“Well, now, that’s up for debate. Of course, if your brother and sister agree with all your decisions, then there’s never going to be a problem. If they choose to contest it, however . . .”
“What? Then what?”
“Things get . . . well, we’ll just say messy.” His grim face reflected Peyton’s fears.
“They’re not even here, Tim.” She let her hands drop to the table, fingers curling into fists. “They haven’t come back for anything. Not for the funeral, not for birthdays or holidays. Hell, I’m not even sure I know where Trace is, or if he’s still riding the rodeo circuit. I know where Bea is . . . but I don’t really want to. And she never responded to my call, my e-mail, or my letter about Mama.”
“Verbal confirmation is all you’d require, truthfully. If you call them, explain the situation, and if they okay your decision, then it’s done. And you can continue running M-Star as you see fit. If I can get in contact with them, I can draw up some more suitable papers that outline exactly what requires a group consensus and what doesn’t. I’ll just need their contact info so I can send these papers. They’ll need to be signed and notarized. You know that is why they weren’t here for the will reading . . . we weren’t able to get ahold of them.”
“So I have to call them.”
“Unless you have a crystal ball that you’re not telling me about.” Tim chuckled, but sounded weary. He took one of her balled fists in his two bony hands. “I know it’s been hard. Your mother wasn’t exactly, shall we say, an expert rancher.”
Peyton snorted. “She wasn’t an expert anything, except a screw up.”
“Yes, well. That’s all in the past now. And as sorry as I am for her passing—”
Peyton snorted again.
“—she left behind quite a challenge. A ranch she’d been running with no real knowledge or experience, and more debt than should have been allowed. But she also left behind an opportunity. For you to spread your wings and take over like you’ve always wanted. It’s always been you anyway, Peyton, since your father died. You kept the ranch afloat despite your mother’s attempts to drive it into the ground. She’s not holding you back anymore.”
“Except for this stupid condition in the will. Sylvia was barely smart enough to open a box of cereal. How the hell would it occur to my mother to add in some perverse thing like this?”
“These are your father’s conditions, sweetheart.” Tim sighed and took his glasses off again to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Your mother didn’t have a will. When your father came to me for help with his, she simply said she wasn’t interested.”
Peyton rolled her eyes. “Sounds like Sylvia.”
“And she never corrected that oversight. So this was your father’s wish.”
“Course, when Daddy died, we were all still one big, happy family.” Her voice was drowning in sarcasm. It made her shudder to think of her teenage self, so naïve in thinking life would continue on as it had been, even with her father gone.
“It is what it is, Peyton. I can’t change it, much as I would like to. This is just something you have to push through.”
Peyton let her head fall to the table until her forehead pressed against cool wood. Unfortunately, the position did nothing to alleviate the overwhelming pain inside her skull that now throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
“Can I fix this? Is there something they could sign to . . . I don’t know. Waive their rights to the ranch? Or their right to the veto power? Something?”
“There is. Of course, that’d take a little more time. But either way you have to get in contact with them.” When she said nothing, he placed a hand on her forearm. “Call them. Just call your brother and sister. Who knows, it could go better than you think.”
Peyton seriously doubted that. But why disabuse helpful Tim of the hope? She walked out of the law office feeling worse than when she’d gone in, if that was at all possible. Hopping in the ranch rig, she started the long journey back to the Muldoon spread, thirty minutes outside town.
That morning had already been a rough start. Upon hearing of his loss of employment, her now-former trainer, Samuel Nylen, had thrown an impressive tantrum, trashing both the trainer quarters above the garage and the tack room in the stables, Peyton just felt lucky he’d left before setting fire to anything. She could have called the police—still wondered if she should have—but the ranch didn’t need any more negative press. Cleaning the mess up quietly seemed like the better choice, at least in the moment. She would spin it in public as an amicable splitting of ways. If Nylen wanted the chance to find another job, he’d go along.