She was too angry and upset. Refusing to look at the three men standing shoulder to shoulder on the opposite side of the grave, she kept her gaze focused on the casket. They had no right to be there. No right at all.
The sun glinted off one of the coffin’s silver handles, and Willa’s eyes narrowed. Her hands curled into fists. It’s your fault that they’re here. Damn you, Seamus. How could you?
“Amen,” the reverend intoned, and everyone in the sparse band of mourners echoed the word—all except Seamus’s three grandsons. They stood stony-faced and dry-eyed, as they had throughout the service.
Zach Mahoney, Matt and Maude Ann Dolan, J.T. and Kate Conway, Edward Manning, Maria and the ranch hands and herself were the only ones there. A pitiful turn-out for a man’s funeral, Willa thought.
It was sad, but Seamus had only himself to blame. Over the years, with the exception of Harold Manning and his son Edward, Seamus had alienated every friend he’d ever had and all of his neighbors and acquaintances around Clear Water.
For an awkward moment the cowboys stood with their hats in their hands and shifted from one foot to the other, looking from Willa to Seamus’s grandsons, trying to decide to whom they should offer condolences first.
Edward solved the dilemma for them by turning to Willa with a murmured word of sympathy before skirting around the grave to speak to the three brothers and the wives of the two who were married. The reverend did the same, and the relieved hands quickly followed their example. After muttering a few words, each man wasted no time heading down the hill to the bunkhouse, eager to escape the unpleasant duty and shed his Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.
When the last cowboy sidled away, Willa slipped her arm through the housekeeper’s. “C’mon, Maria. Let’s go.”
“But, Willie, you have not spoken with the señors.”
“Nor do I intend to.” Unable to resist, Willa glared at the brothers before heading for the gate in the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the cemetery.
“Willie? Hold on.” Edward called.
The housekeeper turned to wait for the attorney to catch up, leaving Willa no choice but to do the same.
Impeccably dressed as always in a custom-tailored suit, silk shirt and tie, and a cashmere overcoat, Edward looked painfully out of place on the ranch. He was huffing by the time he reached them. Exertion and the biting cold had chaffed his cheeks to a ruddy hue and his styled brown hair was windblown. However, if he was annoyed that he’d had to chase after her it didn’t show. His face held only sympathy and tenderness when he took her hand and patted it.
“Willie, I know this is rushing things, but since everyone involved is here, I was wondering if we could go ahead with the reading of the will? I have an early appointment in Bozeman tomorrow.”
Willa’s gaze shot past him to Seamus’s grandsons and the two women. Resentment flooded her. She had been shocked to learn only the day before that her stepfather had rewritten his will to include Colleen’s sons. Willa had no doubt that Seamus had left each of them a sum of money merely to ease his conscience. Still, just thinking about it made her bristle.
“By all means. Let’s get this over with. The sooner they get their windfall, the sooner they’ll leave.”
All the parties named in Seamus’s will had gathered in the study when Willa arrived, including Maria, Pete Brewster and Bud Langston, the ranch foreman. Only Edward was missing.
Willa took a seat in one of the fireside chairs. Everyone was seated except Zach Mahoney. He stood to one side, by the built-in bookshelves, a little apart from the others, with his suit coat thrust back on either side and his hands in his trouser pockets. While his brothers and their wives talked quietly among themselves, Zach kept silent and waited and watched.
Willa eyed him askance, her mouth tightening. She resented all of the interlopers, but especially this one. There was something about Zach Mahoney—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on—that made her edgy and set her temper to simmering. They had barely exchanged half a dozen words, but whenever she was near him her body seemed to hum as though a low-voltage current of electricity were running through her.
Surreptitiously, Willa studied him for a clue to what triggered the reaction, but his chiseled face revealed nothing. Zach wasn’t as handsome as J.T., nor did he have Matt’s street-tough appeal, rather he had the weathered ruggedness typical of a Westerner.
Even dressed in a suit and tie as he was now, it was apparent in the way he held himself, that loose-limbed walk, and most of all, that aura of quiet strength and self-reliance that radiated from him.
Squint lines etched fan patterns at the outer edges of his eyes and deeper ones ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. Thick, wheat-colored hair created a startling contrast to his tanned skin. A strong, square jaw, straight nose, well-defined lips and cheekbones sharp enough to cut combined to create a face that had a certain masculine appeal, Willa supposed—if you liked those sorts of rough-hewn looks in a man.
As though he felt her inspection, Zach turned his head, and their gazes locked. The hum of electricity coursing through her body became a jolt. Determined to not let him fluster her, she ground her teeth to keep from shivering and stared back into those deep-set green eyes. They glittered like gems in his sun-scorched face, giving him the sharp, dangerous look of a hungry wolf.
Willa’s heart began to pound and her mouth grew dry, but she could not look away. To her relief, the spell was broken when Edward came striding into the room.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to take an urgent call.”
He sat at Seamus’s desk, snapped open his briefcase, and withdrew a legal-looking document. “If everyone is ready, I’ll begin.” Edward slipped on a pair of reading glasses and picked up the document. “I, Seamus Patrick Rafferty, being of sound mind…”
The first few pages consisted of the usual convoluted legalese, the upshot of which was several small bequests to the University of Montana and a few charitable organizations. Maria, Pete and Bud were each to receive a modest lump sum and a guaranteed pension when they decided to retire, plus the right to remain on the ranch for life in one of the cottages scattered about the property, if they so chose.
Turning another page, Edward glanced over his glasses at Willa and the three brothers and cleared his throat. “To my grandsons, Matthew Ryan Dolan, Zachariah Aiden Mahoney and Jedediah Tiernan Conway, and to my stepdaughter, Willa Grace Simmons, I bequeath the remainder of my estate, including the Rocking R Ranch and all its assets, to be shared equally among them.”
“What?” Willa shot out of the chair like a bullet. Shaking with fury, she felt the color drain out of her face. “That can’t be! Seamus wouldn’t leave the ranch to them. He swore over and over that he wouldn’t!”
“I’m sorry, Willa, but it’s true,” Edward said. “Seamus wasn’t happy about it. However, despite his threats, in the end he couldn’t bear to let the ranch slip out of the family.”
Willa opened her mouth to continue, but Edward stopped her. “Before any of you say anything else, you should know there are conditions attached.”
“‘Conditions’?” Willa repeated in a voice bordering on hysteria.
“Yes. And I feel I must warn you, you’re not going to like them.”
“Uh-oh, here it comes,” J.T. drawled.
“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “I knew there had to be a catch.”
“Exactly what are these conditions?” Zach spoke quietly, never taking his eyes from the attorney.
“You must all live here in this house and work the ranch together for a period of one year.”
“That’s outrageous! I won’t do it!” Willa declared.
“If you don’t—if any of you refuses to accept the conditions, or leaves before the year is up,