but briefly I can tell you that, with one exception, Joseph left everything he owned to you and your three brothers.”
Stunned, Cade stared at Anderson for a moment before picking up the document.
“You’ll notice on page three,” Anderson continued, “that Joseph left the Triple C to all of you in one-fourth shares. He also left each of you control of individual aspects of the ranch. In your case, he left you all the cattle and any other livestock. You have the power to sell any of them you want. But you can’t sell the land. None of you can sell any of the Triple C acres without express consent, in writing, of the other three.”
If Cade didn’t have the will in front of him, he wouldn’t have believed Anderson. But the document was clear. He scanned the typed pages quickly, stopping abruptly when he reached page five.
“He left my grandparents’ cabin and three acres to Mariah Jones?” The quick flash of anger echoed in his words.
“Yes.” Anderson didn’t flinch from Cade’s hard stare. “Joseph died of cancer. Mariah Jones took care of him, and it was my observation that he viewed her as a daughter.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Cade’s growled response held sarcasm. He didn’t believe any man, even one Joseph’s age, could look at the blonde and not see a beautiful, sexy woman. He tossed the will onto the desk in front of him. “That cabin sits within yards of the barn and is part of Triple C headquarters, plus it’s landlocked and surrounded by Coulter land. Is there a way to break the will and keep it part of the ranch?”
“No,” Anderson replied. “A clause provides any heir challenging any part of the will shall have their portion of the estate gifted to the State of Montana’s park system.”
Cade frowned, silently considering the problem before deciding to shelve it for the moment. Not that he believed there wasn’t a way to keep the cabin in Coulter hands, nor that Mariah Jones hadn’t somehow manipulated Joseph to convince him to leave her the valuable property. The cabin was important not only because of its location—his grandfather had built it with his own hands. It was part of Coulter history and he’d find a way to reclaim it. “You said the ranch is hanging on by its fingertips. What do you mean?” he asked, returning to the larger issue of the Triple C.
“There are no cash assets. Joseph was increasingly ill for several years and medical bills ate up what cash he had. The ranch itself has been maintained but not at optimum level.”
Cade nodded. “I went to the Triple C before coming here. I’ve seen the buildings though I haven’t closely assessed them.”
“Then you have some idea of what you’re up against,” Ned replied. He slid another document across the desktop to Cade. “This is information about the inheritance taxes. As you can see, they’re substantial and are the most pressing problem you and your brothers will have. Unless any of you are independently wealthy and have the means to pay them?” he added, a hopeful note in his voice.
The total tax dollars owed was staggering.
“No,” Cade replied. “We’re all solvent but I doubt any of us has that kind of money.”
“Then you’ll have to work together to find a way to make the ranch earn enough to pay the taxes.” Ned eyed Cade.
“It’ll take a damned miracle,” Cade told him.
“Perhaps.” The attorney replied.
“Is there anything else I need to know right now?” Cade asked.
“I think you have the basics.”
“Then I’ll head back to the ranch.” Cade stood and held out his hand, shaking the attorney’s as he stood. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Good. And Cade …”
Cade paused at the doorway to look back at Anderson.
“Welcome home.”
Cade nodded and left the office.
Barely two hours after he’d left Mariah in the ranch yard, Cade drove out of Indian Springs and headed back to the Triple C. His discussion with the attorney about the details of his father’s estate had raised more questions than answers.
Given the long estrangement between Cade, his brothers and their father, Cade hadn’t expected any of them to receive much, if anything, from his estate. To his surprise, Joseph Coulter had left nearly everything he owned to his four sons in approximately equal shares.
But the Triple C had barely been making ends meet before Joseph’s death, Cade thought grimly, and there was a good chance his sons would lose the vast acres to taxes and debt.
And just to add to the complicated mess his father had left for his sons to sort out, Joseph had given his grandparents’ cabin to Mariah Jones. The house and its acre of surrounding land edged the creek bank and sat within view of the main ranch house, just beyond the barn and outbuildings. The blonde also had a legal right to use the lane to the highway.
Unless he could find a way to break that part of his father’s will, Cade was stuck with having Mariah living on the ranch permanently.
It was almost six o’clock and full dark when he reached the Triple C. His headlights arced over the corral and barn before he parked in front of the bunkhouse where warm lamplight poured through the windows. At the main house across the ranch yard, only the solitary porch light glowed, throwing the ends of the deep porch into shadow.
Cade climbed the shallow steps to the bunkhouse and entered without knocking.
The three people seated at the table in the kitchen area all looked up. Two men, one older and one kid, sat with Mariah, whose hair gleamed silver in the light. Her brown eyes widened before her expression shuttered.
“Evening,” Cade said, hanging his hat on a hook next to the door and shrugging out of his coat.
“Hello.” Mariah pushed back her chair and walked to the stove. She picked up potholders, pausing to look over her shoulder. “J.T., Pete, this is Cade Coulter.”
The two stood as Cade joined them.
“Evenin’, boss.” The elderly cowboy was lean and rangy, shoulders slightly stooped. A white shock of hair covered his head and bright blue eyes were shrewd under heavy eyebrows. His lined face with its craggy nose and strong chin held character and gave testimony to a lifetime of working outside in Montana weather.
“Evening, boss.” The kid’s greeting copied the older man’s right down to the inflection and polite neutrality. He was equally tall and rangy except his shoulders were square, straight with youth. His dark blond hair was a shade too long and brushed his collar in back, his navy blue eyes cool and unreadable as they met Cade’s. He wore faded jeans, cowboy boots and a ripped but clean plaid flannel shirt that hung unbuttoned over a black T-shirt. The tee had a faded rock band logo with the words “hell-raiser” centered on his chest.
The three men shook hands, murmured polite hellos, before they all sat down. Cade caught a glimpse of a tattoo just beneath the edge of the shirt’s worn neckline as J.T. sat.
The kid’s got attitude, Cade thought. I wonder if he’s any good at working on a ranch.
“Corn
