“Oh, yeah,” Jordan said, even though he’d probably only been ten or eleven at the time. “Anything else in there?”
“You had to maintain fences to keep livestock out of the fields. Money would exchange hands yearly.” He looked up. “Have you gotten money?”
“A check went into the bank January first. I never got around to returning it.”
“That check may well be yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You may not have a choice.”
Jordan’s gut twisted. “I don’t get this. If Miranda has the farm lease, then why was Shae McArthur there? It isn’t like she’s going to jump on a tractor or anything.”
“I do remember Shae as being a bit too prim for farm work. Her sister, on the other hand...”
“Yeah. Liv was okay,” Jordan agreed absently. “Am I jumping the gun, Em? Any chance that she didn’t inherit and we’re reading a whole lot into this?”
“There’s a chance.” Emery’s frown deepened as he again studied Jordan’s face. Jordan knew he honestly did look like hell and it wasn’t because of the scars. The quick look he’d taken in the rearview mirror had startled him. Heavy stubble covered the unscarred part of his face and the lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper than before, his cheeks gaunter. He looked skeletal. He felt skeletal—as if everything that mattered had been stripped away, leaving him nothing but a shell of what had been and would probably never be again.
Jordan took a sip of the overly sweetened tea. “I’m going to have to talk to her.”
“Let me do it. As your lawyer.”
Whom he couldn’t pay. “No. I can handle this.”
“You don’t have to,” Emery repeated.
Jordan shot him a speaking look. “I know I look like I just stepped out of the asylum, but that’s what a cross-country trip and three breakdowns will do to a guy. I’m fine.” He somehow got the lie out while staring Emery down. It even sounded convincing. “All I want is the truth so that I know how to proceed.”
“Proceed with what?”
“Making Miranda miserable.”
“And yourself?”
Jordan scowled at the lawyer, not comprehending.
“Making Miranda miserable is going to come at a cost,” Emery explained.
“Believe it or not, I’m quite familiar with misery.”
“Yeah, boy, I bet you are,” the old man said softly, folding the documents and sliding them across the table. “Sorry I wasn’t in contact after the accident.”
Jordan dropped his gaze, studying the pit marks in the ancient mahogany table. “I...didn’t want contact.” He’d sent his cousin Cole away when he’d come to visit.
“And now?”
Jordan just shook his head, still focused on the tabletop. “I don’t know what I want other than some solitude. That’s why I came here.” He placed both palms on the table and looked up at the ceiling. Looked anywhere but at Emery, who he was afraid was going to suggest the obvious. “I hadn’t expected this.”
Emery then did exactly what Jordan had dreaded, yet expected. “There are some resources here, you know. The VA—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.” Jordan’s voice held an edge of steel that he hoped hid the anxiety he felt at the mention of help. He’d been helped the conventional way and it hadn’t taken. He wasn’t beyond trying again, just not yet. Not...yet.
Emery was staring at him now, his lips pressed tightly together beneath his white mustache as if he was trying very hard to keep from speaking.
“Sorry,” Jordan muttered.
“Nothing to be sorry for. I imagine you’ve been to hell and back.”
“A couple times.”
“Pain still bad?”
“Getting better.”
“What’re you going to do now?”
Jordan started putting his papers back in the metal box. “I guess I’m going to start moving onto my ranch.”
“I mean for a living. You were never good with free time.”
Jordan almost said that he’d changed, but after the VA discussion he decided against it, saying instead, “Maybe I’ll drive by Claiborne’s place and see if he has any rank colts.” Which was how Jordan had made spending money during high school and college—starting those ornery animals.
Emery gave a short laugh. “When doesn’t he have rank colts?” he asked, seeming relieved to have a safe subject to talk about after delving into matters that edged into personal territory. “I’ve never seen a guy with so many wild two-, three-and four-year-olds. And every year he produces more foals. The guy’s got more money than brains.”
“He promised he was going to stop breeding when I left.”
“He lied.” Emery got to his feet and, once Jordan had the box locked, walked with him to the car, stopping in his tracks when he saw Clyde’s nose pressed up against the driver’s-side window. “You’re a poodle man now?”
“Stray,” Jordan said. “He’s been good company—seen me through a few rough spots on the trip. Subaru broke down a couple times.”
“I’m not surprised,” Emery said, cocking a thick white eyebrow as he studied the rusty little car. Then he looked back up at Jordan. “Speaking of rough spots...if you should get into any kind of trouble and you don’t call me, I’ll kick your ass to Missoula and back.”
“How would I get into trouble?” Jordan asked, straight-faced.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m just going to take care of what’s mine.” He got in the car and Clyde instantly jumped onto his lap, balancing his front paws on the door while his hind feet dug into Jordan’s thighs. Jordan rolled down the window a few more inches. “I appreciate the help and I won’t get myself into trouble.”
Much. He hoped.
Emery dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed a worn card and handed it to Jordan. “That’s my number. Call.”
Jordan took the card and put it in his own wallet, then Emery stepped back, looking, if anything, even more concerned than when Jordan had first stepped out of the car. Jordan wanted to tell him not to worry, but it wouldn’t have done a hell of a lot of good. So instead he nodded at the old man and put the car in reverse.
After driving a few miles, out of sight of the house, he pulled to the side of the gravel road and counted the bills left in his wallet. The Subaru repairs had made a deep dent and his disability check wouldn’t go into the bank for another seven days, but if he was careful and not too concerned about the quality of his purchases, he had enough to make do.
Pocketing his wallet, he smiled grimly at the poodle. “We have work to do.”
* * *
SHAE PULLED THE Audi to a stop behind the main guest-ranch house at Cedar Creek, pulling the keys out of the ignition and pocketing them. It was impossible to tell if Jordan had gotten there ahead of her, but all seemed quiet when she walked into the reception area, brushing off the powdered road dust that had filtered onto her jeans when she’d opened the car door. A young woman dressed in dark jeans and a crisp white Western shirt with a bolo tie at the neck came around the reception desk to meet her.