Luke bristled. “Of course.” Cowhands who were lazy or dishonest or lousy with cattle. But he’d never before fired a good, honest worker. It seemed a shame for decent people to lose their jobs because of a business decision. His business decision.
This whole affair was too complicated by half. Why had Grandpa left everything to him in the first place? He’d made a big enough mess of his own family. What made Grandpa think he could run an estate, and one of the largest insurance and accounting corporations in the East? He needed to get Sam, take her back home and see Ma through until she passed. Surely Grandpa would have understood that he didn’t have time for servants and accounting companies and whatever else.
“You could look for a manager,” the lawyer supplied. “Someone who would run the companies in your absence and report back to you in Wyoming. Then you could travel here every two or three years to see that things are being managed properly.”
Luke rubbed the back of his neck. The manager idea wasn’t half bad. It made more sense than anything else at the moment.
“You would continue to make a profit off the companies, as well.” The lawyer pounced on Luke’s moment of deliberation like a cougar on an unsuspecting rabbit. “Think of it as an extra source of income. It’s a rather sound business decision to make. Of course, you’ll have to interview potential managers while you’re here. But once you’ve found a man, you’d be free to return to Wyoming.”
“I don’t want to commit to anything like that just yet.”
“Why don’t you ponder the decision over the weekend?”
Yes, he’d better think it through. He didn’t want a lot of strings tying him to the East. And yet... “Then the employees would be able to keep their jobs?”
“All but the ones on the estate.”
“I’ll give you an answer next week.”
“Excellent.” A smile curved at the edges of Mr. Byron’s pudgy lips. “Let’s move on to your sister-in-law’s inheritance then, shall we?”
The world seemed to freeze around him, his blood turning frigid at the mere mention of her. “My grandfather left money to Cynthia?”
“Yes, a tidy sum of—”
“I don’t want to know.” Luke turned away and crossed his arms, but the image came back to him like hot, glowing embers buried beneath layers of ash. Cynthia with her pregnant belly cradled between her body and legs while she kneeled on the ground. Her fiery hair tangling in the mountain breeze, her eyes shining with tears, her voice pleading with him. And lying beside her, his dead, blood-soaked twin.
“Your sister also stands to inherit a nice amount,” the lawyer continued.
Luke walked to the French doors and pushed them open, then sucked in a breath of cool outside air.
“Samantha will receive ten thousand dollars either when she marries or turns twenty-five.”
Luke drew in another deep breath and tried to wrap his mind around the lawyer’s words. Samantha. They were talking about his sister now, weren’t they? Not the woman who’d let his brother die. “Has Sam been told?”
“Yes.”
He stared out into the darkening valley, rife with the music of insect sounds and toads and the faint rustle of the breeze. Returning to Wyoming beautiful and single, Sam would have been the talk of the Teton Valley. But with a ten-thousand-dollar inheritance, she’d attract every bachelor west of the Mississippi.
“In addition to her inheritance, your sister also has a separate fund to pay for the rest of her schooling.”
“What?” The calming air he’d just inhaled deserted his lungs.
“The remainder of Samantha’s year at Hayes Academy is, of course, already paid for. But this fund contains money for further education. College—not just a bachelor’s degree but a master’s program, even a doctorate, if your sister so desires.”
Luke turned back toward the lawyer and stalked to the desk. Grandpa’s will just kept getting better and better. “That’s ridiculous. She needs to go home to her family. Not chase some dream she has little hope of achieving.”
Perhaps if she wanted to be a teacher or a nurse, he could understand her desire to attend college. But architecture? She’d be laughed out of her classes. And even if she managed to graduate, who would hire her?
The lawyer cleared his throat. “Educating women was one of your grandfather’s passions, and something he devoted much time and money toward. He wouldn’t want any less for his granddaughter.”
Educating women. Why wasn’t grade school enough of an education? That was all the education he had, and he managed just fine. In fact, he’d wager Grandpa didn’t have more than a grade school education either, and the man had built a financial empire.
Luke poured what was probably his third cup of coffee and sank down behind the polished mahogany desk, brow furrowed as he stared at the pages of the will.
Why was God doing this to him? He hadn’t asked to inherit this estate. He just wanted to put his family back together and go home where he belonged, but now Grandpa’s will made it possible for Sam to stay with or without his approval. He took a sip of coffee and set the mug on the desk.
You shouldn’t set that on the wood. It could ruin the finish.
He blew out a breath. His sister was right—not that he cottoned to being reminded. Still...he grabbed a page of the will and stuck it under the mug.
His head ached, he was covered in road dust, and his face needed a shave. What he wouldn’t give for a good scrubbing in the stream, but first he needed to talk to Sam again. Or at least try talking to her. Hopefully their next conversation would go a little better than the first two they’d had. “Can we continue this discussion tomorrow? I’ve had about all I can take for tonight.”
The lawyer turned from where he stood shuffling through his own copies of the papers. “We’re about done, as it is. Let’s cover the charities quickly, then you can have the weekend to look over the will. Perhaps you’ll stop by my office in Albany on Monday with any further questions? Or if you wish, I can come here.”
“Albany on Monday’s fine.” He’d walk there barefoot, if doing so would end this fiasco for the night.
“Here’s the list of institutions your grandfather contributed to over the past five years.” Mr. Byron handed him three sheets of paper. As though the twenty-five names on one sheet wouldn’t have supplied his grandfather with enough philanthropic opportunities. “I’d expect the majority of these charities will send representatives to speak with you about donations in your grandfather’s memory.”
He’d figured that much when he’d talked to the headmistress at the academy earlier. He’d probably spend a week doing nothing more than explaining to the representatives that he would be heading West before he decided what to do with the funds.
“This is one you need to be particularly aware of, though.” The lawyer slid yet another piece of paper across the desk. “You may not know it, but your grandfather was the founder of Hayes Academy for Girls and stayed rather involved in that institution. It’s assumed you’ll fill the role he vacated.”
Luke frowned as he glanced at the papers for Hayes Academy—lists of finances and supplies, students and faculty. Easy enough to make sense of and not so very different from the accounts he kept of the ranch. “There’s a projected deficit. Am I in charge of raising money for my sister’s school?”
The lawyer shoved his drooping spectacles onto his nose yet again. Following the pattern, they slid right back down. “Either that or donating it yourself.”
He was never going to get back home. It took every ounce of pride in his body not to bang his head on the desk.
“Hayes