There. There was the flicker in the old man’s eyes he’d been waiting for. He’d learned the art of confrontation from the master himself. He quirked one corner of his mouth. “Oh, I forgot rule number one. If you can’t trust family, you can’t trust family. You should have remembered that one, Cyrus.”
“It’s too late for your little who—”
Lightning fast, his fists wrapped in the lapels of his father’s suit. “Don’t go there, Old Man. You say what’s on the tip of your tongue, I’ll happily spend the night in jail for knocking the crap out of you.”
Cyrus glared but didn’t finish the sentence. “It’s still too late, son. She can’t make the balloon payment on that loan unless she sells those steers by five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. And that will not happen.”
“Yes, it will. I’ll buy the cattle from her.”
Chance and his father whipped their heads around at the new voice. The crowd grew silent as anticipation filled the air. The newcomer ignored Cyrus and walked over to Cass, where she’d remained mounted.
“Miss Morgan, I’m J. Rand Davis.”
As his gaze darted between the man and Cass, Chance had to stifle a laugh. If there was a man Cyrus Barron hated even more than Ben Morgan, it had to be Joseph Randolph Davis. They’d been rival wildcatters back in the early days of the oil boom; now both of them were among the richest men in the country.
Cass dismounted and offered her hand. “Mr. Davis, I suspect it’s going to be my pleasure to meet you.”
“I certainly hope so.” He glanced at his smartphone, checked a couple of screens then smiled at her. “According to the closing spot prices on the Chicago Commodities Exchange, prime grass-fed Black Angus cattle are going for a hundred and forty-seven.”
Chance did a quick mental calculation. The price was per hundredweight and given the size and quality of Cass’s steers, she’d make over five hundred thousand dollars. Cass looked stunned as she also did the math.
“I have trucks lined up, and we’ll get a final weight on ’em but I’m prepared to hand you a certified check for three hundred thousand dollars as a down payment. Once the weigh-in is final, I will cut another check for the remainder.”
Cass glanced over at Chance, her eyes wide with surprise. It was enough to pay off the note. He nodded to her. “It’s a fair price, Cass. And I figure Mr. Davis is good for the rest.”
She offered her hand, and Davis shook it. He handed over a check and she glanced at it, stared for a long moment, blinked and barely resisted doing a happy dance right there in the middle of the street.
Davis spoke up immediately. “Knowing Cyrus like I do, I didn’t want to take any chances that he’d wiggle out of the deal.” He reached for the inside breast pocket of his sport coat and pulled out some folded papers. “Here’s the bill of sale with the terms and deadline for payment of the additional funds”
Cass accepted them and with a confused expression, glanced over at Chance. “Will you look it over?”
He took the papers and unfolded them as Davis added, “Look it over, Chancellor. If Miss Baxter agrees, she can sign it and we’ll start loading these steers.”
Chance read through them, his practiced eye picking out the important parts. Everything was just as Mr. Davis had outlined. He handed the sheaf of papers back to Cass as Davis passed his pen to her. She took the time to read every page, and Chance couldn’t help the grin forming. She glanced at him finally and he nodded. She signed, using his back.