one
Gage
Ialways knew there would come a time I’d have to say goodbye to Uncle Sam, but no amount of preparing makes you ready when it happens.
Uncle Sam wasn’t just my uncle; he was like a father to me. He taught me everything I know about the ranch—his livelihood, and eventually, mine.
I learned to ride before I could properly read.
I learned the weight of a fence post, the sting of barbed wire, the smell of rain rolling in over dry pasture.
Uncle Sam used to say the land remembers who works it, who bleeds for it. That if you show up every day and put your back into it, the ranch will give back tenfold.
Standing here now, waiting on paperwork instead of sunrise, I can almost hear his voice telling me not to let anyone take what we built. Not over his dead body.
I drive all the way to the lawyer’s office and have been waiting in this stuffy room for the last thirty minutes. Seriously, where the heck is this guy? I’ve got things to do. The longer I sit and stare at the same burgundy carpet, the more sure I am that my eyes are going to see red the rest of the day.
The door finally opens, and bigwig Monty Langford comes waltzing in like he hasn’t taken his damn time getting here. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s the only decent lawyer in our tiny town of Bell River, I’d hope that Uncle Sam would have picked someone better, but that isn’t the way of it.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Gage. I know you’ve got places to be,” he says, holding a manila envelope in his hand before taking a seat across from me. He places it on his desk, the string tightly fastened, locking Uncle Sam’s will inside. It feels surreal to know that, in a few short moments, I’ll be taking ownership of the ranch, officially.
Monty looks me over and shakes his head.
Something tightens low in my gut. Monty doesn’t usually hesitate. He’s the kind of man who talks first and thinks later, especially when it comes to paperwork. Thepause, the way his fingers linger too long on the envelope, sets my nerves on edge.
“What?” I say.
He chuckles, his beer gut shaking like a loose gate in the wind, but his hand stays tight on the envelope. “You’re the only guy I know who would waltz up in here for a will reading dressed like he's been doing chores,” he says, his smile never leaving his round face.
He isn’t looking to offend, quite the opposite. Around here, they call that small talk, but frankly, after waiting this long, I’m not interested in it.
“Last I checked, I’m here to see about my ranch.” I point to the envelope. “Surely, you know ranching doesn’t stop, not even for a will reading,” I reply, adjusting in my seat.
He chuckles again. “Yeah, don’t I know it.” He leans forward, grabs the sealed will, and unravels the string. He opens it and pulls the contents out, placing them on his desk.
“Alright, it says—‘In light of my death, all material assets should be henceforth evenly distributed to my ranch hands, as follows: I give Hank Doyle, my most loyal friend, my prized belt buckles from the state fairs. Now you can lie about your winnings, you old nut,’” he begins, and I roll my eyes and laugh. Great, Hank has been eyeing those for at least twenty years.
He continues. “I give Jesse Reynolds all my tools and my favorite pocketknife. No one deserves it more than you. And finally, to Mason Landers, I give my hats and boots. You’ll be a fine cowboy yet.”
Monty looks up from the will and then passes sealed letters to me. “He wrote specific letters to them detailing the significance of each asset distributed,” he explains, and I take them, standing just enough to slip them into my back pocket.
He clears his throat again and returns to the will, but as he’s about to continue, he stops suddenly.
“And the ranch?”
Monty looks up, uncomfortable. “Ah… well.”
There it is again—that hesitation. My jaw tightens as a warning pulse starts behind my eyes.
He looks nervous.
Why the heck is he nervous?
“Spit it out, man, what about the ranch?” I ask, already frustrated.
He looks down at the will and reads—“‘And finally, I, Samuel Hollis, bequeath Hollis Ranch to my nephew, Gage Hollis…and…’
And? Who else could possibly be getting my family’s ranch?
