“What do you think she meant by that?” Blake asked Maci as he closed the door behind her old friend.
Maci shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t talk to either of them, and we’ve just been jumping to conclusions. Or maybe she did talk to them, and it didn’t go as badly as we think. Or…”
“Or?” Blake prodded when she trailed off.
“Or she knows you’re not responsible for whatever Brett or Frankie might have said to her, so she doesn’t think it’s necessary for you to apologize,” Maci said.
Blake sighed. “That’s what worries me. Whatever Brett or Frankie said…” He groaned again. “She was so close to agreeing to accept the terms of the will.”
Maci tilted her head. “I’m not so sure. She promised her lawyer she wouldn’t agree to anything until she talked to him—”
“And he’s going to do everything he can to make sure she doesn’t settle,” Blake finished.
Maci groaned now. “I know from experience how good he is at stating his case.” Despite how hard Blake knew that Maci had worked, Stokes had kept getting extensions from the probate judge to put off settling the estate.
“I thought this was all going to be over once she got here,” Blake said. That was why those nerves kept jumping around in his gut, because he had a feeling that nothing was going to be settled.
He glanced back toward the barn just as Brett rode off on the back of his black horse. The hooves kicked up dust from how hard and fast Brett was riding away from the house. Away from Trish Dempsey…
Was that because he was angry with her? Or for another reason? Like maybe he couldn’t stay as angry with her as he wanted to be. Brett had adopted Frank Dempsey’s attitude about relationships—that they weren’t worth the risk. While Blake had always admired and idolized his older brother, he knew how wrong Brett was about that.
Love was worth every risk.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brett had spentanother restless night tossing and turning in his bed. He awoke early the next morning with his head pounding from stress, sleeplessness and all the thoughts that had kept him awake the night before.
Trish.
All his thoughts had revolved around her and what she was going to do. She hadn’t told anyone yet. When he’d suggested Trish get some sleep the day before, he’d figured she would just take a nap. Maybe sleep for an hour or two. But he hadn’t seen her again after she’d left the barn.
Not that he’d been around that much. He’d spent the entire afternoon riding around the pastures, checking on the cattle, making sure the other calves were doing well. He should probably call the veterinarian to check on them again. The vet he’d been using the past five years was now his stepcousin. Dr. Cash had become more than just his vet, though; they were good friends. Cash had let his fees slide for a while when the ranch was struggling. Brett was glad that he could pay him back for that.
What if Trish wanted to use a different vet? What if she wanted to change everything about the ranch? Maybe not even focus on the cattle that Brett and his brothers had worked so hard to turn into a healthier, organic beef business?
The only thing Brett knew for certain was that Trish intended to start some kind of daycare at the ranch. Or just a summer camp? He understood the appeal of such a place. As a kid stuck in the city against his will, he would have loved spending his summers at a ranch out west. But adding a camp to the ranch would increase the workload and liability. Hopefully, she would understand that while it sounded fun, camps and petting zoos wouldn’t be practical.
But in order for her to understand, someone would need to talk to her about it. No one else at the house had seen her again yesterday. She’d stayed in her room. Maybe sleeping. Or maybe she’d just been avoiding them.
Brett wanted to avoid her now, too. Maybe he couldn’t sleep because of her presence, her closeness to the room where he’d tossed and turned. Clearly she didn’t think that he and his brothers, asranch hands, should even be in the house. And if she decided not to respect her father’s wishes, she might want them to move out.
Brett would fight her over the ranch, but he didn’t really care where he slept. So after tending to the livestock that morning, he walked from the barn to the two-story bunkhouse with its weathered clapboard siding. The long building was on the other side of the barn from the house. When he pushed open the door, something scurried across the room, tiny claws scraping across the bare hardwood floor.
A startled scream escaped the lips of the woman who was already standing in the bunkhouse. Trish jumped at the sight of the mouse that raced across the floor in front of her, and her scream echoed off the high ceiling.
“Not going to have mice in your petting zoo?” Brett couldn’t resist the urge to tease her.
She shuddered. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Maybe we should put the kittens in here,” he remarked. “Have them handle the mice.”
She shuddered again. “No. This place needs a lot of work before it’ll be safe for anyone.”
Brett wanted to ask who anyone was. Him?
But he focused instead on the building. The big open space was all wood, floor, walls and open raftered ceiling. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling beams, illuminated by the sunlight streaking through the dirty windows. There was a long table near the small kitchenette and then a couple of couches with stuffing sticking out of some holes in the worn fabric.
Trish was looking around, too. “Looks like this hasn’t been used for a long time.”
