ETHAN BLACKWELL WAS surrounded by critically ill checking accounts.
Of course, up until two days ago, the only terminal one he’d been working with had been his own. He’d never expected his grandfather’s finances to need resuscitation too.
He might’ve suspected Elias, or Big E as he was commonly known, to be up to one of his usual attempts at manipulation if his grandfather were still in town. But Big E and his thirty-foot motor home had departed four weeks ago, in early April, without a farewell to anyone, or a return date mentioned.
Ethan knew about departures. He had walked away to build his life, his own way, when Big E had accused Ethan of forsaking his family legacy and the land that had raised him to pursue a pretentious career in equestrian medicine. That day, Ethan had vowed to return to the Blackwell Ranch only for the reading of his grandfather’s will. Though no funeral arrangements had been made, as far as Ethan and the rest of his brothers were aware, Big E was AWOL, not deceased.
Despite Ethan’s promise to himself, he was back at the Blackwell Ranch, pacing around his grandfather’s big office and scowling at the paperwork scattered across the oak desk. It was an accounting nightmare.
Jonathon, his older brother and the only reason that Ethan had come home, strode into their grandfather’s office. Jon tossed his hat on one of the twin cigar-colored armchairs and dropped into the other. His dog, Trout, sat beside Jon’s boots and regarded Ethan as if he were the deputy assistant his brother had brought in for backup. “Please tell me I heard you wrong on the phone.”
“That depends. What did you hear?” Ethan leaned against the desk.
“I thought I heard you tell me that you planned to search Big E’s bedroom.” There was no question in Jon’s tone. His brother had better hearing than a bat. Jon’s gaze zeroed in on Ethan like a rifle scope, challenging him to change to his own mind.
Jon had developed this stare-down technique in their elementary school days, when he’d caught Ethan and his twin brother, Ben, shooting army men to the moon with bottle rockets. Jon had drilled Ethan with his relentless stare and waited. Ethan guessed he’d made the wrong choice when he’d explained that they’d already relocated once after successfully hitting the barn several times. Jon had immediately confiscated their entire supply of explosives.
“That’s exactly what I plan to do. With your help,” Ethan said. “The money’s gotta be somewhere.”
Jon’s gaze fixed on Ethan. A frown fixed on his face. Trout stopped panting as if to better emphasize his own grimace.
It wasn’t as if Ethan was asking his brother to hold the bottle rocket while he lit the fuse. Still, Ethan accepted that Jon always preferred explanations, and he picked up the worn notebook on Big E’s desk. “This is the sum total of Big E’s accounting system. So it seems likely he’d also stash hard cash between his mattresses, or in a hidden safe somewhere.”
“We need to hire ranch hands, not tear apart the house like we’re on a treasure hunt.” Jon drummed his fingers on the armrest.
“We need Big E to return, but since that’s not happening we have to find some money to pay people, including those ranch hands we need to hire.” Ethan smacked the notebook against his leg. He’d earned a doctorate in veterinary medicine, was board certified in animal sports medicine rehabilitation and passed the national veterinary exam. He was desperate to get hired in the veterinary field to pay off his own debt, not waste time rescuing the Blackwell Ranch for his heartless grandfather.
He had come home to offer Jon relief from managing both the Blackwell Ranch and his own JB Bar Ranch. His older brother had never hesitated to help him in the past and Ethan owed him that same loyalty, even if his personal finances were about to flatline.
“He has to have money.” Jon grabbed the notebook from Ethan.
The panic in Jon’s voice focused Ethan. Ethan ignored his uneasiness and decided to take things one crisis at a time. With luck, he’d have the Blackwell Ranch stabilized with new staff before the end of the week.
“That notebook reads like a grocery list of numbers.” Ethan moved toward the doorway, praying he was right about his grandfather’s stash of money. But the recent purchase receipts he’d found in the bottom desk drawer made that unease inside him feel more like claws scratching against his bones. Not to mention the slip of paper he’d spotted on which Zoe had written in bold cursive confusing lines: Pair of Llama Makers and Twin Sets of Long-Wool Providers. “A budget would be helpful, so we’d know how much is coming in and how much is going out on a regular basis.”
He’d learned as much during his undergrad when his academic advisor had urged him to take a business class as an elective. Unfortunately, the professor hadn’t lectured about the pitfalls of cosigning a car loan for a good friend who turned out to be not so good, or two-timing roommates who left without a forwarding address and skipped out on paying their share of the rent and every bill. The professor had failed to explain how a very low credit score would later deter established veterinary offices from allowing highly credentialed and skilled graduates, like himself, to buy into their practices.
That unease hooked into him like two bull elks with locked antlers. Ethan had more debt now than when he’d left years ago. He hated being like Big E. Hated more that he was proving his grandfather right. Becoming a veterinarian might’ve been the biggest mistake of his life. Jon’s muttered curse yanked Ethan back into the ranch crisis.
“I kept telling him to hire an accountant or a bookkeeper.”