Coty and Brodie, the heeler cattle dogs that used to run cows with the family.
I hadn’t seen them in weeks, which made me think that Juliana had somehow been able to keep them in the divorce.
Both dogs walked right up to the edge of the walk, drank heartily from the always-filled dog bowl there, and then lay down in the sun. Happy and replete.
I didn’t see any signs of Denver, nor several of the ranch hands that’d disappeared with them earlier.
Opening the door to the back of the house, I called out to the group that was sitting there looking exceptionally tired. “Food’s on!”
They all looked at me so hopefully that it would’ve been comical had they truly not looked like they were ready to drop.
They’d left out that morning at half past seven, tearing out of the yard with nothing.
Hell, Denver had even left bareback with only a rope in his hands—we wouldn’t talk about how hot it was to see him steer a horse with only those strong, powerful thighs encased in chaps.
“What’d you make?” DeeDee asked. “It smells absolutely amazing!”
“Beans and rice with queso,” I answered as I saw more ranch hands trickle into the yard heading our way.
The ones that’d been here the entire time, likely.
The kitchen filled with people eating my food, and I was so caught up in everything that was going on that I didn’t see the arrival of a white suburban until someone was knocking on the door.
Seeing as everyone was mid-meal, I waved the girls off and answered the door myself.
“Hello.” I smiled at the man.
His eyes narrowed.
“Georgina Lorena Cain?”
The official-looking man had my hackles rising.
It was Denver who came strolling up, looking dusty as hell, scowling ferociously, and being all sexy in his intimidating way.
“What do you want?”
“I’m here to ask if this is Georgina Lorena Cain.”
“And who wants to know?” Denver asked.
I narrowed my eyes at Denver and gestured for him to leave.
He did, but I could tell that he wasn’t very happy about it.
He walked inside and closed the door, but I knew he was on the other side just waiting to pounce.
“I’m Lester Tides,” the man said, looking visibly relieved that Denver was no longer there to intimidate him. “I’m with the State’s office. If you’re Georgina Lorena Cain, you’re being served.”
“That’s me,” I said carefully.
I knew what this was about.
Honestly, I’d been expecting it, too.
My mother would never let my father leaving his life insurance to me slide.
I took the papers and walked inside without saying another word to him.
