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 bread is on the plate, under the cover.” Mariah set a steaming bowl of chili in front of Cade, nodding at the red gingham covered dish in the center of the table.
“Thanks.” Cade breathed in a faint floral scent as she leaned closer to lower the bowl before she moved away. He felt his muscles tighten and he had to restrain the urge to watch the sway of her hips encased in faded jeans. She wore a sweater with a high neck, her hair a spill of silvery blond against the bright red wool. She was covered from head to toe in boots, jeans and wool sweater yet she drew his attention like a magnet.
“Careful, the bowl’s hot,” she commented before she returned to her seat across the table.
They ate in silence, emptying their bowls and the plate of corn bread. Pete carried his china and utensils to the sink and returned with a thermal carafe of coffee, gnarled fingers holding the handles of four mugs. He poured and passed around filled mugs without saying a word.
“Thanks.” Cade sipped his coffee and leaned back in the wooden chair. “Suppose you all bring me up-to-date on what’s been happening here.” He glanced around the table. “Who’s in charge of the cattle?”
“I guess that would be me,” Pete said in his gravelly voice. “Though we all pitch in with fixing fences or moving a herd when necessary.”
“How many cow-calf pairs was Dad running? How many steers? And how many did you lose over the winter?”
Pete quoted numbers that surprised Cade. “That’s more cattle than I’d expected, especially with just three full-time hands.”
“Two full-time hands,” Pete corrected him. “Mariah only works here part-time.”
Cade’s eyes narrowed over the slender female. She met his gaze without comment. He couldn’t help wondering why Joseph had left a valuable house to a part-time employee. Cynicism told him there had to be a reason and more than likely, the answer wouldn’t make him happy or reflect favorably on the pretty blonde. He shifted in his seat, annoyed that he was attracted to the woman who may have conned and used his father.
“And Mariah is most likely the reason we’ve got such a low loss rate,” Pete said with pride. “She keeps track of the baby calves and makes sure they survive the first few weeks. She usually ropes J.T. into helping her so I guess he deserves some of the credit, too.”
“My thanks to you both.” Cade’s words only brought a nod of acceptance from Mariah but the teenager shifted in his seat, faint streaks of red marking his cheekbones, clearly uncomfortable with both Pete’s praise and Cade’s thanks.
“What about other livestock?” Cade queried.
“There’s not much,” Pete told him. “A few saddle horses, a mule or two, and some chickens Joseph kept for the eggs.”
Cade considered the news. “So what you’re telling me is that the ranch is running cattle, but not much else?”
Pete exchanged glances with Mariah and J.T., then nodded.
“What about field crops? I noticed alfalfa bales stacked and tarped in the flat next to the creek this afternoon. Was Dad planting oats or rye in the fields bordering the highway?”
“Joseph stopped planting anything but alfalfa several years ago,” Pete told him. “Said he just couldn’t keep up with the work and he’d rather raise cattle.”
Cade wondered how long the old man had been sick but didn’t ask. “And the Kigers? Are they still on Tunk Mountain?”
Pete, J.T. and Mariah all wore identical expressions of blank confusion.
“The Kigers?” J.T. repeated, stressing the last word rhyming with tiger as if the word were part of a foreign language. “What are Kigers?”
“Mustangs,” Cade said. “My mother bred and raised them.”
Pete shrugged. “I never heard Joseph mention them. Ain’t never been to Tunk Mountain, either. We kept the cattle closer to home.” He frowned. “Don’t remember chasing cattle on Tunk Mountain for roundup, either, come to think of it.” His shrewd blue eyes fixed on Cade. “If Joseph had a herd of horses on the mountain, he kept it a secret.”
Cade shrugged. “Maybe he sold them years ago.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, boss,” Pete began, “we were wondering what plans you have for the Triple C?”
“I’ll try to hold it together and pay the bills until my brothers are located and can get here,” he said brusquely, his tone grim. He hadn’t