said. Which she did, in a shaky voice. The old lawyer shook his shaggy white head. “The majority of that land is rough, Your Honor, good for little but grazing. All the really big ranchers have been driven out due to government restrictions on land use. I’d like to ask Mr. Blake who is willing to invest so heavily.”
They didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Even before Larkin finished speaking, Frank Marsh turned to Blake and muttered, “Perry, what in hell are you doing? You know how hard Jill worked to secure this deal with Edward Adams. If I deal directly with Summer, Jill loses her commission.”
Summer understood everything now. Edward Adams and Associates financed and operated large resorts. It wouldn’t surprise Summer if they’d offered Frank a management role as part of the package. And Jill Gardner, a dynamic young Realtor in the area, was Frank’s latest girlfriend. Only after he filed for divorce had Summer discovered how many dalliances he’d had before Jill. People in Callanton—her friends and neighbors—had known. To Summer, that was the most humiliating aspect of this entire ordeal. The truths surrounding her sham of a marriage were unfolding in bits and pieces as townsfolk she’d known all her life chose to line up behind her or behind Frank.
Frank Marsh was a former cattle tallyman, whose job was to count and record cattle at the local stockyard. He’d finessed his way into Bart Callan’s circle of friends around the time her father was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis—better known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease. Summer hadn’t understood until later that Frank’s sudden interest in her coincided with Bart’s seeking a husband for his only child. A daughter he’d raised alone from age nine—after his wife, Lucy, succumbed to a stubborn bacterial pneumonia. And Bart Callan, ravaged by illness and worry about leaving Summer alone to run the ranch, failed to see how long she’d actually been at the helm. It was too bad the picture hadn’t taken shape for Summer before her marriage to the man her father chose for her. Then it was too late. Except…she had Rory. Everything Summer did from now on would be for him.
“Mrs. Marsh? Are you with us?”
Summer blinked at the judge, realizing belatedly that he must have spoken to her more than once. “I… uh…I’m sorry, Your Honor. I’m afraid the amount of money Mr. Blake mentioned confused me.” She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “I thought he said seven million dollars. Did I hear wrong? My great-granddad homesteaded the first hundred and sixty acres of the Forked Lightning. His wife claimed adjacent land and they bought the rest for fifty cents an acre, I think.”
“Come on, Summer,” Frank chided in a charming voice—for the sake of the judge, no doubt. “I’ve told you time and again the land is worth far more than those cows of yours can bring in. Would you climb off your high horse long enough to listen? Maybe then you’ll give me credit for knowing more than your precious dad. Bart refused to even discuss how much the ranch would bring if we sold the land.”
Grinding her back teeth, Summer barely held her anger in check.
“Dammit, I hate it when you clam up, and you do that on purpose.” No longer charming, Frank delivered her an angry look. “I told Perry you haven’t got a clue that we’ve entered a new millennium. Hell, you don’t even know how to dress for a meeting like this. Your blouse—are you trying to embarrass me, showing up looking like you’ve been wrestling steers?”
“An eagle, Frank. I wrestled a full-grown eagle into the trailer. It was shot by some of your city pals, out for sport. Sorry I’m not up to your fashion standards,” she said contemptuously. “With luck, Doc Holder will save the bird so she can raise her young. They’re an endangered species, Frank. And according to you, so are women like me.” Her hazel eyes glittered in the heat of the moment.
The judge rapped again. “Shall we leave personalities aside? We’re here to discuss property. Mr. Marsh…since the divorce, what do you do?” The judge studied a paper.
“Do?” Frank seemed taken aback.
“Yes,” Atherton returned mildly. “Do, as in work. As in…occupation?”
Frank adjusted the padded shoulders of his designer suit. Face florid, he fingered the knot on his silk tie.
“That question appears to have stumped you.” The judge thumbed through a copy of the divorce decree. “It says…Judge Davis ordered Mrs. Marsh to pay you two thousand dollars a month in support. And although you apparently share custody of a minor child, Mrs. Marsh is charged with paying one hundred percent of his care?” Atherton glanced up, pinning Frank with the forthright question.
Summer closed her eyes. Until fall roundup, she had barely enough in the ranch emergency account to pay Frank the required monthly stipend. And if beef prices dropped a cent a pound as was rumored, her ledgers would be riding a fine line between the black and the red until well after spring calving. Was this judge going to raise the amount she had to pay Frank?
“Your Honor,” Perry Blake interrupted, looking uneasy. “Surely you realize the Forked Lightning Ranch provided my client’s only income. Mr. Marsh left a good job to marry the ex-Mrs. Marsh. However, Mr. Adams’s development company has offered him a management position once the resort is built. A facility of this size— I can get you a prospectus if you’d like—will put many of the valley’s unemployed to work again. But that’s all in the future, of course.”
Summer kept her expression impassive, although her heart plummeted to her feet. Her suspicion had been correct. There was a high-paying job at stake, in addition to whatever Frank—and Jill—would make from the sale. The judge ignored Perry. “Mr. Marsh, I’m very familiar with my county. The address you currently list commands the highest rent around. Do you have a source of income not named in this brief?”
Frank blanched, and deferred the query to his attorney.
This time Blake shifted uncomfortably. “Your Honor, Mr. Marsh…uh…resides with his fiancée. She’s one of the area’s top Realtors. It’s her address you have there.”
“Fiancée?” Atherton rocked in his chair and toyed with his pencil. “So, is Ms. Gardner present during your son’s visitations?”
Summer stiffened suddenly. Frank hadn’t asked to visit with Rory since the divorce. She’d left messages on his voice mail, begging him to call Rory, who still felt confused and angry at her over his dad’s departure from home. Thus far, her messages had been ignored.
“Jill collects antiques,” Frank blurted, cracking his knuckles.
Everyone at the table, including Frank’s own attorney, seemed unable to make a connection.
“They’re expensive,” Frank said. “Jill’s condo isn’t an appropriate place for a boy used to cavorting outside. But after this deal goes through and Jill and I marry, we’re going to build a much larger home. Then Rory will have a room of his own,” Frank finished lamely as all eyes remained fixed on him.
Judge Atherton rolled a pencil between his palms. He finally pulled a yellow legal pad from under the pile of papers and began to scribble notes. After jotting several sentences, he stopped, capped his pen and sent Frank and his attorney a frosty glare. “I’ve reached a decision.”
Everyone except Larkin Crosley leaned in to hear. Crosley didn’t move until Summer tugged him forward, quietly repeating Atherton’s words.
The judge laced his hands together over a buttoned vest. “I’m allowing Mrs. Marsh six months to try and come up with the $3.8 million dollars it will take to buy out Mr. Marsh’s interest in this property.”
