Her smartphone chimed, indicating she’d received a text message. There was a phone number, but no name. She read the text and her heart received a potent shock.
Hope Springs Ranch rightfully belongs to Shane Delgado. –Maverick
Too outraged to consider the wisdom of engaging with the mysterious sender, she picked up the phone and texted back.
Who is this and what are you talking about?
Her computer immediately pinged, indicating she’d received an email. She clicked to open the message. It was from Maverick.
Give up your Texas Cattleman’s Club membership and wire fifty thousand dollars to the account below or I’ll be forced to share this proof of ownership with Delgado. You have two weeks to comply.
Ignoring the bank routing information, Brandee double-clicked on the attachment. It was a scan of a faded, handwritten document, a letter dated March 21, 1899, written by someone named Jasper Crowley. He offered a five-thousand-acre parcel as a dowry to the man who married his daughter, Amelia. From the description of the land, it was the five thousand acres Hope Springs Ranch occupied.
Brandee’s outrage dissipated, but uneasiness remained.
This had to be a joke. Nothing about the documentation pointed to Shane. She was ready to dismiss the whole thing when the name Maverick tickled her awareness. Where had she heard it mentioned before? Cecelia Morgan had spoken the name before one of the contentious meetings at the TCC clubhouse. Was Cecelia behind this? Given the demands, it made sense.
Brandee had been doing her best to thwart every power play Cecelia, Simone and Naomi had attempted. There was no way she was going to let the terrible trio bully their way into leadership positions with the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Was this their way of getting her to shut up?
She responded to the email.
This doesn’t prove anything.
This isn’t an empty threat, was the immediate response. Shaw didn’t search for Crowley’s descendants. I did.
That seemed to indicate that Maverick had proof that Crowley and Shane were related. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t ignore this. Brandee set her hands on the edge of the desk and shoved backward, muttering curses. The office wasn’t big enough for her to escape the vile words glowing on the screen, so she got up and left the room to clear her head.
How dare they? She stalked down the hall to the living area, taking in the perfection of her home along the way.
Everything she had was tied up in Hope Springs Ranch. If she wasn’t legally entitled to the land, she’d be ruined. Selling the cattle wouldn’t provide enough capital for her to start again. And what would become of her camp?
Sweat broke out on Brandee’s forehead. Throwing open her front door, she lifted her face to the cool breeze and stepped onto the porch, which ran the full length of her home. Despite the chilly February weather, she settled in a rocker and drew her knees to her chest. Usually contemplating the vista brought her peace. Not today.
What if that document was real and it could be connected to Shane? She dropped her forehead to her knees and groaned. This was a nightmare. Or maybe it was just a cruel trick. The ranch could not belong to Shane Delgado. Whoever Maverick was, and she suspected it was the unholy trio of Cecelia, Simone and Naomi, there was no way this person could be right.
The land had been abandoned. The taxes had ceased being paid. Didn’t that mean the acres reverted back to the government? There had to be a process that went into securing unclaimed land. Something that went beyond simply paying the back taxes. Surely Emmitt had followed every rule and procedure. But what if he hadn’t? What was she going to do? She couldn’t lose Hope Springs Ranch. And especially not to the likes of Shane Delgado.
It took a long time for Brandee’s panic to recede. Half-frozen, she retreated inside and began to plan. First on the agenda was to determine if the document was legitimate. Second, she needed to trace Shane back to Jasper Crowley. Third, she needed to do some research on the process for purchasing land that had returned to the government because of unpaid back taxes.
The blackmailer had given her two weeks. It wasn’t a lot of time, but she was motivated. And if she proved Shane was the owner of her land? She could comply with Maverick’s demands. Fifty thousand wasn’t peanuts, but she had way more than that sitting in her contingency fund. She’d pay three times that to keep Shane Delgado from getting his greedy hands on her land.
And if she absolutely had to, she could resign from the Texas Cattleman’s Club. She’d earned her membership the same way club members of old had: by making Hope Springs a successful ranch and proving herself a true cattleman. It would eat at her to let Cecelia, Simone and Naomi bully her into giving up the club she deserved to be a part of, but she could yield the high ground if it meant her programs for at-risk teenagers would be able to continue.
Bile rose as she imagined herself facing the trio’s triumphant smirks. How many times in school had she stood against the mean girls and kept her pride intact? They’d ridiculed her bohemian style and tormented anyone brave enough to be friends with her. In turn, she’d manipulated their boyfriends into dumping them and exposed their villainous backstabbing to the whole school.
It wasn’t something Brandee was proud of, but to be fair, she’d been dealing with some pretty major ugliness at home and hadn’t been in the best frame of mind to take the high road.
When it came to taking care of herself, Brandee had learned how to fight dirty from her father’s ranch hands. They’d treated her like a little sister and given her tips on how to get the upper hand in any situation. Brandee had found their advice useful after she’d moved in with her mother and had to cope with whatever flavor of the month she’d shacked up with.
Not all her mother’s boyfriends had been creeps, but enough of them had turned their greedy gaze Brandee’s way to give her a crash course in manipulation as a method of self-preservation.
And now those skills were going to pay off in spades. Because she intended to do whatever it took to save her ranch, and heaven help anyone who got in her way.
* * *
Standing in what would eventually become the grotto at Pure, the spa in his luxury resort project, The Bellamy, Shane was in an unhappy frame of mind. He surveyed the half-finished stacked stone pillars and the coffered ceiling above the narrow hot tub. In several months, Pure would be the most amazing spa Royal had ever seen, offering a modern take on a traditional Roman bath with a series of soothing, luxurious chambers in which guests could relax and revive.
Right now, the place was a disaster.
“I’m offering people the experience of recharging in an expensive, perfectly designed space,” Shane reminded his project manager. “What about this particular stone says expensive or perfect?” He held up a sample of the stacked stone. “This is not what I ordered.”
“Let me check on it.”
“And then there’s that.” Shane pointed to the coffered ceiling above the hot tub. “That is not the design I approved.”
“Let me check on that, as well.”
Shane’s phone buzzed, reminding him of his next appointment.
“We’ll have to pick this up first thing tomorrow.” Even though he was reluctant to stop when he had about fifty more details that needed to be discussed, Shane only had fifteen minutes until he was supposed to be at his mother’s home for their weekly dinner, and it was a twenty-minute drive to her house.
Shane wound his way through The Bellamy’s construction site, seeing something that needed his attention