“Honor?” Mr. Briggs scoffed. “Do you really think a judge is going to defend moral disintegration andincestin his court?”
Mr. Whitaker let out a long sigh and turned to Cole. “Cole,” he said softly. “Is this what you want? Is this the kind of life you and Jesse wish to live?”
Cole didn’t blink. His hands were fists now, white-knuckled on the desk. “You wanna hear it out loud? Fine.” He turned, eyes drilling into me like I was the only thing tethering him to that chair. “Jesse’s the only family I got left. He’s the best thing that ever happened to this ranch, and to me. If you think you can shame us out of a life that’s already paid for in blood, sweat, and bone, you’re kidding yourself.” He exhaled, jaw tight, the muscle jumping under his stubble. “I’d die before I handed Nelson Ranch to anyone but the man I want to build it with. So yes, Whitaker, this is what I want.”
The words rang off the paneling. Evelyn actually dabbed her eyes. But she didn’t move, didn’t leave the room. Instead, she stepped forward, placing a hand on our shoulders, showing she was on our side.
“Well,” Mr. Whitaker said, taking a yellow envelope out of his briefcase. “I suppose it’s time you got these then.”
He reached inside, producing two letters. One was addressed to me while the other was for Cole. Mine looked like it had been stamped to mail but never sent. Cole’s, however, was fresh and crisp, like it had never been read.
“What are these?” I asked, reaching across the table to take mine.
“Letters from Jack,” Mr. Whitaker nodded. “Letters that I’ve had attached to the will as evidence of his…intentions,” he added, glaring at Mr. Briggs. “I’ll make sure to get a copy for your case file.”
“I’ve seen that one before,” Cole said, glancing over at my letter. He looked back to Mr. Whitaker. “That’s the one he wrote to tell Jesse he was sick.”
“It is. But Jack asked me not to send it.”
Cole furrowed his brows. “Why? That was to get Jesse to come home… to let him visit dad before he…”
Mr. Whitaker nodded, a sad smile on his face. “It was. And, if you’ll allow me a little bit of postulation, I think Jack wanted Jesse to remember him how he was. He didn’t want Jesse seeing him bedridden and in hospice care after all these years.” Mr. Whitaker turned to me, his eyes full of more understanding than I thought possible. “Jack didn’t hate you or blame you for leaving, Jesse. So, he didn’t think you needed to be forgiven. But I’ll let you read the letter yourself.”
“I don’t see what any of this has to do with these two…capitulating,” Mr. Briggs grunted. “Do these letters state that Jack wanted them to do this? That heapprovedof such a union?”
“Actually,” Mr. Whitaker nodded. “Yes.” He turned his attention to Cole. “It seems your father was a lot more observant than you thought, Cole.” He paused for a moment, letting it sink in. “It seems you and Jack had a lot more in common than you thought.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Mr. Briggs barked.
“Jack and Mack Hollister were lovers after his second wife died,” Mr. Whitaker replied. He turned to Mr. Briggs, a big smile on his face. “How’s that for a conflict of interest considering yourclientis the spurned lover of Jack Nelson?”
Chapter 27
Jesse
Istood on the porch with Cole and Mr. Whitaker, watching the other lawyer drive off, gravel thrown up behind him.
“Well, that should shut Mack up,” Mr. Whitaker said with a sigh. “Unless he wants the entire town to find out therealreason he’s never had a wife.”
“Isn’t that sort of blackmail?” I asked, surprised a lawyer of all people would suggest such a thing.
“Is it?” he grinned. “Or is it justleverage?” He raised a hand, heading down the porch steps. “Have a good evening y’all. And I’ll be out in two weeks for the monthly report.”
He left us standing in the blue dusk, the porch cold underfoot in that interval between snowmelt and true spring. Cole was still for a long time, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The muscles in his jaw didn’t relax until the taillights vanished around the last bend. The silence between us wasn’t tense. It was tired. Maybe even sweet, in the way some afternoons are sweeter for being nearly over.
“I can’t believe it,” Cole said. “All that shit for nothing. For pride.”
I stayed quiet. It wasn’t for nothing, and we both knew it. Small towns spin on secrets kept until they rot and Hell Creek was no different.
“I should have known,” Cole muttered, more to himself than me. “Dad was always so damn loyal to his friends. Even the ones who didn’t deserve it.”
He looked at me, then away, the way he always did when feelings slipped through. I thought I might touch his arm, tell him it was over, that he could rest. But I didn’t.
Instead, I drew out the envelope Whitaker had handed me. Pale yellow. Heavy with the last words of a man who’d raised neither of us but still shaped everything we’d become. Cole’s was already opened, never sealed to begin with. But mine was shut tight. I slipped a thumbnail under the edge and split it, the paper making a sound like a match being struck.
The porch was full of shadows now. I read the letter anyway.
Jesse,
