I glanced at Cole, who was still focused intently on his food. The muscles in his jaw worked as he chewed, tension radiating from him like heat from a stove. I wondered if he ever helped Evelyn with the cooking or cleaning, or if he just expected her to do it all. He’d always been that way as a teenager. Entitled, expecting others to pick up after him because he worked outside all day.
“The ranch looks good,” I offered, trying again to break through his wall of silence. “You’ve made improvements.”
Cole’s eyes flicked up to mine, suspicion written across his features. “What would you know about it?”
“I have eyes, don’t I?” I shot back, my patience wearing thin. “The solar panels are new. The chicken coop’s bigger. The south pasture fencing is different.”
Something flickered across his face, possibly surprise, before he masked it with indifference. “Had to adapt to survive. Ranches ain’t exactly printin’ money these days.”
Evelyn finished with my left hand and moved to the right, clicking her tongue at the state of it. “Cole’s done wonders with this place,” she said proudly. “Modernized what needed modernizing, kept the rest traditional. Your daddy was so proud.”
I felt that familiar twist of guilt in my gut. Dad had been proud of Cole, and rightfully so. What had he thought of me, his other son who’d run away and never looked back?
“Not that he’d ever show it,” Cole grumbled.
Evelyn was about to reprimand him again when I heard the crunching of gravel in the driveway. All three of us glanced out the window to see a sparkling clean black SUV pulling up to the house.
“‘Bout time,” Cole said, pushing his half-finished bowl aside.
I watched as Mr. Whitaker stepped out of his vehicle wearing a denim jacket that made him look less like a lawyer and more like a rancher himself. He paused for a moment to grab a briefcase from his passenger seat and then headed for the house.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked, turning back to Cole.
“I called him,” he replied, pushing himself up from the table. “I don’t know about you, but I wanna spend as little time with you on my property as possible. The faster this year is over, the better.”
I frowned, watching as Whitaker approached the house. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re signing the paperwork right now,” Cole said, standing to open the door before the lawyer could knock. “Making this official so the clock can start ticking.”
Whitaker stepped inside, nodding politely to all of us. “Good afternoon, folks.” His eyes landed on me, taking in mydisheveled appearance with barely concealed amusement. “I see you’re getting reacquainted with ranch life, Mr. Harris.”
“Something like that,” I muttered, suddenly self-conscious about the hay still stuck in my hair and the dirt under my fingernails.
Cole gestured toward the living room. “Let’s get this over with.”
Evelyn finished wrapping my other hand, giving it a gentle pat. “There. That should help.” She packed up her first aid kit and stood. “I’ll leave you boys to your business.”
“Actually,” Whitaker said, “I’d like Evelyn to stay as a witness, if that’s alright with everyone.”
Cole shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other, and I nodded my agreement. We moved into the living room, a space that hadn’t changed much since I’d left. The same worn leather sofa sat against the wall, the same faded rug covered the hardwood floor, and the same family photos hung on the walls. I tried not to look at them as I took a seat, not wanting to see the frozen moments of a life I’d abandoned.
Whitaker set his briefcase on the coffee table and pulled out several documents. “Now, as I explained yesterday, Jack Nelson’s will stipulates that both of you must actively participate in running the ranch for one year. You must both reside in the main house, and neither of you can hire managers to do the work in your place.”
“We get it,” Cole said impatiently. “Just tell us where to sign so we can start the clock.”
Whitaker ignored Cole’s tone and continued. “I’ve drawn up a formal agreement that outlines all the terms of the will. Once you both sign, the one-year period officially begins.”
He handed us each a thick document. I flipped through mine, the legal jargon swimming before my eyes. Words like “joint ownership,” “equal partnership,” and “binding arbitration”jumped out at me. This was really happening. I was really committing to a year in Hell Creek with Cole Nelson.
“There’s also a clause about dispute resolution,” Whitaker added, pointing to a section near the back. “If disagreements arise that you can’t resolve yourselves, I’ll serve as mediator.”
“Great,” Cole muttered. “Just what we need. A babysitter.”
“It was your father’s idea,” Whitaker replied mildly. “He knew this wouldn’t be easy for either of you. He also knew how…proneyou were to getting physical.”
I skimmed the document more carefully, pausing when I reached a section about our respective roles.
“All ranch duties are to be shared equally between both parties,” I read aloud, my eyebrows shooting up. “Cole will be responsible for teaching Jesse any necessary skills he may have forgotten or never learned.”
