Page 11 of Branded Betrayal

“I know this is a difficult time for you both, so I’ll try to make things as easy and straightforward as possible,” Kent says, putting a hand over the file folder. “Nash, you’ve been handling the operations there for the past couple of years, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Nash adjusts his hat.

“Why don’t you give me a rundown of what’s happening on the land? A current state of affairs.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and listen as he rattles off details for the lawyer that are so foreign to me, they may as well be in another language.

“The cattle operation runs about two hundred Angus-Hereford cross cattle grazing on three thousand acres,” he says. “The land is split between our own land and BLM leases . . .”

My eyes fly open wide at that. Uhhh . . . what the heck is BLM?

“And the water situation?” Kent asks.

Nash lets out a sigh, picks up his hat, runs a hand through his hair, and places the hat back on his head. “Not great. The spring in the north pasture is running at half capacity, and the well by the main barn needs a new pump. Ain’t gonna last much longer.”

Kent scribbles some notes on a yellow legal pad while I gape at my brother.

“What about the equipment?” Kent asks.

“We’re hanging on, but pretty soon we’re gonna need to replace equipment.” Nash’s jaw tightens, and he gives me a pointed look. “Some things just can’t be fixed.”

That hits me like a gut punch, exactly the way he wanted it to.

Kent takes some notes. “What about the cash situation?”

“Money is real tight,” Nash says. “Property taxes alone run about fifteen grand a year. We’ve got equipment loans, a mortgage on part of the property, and an open line of credit we use for vet bills and feed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say. “I could have helped.”

“Didn’t seem like you were fixing to get involved with things back home when you had your shiny new life in the big city,” Nash says. “And anyway, it ain’t like you ever asked.”

Kent clears his throat. “I think it’s time to move on to the will.” He rifles through some papers and starts with the legal jargon that I’m convinced nobody besides lawyers even understands.

Then he looks up at Nash. “‘To my beloved nephew Nash Carlson, I leave my grandfather’s pocket watch, my father’s Winchester rifle, and fifteen thousand dollars from my life insurance policy.’”

Nash nods, but his shoulders are tight. Fifteen thousand won’t come close to solving the ranch’s problems, and he knows it.

Then Kent turns his attention to me. “To my beloved niece Savannah Carlson, I leave the remainder of my personal effects, my savings account in the amount of eight thousand dollars, and . . .”

Kent’s voice trails off, his lips tight for the long second he pauses.

I lean closer, my chest tight.

“The entirety of Red Rock Ranch, including all equipment, buildings, livestock, land, and water rights.”

My jaw drops for the second time today. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“She left you the ranch, Savannah,” Kent repeats. “All of it.”

Nash’s hands slam on the table, and he shoots up out of his chair. “What the fuck? She left you the damn ranch? I’ve been working here this whole time, and she trusted you over me with Red Rock?”

I shake my head. “There must be some kind of mistake. You heard Nash before. He knows everything there is to know about Red Rock. I can’t run the ranch. I don’t even know what a BLM is. I don’t know anything about the place!”

Panic grips me at Kent’s revelation.

I mean, what?

And how?