Chapter 1
Cash
Daddy was dead and in the ground before I even knew he was gone.
And honestly? I didn’t much care either way. The man was an asshole. Always had been, especially where I was concerned. I recalled far too many screaming matches that ended in fist fights and bruises to miss him. I hadn’t talked to him in years because of it. And every time he sent me a letter, it went straight into the drawer in the bottom of the desk, unopened, and never to see the light of day. I thought about throwing them all away more than once, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not yet.
So, when I got the news that he was dead, nothing changed. I went to work, same as always. I didn’t even tell anyone I’d seen his face in the paper that morning. Why would they care? As far as my coworkers were aware, I didn’t have any family. And that’s the way I liked it.
But when I got home late that night and saw the black Mercedes parked in front of my trailer, something felt off. At first, I thought I was being raided. Maybe there was another junkie in the park trying to cook meth in his crawlspace again. But this car didn’t look like it belonged to the cops. It was tooclean, too nice, and the guy standing beside it was wearing a three-piece suit.
“Can I help you?” I asked as I got out of my rusty truck.
“Are you Cash Callahan?” he asked, glancing down at a thick yellow folder in his hand. “Son of James Callahan?”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Who’s askin’?”
“My name is Greg Cohen. I’m the executor of James’s estate.” He held out his hand to shake.
I couldn’t help but scoff, and I didn’t take his hand. “His estate? You’re tellin’ me that old bastard didn’t piss away his entire life before he died?” I crossed my arms, settling my weight back on one foot. “You aren’t here to get me to pay for his funeral, are you?”
Cohen seemed a bit thrown by my hostility, but he recovered quickly, lowering his hand.
“Not at all, Mr. Callahan. Your father’s funeral expenses were covered by his estate.” He cleared his throat. “I understand you two weren’t close, but I’d like to discuss some matters with you. Perhaps we could talk inside?”
I eyed him suspiciously. The last thing I needed was some slick lawyer trying to pull one over on me. But the thought of my old man having anything worth inheriting had me curious despite myself.
“Fine,” I muttered, fishing my keys from my pocket. “But make it quick. And if you try to sell me anythin’, I’m kickin’ you out.”
He nodded, that soft smile still plastered on his face.
I led him to my trailer, painfully aware of how it must look to someone who drove a Mercedes. The steps creaked under our weight as we climbed up to the door.
“It ain’t much,” I said, not sure why I felt the need to explain myself to this stranger. “But it’s mine.”
Inside wasn’t any better. Empty beer cans on the coffee table, dishes in the sink from three days ago. I hadn’t expected company. In fact, I did my best to keep people out.
“Want a beer?” I offered, more out of habit than hospitality.
“No, thank you,” Cohen replied, looking uncomfortable as he perched on the edge of my worn couch. “I’m still on the clock, so to speak.”
I grabbed a beer for myself anyway and dropped into the recliner across from him. “So what’d the old man leave me? His collection of empty whiskey bottles?”
Cohen opened his folder. “Actually, Mr. Callahan, your father left you his ranch. The entire property, which is approximately three hundred acres in Sagebrush.”
I nearly choked on my beer. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“I assure you I am not.” He pulled out some papers. “I took a look at the historical records, and it looks like the Callahan Ranch has been in your family for three generations.”
“I know the history,” I snapped. Clearly none of that mattered to my old man when he kicked me out. “Why me?” I asked, genuinely confused. “He made it pretty clear I wasn’t welcome there anymore.”
Cohen hesitated. “Your father was... complicated. But in his final years, he expressed regret about your estrangement. These are his words, not mine.”
I took a long pull from my beer, trying to process this information. The ranch. The place where I’d grown up, where I’d learned to ride, where I’d also had the worst day of my life when Dad caught me with my best friend Tyler Blackburn in the hayloft and told me no son of his was going to be a?—
Well. That was a long time ago.
“There’s something else you should know,” Cohen continued. “The ranch isn’t exactly... thriving. Your father had some financial difficulties in recent years.”
