“The will states that the Nelson Ranch, in its entirety, is to be jointly owned by both Cole Nelson and Jesse Harris, with equal shares and equal responsibility.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
“What the fuck?” I finally managed, my voice a strangled whisper.
Jesse looked equally stunned, his mouth hanging open slightly. “That’s not possible.”
“I assure you, it is.” Whitaker tapped the papers. “Furthermore, there is a stipulation. The ranch cannot be sold, divided, or transferred to another party for a minimum of one year following Jack Nelson’s death. During that time, both of you must live and work on the property together.”
“No.” I stood up so fast my chair nearly toppled over. “Nofuckingway.”
Jesse looked pale. “I can’t stay here for a year. I have a life in Seattle. A job. A—” He stopped himself, swallowing whatever he was about to say.
“I’m afraid those are the terms,” Whitaker said firmly. “If either of you refuses to comply, the entire estate will be donated to the Montana Land Conservation Trust.”
I felt like I was going to be sick. “This is bullshit. He can’t force us to live together.”
“He’s not forcing you to do anything,” Whitaker replied calmly. “You’re both free to walk away. But if you do, neither of you gets the ranch.”
My hands clenched into fists. “I’ve given fifteen years of my life to this place. Fifteen fucking years! And now I have to share it with him?” I jabbed a finger toward Jesse. “He doesn’t know the first thing about ranching anymore. He’s been gone for?—”
“Fifteen years. Yeah, we get it,” Jesse interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Christ, you’re like a broken record.”
I took a threatening step toward him, but Whitaker’s voice cut through the tension.
“There’s more.”
We both froze, eyes darting back to Whitaker, who seemed almost amused by our reactions.
“According to the will,” he continued, glancing down at the paper, “neither of you is permitted to hire managers or foremen to run the operation in your absence. You must actively participate in the daily management and labor of the ranch yourselves. And you must reside on the ranch, in the main house. Together.”
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I growled, pacing the small office. My boots thudded against the hardwood floor, each step echoing my mounting rage. “Dad wouldn’t do this to me.”
“Apparently he would,” Jesse muttered, running a hand through his hair.
I rounded on him. “You don’t get to have an opinion here. You walked away. I stayed.”
“And yet here we are,” Jesse said, his voice deceptively calm. “Seems like your father thought I deserved half, regardless.”
I wanted to grab him by his fancy collar and throw him against the wall. Fifteen years of back-breaking work, of sleepless nights worrying about money, of putting my own lifeon hold… all of it meant nothing now. Dad had betrayed me in the worst possible way.
Whitaker cleared his throat. “There’s one final provision.”
“Jesus Christ, what else?” I snapped.
“If you two manage to successfully run the ranch together for the full year, and if—” he paused, glancing between us, “if you can resolve your differences and forge a working partnership, then at the end of that year, you’ll gain access to a separate trust fund Jack established for each of you. Each fund is worth well over a million dollars.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered. The ranch had never had that kind of money.
“Your father made some very wise investments over the years,” Whitaker explained. “He was quite shrewd with his finances.”
Jesse let out a low whistle. “Damn, old man.”
“The funds remain intact only if you fulfill all conditions of the will,” Whitaker continued. “If either of you leaves before the year is up, or if you fail to work together in the spirit your father intended, the money goes to charity along with the ranch.”
I leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling like the floor had dropped out from under me. “So that’s it? I’m just supposed to let him waltz back in after fifteen years and hand over half of everything I’ve worked for?”
