years ago, you didn’t even know about Larry’s brood of bastards!”
“I won’t have you talking about your cousins that way.” The steel in Garrett’s voice sounded razor-sharp.
“Cousins.” Lyle spit the word out, derision dripping from his voice. “I don’t understand how you can consider those illegitimate whelps as family.” As far as Lyle was concerned, they were nothing but unfortunate reminders of his uncle Larry’s philandering ways.
“Because that’s what they are, whether you like it or not.” Garrett’s voice cut sharply through the phone line. “They’re Larry’s sons. They’re as much my blood as you are, and I suggest you start accepting that fact.”
Lyle stared out the window at the Crazy Mountains, their tops rugged and craggy above the timberline. They looked just like his grandfather sounded, tough and indomitable and unmoving. No, his grandfather was tougher than the mountains, Lyle thought ruefully. If a mountain was in his way, he could always blast through it with dynamite. With his grandfather, he’d have to find a way around.
The old man was completely intractable when it came to this topic. Ever since he discovered two years ago that his late son, Larry, had fathered seven illegitimate children, Garrett had refused to listen to reason. The old man had not only welcomed the bastards into the bosom of the family, but given them all large chunks of the Kincaid ranch, as well. Land that should have been split three ways—between Lyle and his two legitimate cousins, Melanie and Collin—was now going to be split among the bastards.
And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The piece of land the old man had given Lyle was a worthless parcel abutting the Laughing Horse Reservation up north. The land the resort was being constructed upon, however, was being saved for Gabriel Reilly Baxter, Larry’s youngest illegitimate child who’d been adopted by Jordan Baxter. Adding insult to injury was the fact that the little bastard was probably still in diapers.
Lyle’s grandfather refused to see the injustice of it all. Lyle had tried to reason with the old man. He’d tried wheedling and logic. He’d even had his mother intercede on his behalf. She’d manage to convince Garrett to give Lyle an extra piece of the Whitehorn property, but it had been more of that useless tract next to the reservation. He’d even offered to buy the land the resort would be built on from the stubborn old mule. The only concession he’d gotten was that Garrett had agreed to let him represent the land in negotiations with the Indians, and he’d made sure that Lyle’s construction company got the contract to build the casino and resort.
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