porch.”

“I’ll make you boys some coffee,” she said on her way back into the kitchen.

Rip had just settled into one of the rockers when he saw dust flying up the lane. As the truck got closer, he saw that it was Derry’s silver Dodge. The tall, reedy man with thinning hair and smooth baby face got out, scanned the property, then stepped onto the porch, greeting Rip with a firm handshake.

“Have a seat, Derry.” The two had gone to school together but they’d never had much in common. Derry was known as the “science guy” who would rather be in the lab mixing chemicals than hanging with friends. Rip thought the man would have found a career in the medical sector but instead he’d studied law.

“Don’t mind if I do. It sure is a beautiful day.” He sat down just as Bea brought out a tray of coffee. “Mornin’, Bea.”

She’d never said in exact words that she didn’t like Derry, but sometimes a woman didn’t have to speak for a man to know what was on her mind. She responded stiffly, “Morning.”

The attorney was too full of himself to catch her unpleasant tone. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said then turned his full attention on Rip. Bea shook her head and went back into the house, mumbling something to herself. “You’ve been good to Tuck and that’s why I found it only right that I speak to you first about his will,” Derry continued without missing a beat.

Rip stretched his legs, hooked his ankles and sipped his coffee. “Okay.” He fully intended to buy Bluebird if it went up for sale but something told Rip that there could be a sliver of truth to some of the rumors swirling around town.

“After Cybal passed away Tuck changed his will.” Derry paused to take a drag of coffee, smacking his lips. “He left Buddy ten acres over on the south side, as you know because Tuck announced that months ago, and left fifty percent of Bluebird to you. He literally split the place down the middle. You have the north side including the angus, horses, and working pastures. But this is where things get a little sticky.”

“Aren’t they always?” Rip wouldn’t haven’t expected anything less. Tuck could be a man of mystery.

“He left the farmhouse and this side of the farm, including the herd of Highland cattle to Noelle Evelyn.”

Rip shifted. Not a surprise that Tuck included her in the will. “Have you told her yet?”

Derry looked a bit uncomfortable. “Tuck didn’t want me to tell her.” He reached inside his jacket and took out an envelope, handing it to Rip.

“What’s this?”

“A letter Tuck had written to Noelle.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“He requested that you would be the one to deliver it.”

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