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“I was a bridesmaid,” Sally said. “Fortunately, bridesmaid dresses were pretty back then. What colors are you thinking?”
I realized both women were staring at me and my deer-in-headlights look.
“For what?”
“Don't scare her,” Sam warned. “Seriously. She's a lawyer in New York and is only here to—”
“We know all that, son,” Violet said, patting his shoulder. “We'll let off on the bridesmaid dress colors if you come to dinner at the house before you leave.”
I looked between Sally and Violet, slowly shaking my head. “Wow, you guys are good. You played your own son. Nice,” I applauded. “I either have to listen to you plan my wedding to Sam and Jack or come to dinner. How can I refuse such an arm twisting invitation?”
I narrowed my eyes at Sam, but he was probably smart to flag down the waitress.
Sam's mother was no idiot. Neither was Sally, but I wasn't marrying her son. I'd have to keep an eye on both of them. While Sam and Jack could talk me out of my pants—and my panties, those two could have me down the aisle. Or worse.
“So you want to sell the house?” Sally seemed to know when to change the topic of conversation.
I pulled a straw from the wrapper, stuck it in my water. “It needs tons of work. The bathroom is the color of an avocado and there's a rooster clock on the wall in the kitchen. It's like stepping back in time and while I think vintage is cool, this is like the Brady Bunch meets Montana.”
“I remember that rooster clock,” Violet said, amused. “I'm amazed it still works.”
“That property's value is in the land and the water rights,” Sally told me.
The waitress stopped by, pen and paper in hand. “Usual?” she asked.
I glanced at the others, who all nodded.
“Um, are there menus?” I wondered. I didn't see any propped up by the salt and pepper shakers against the wall.
Sally patted my hand. “We come here enough, honey, that we don't need them. Jessie knows everyone's orders by heart. I'd go with the cheeseburger if I were you.”
“Not a salad?” I asked, thinking how many calories were in a burger.
“You're not one of those veggie types, are you?” She looked aghast.
“No.” I picked up my water, took a sip. “Just watching my weight.”
Sally eyed me. She shook her head. “Cheeseburger.”
I glanced up at the waitress who was already writing that down. “Gotcha.”
It seemed I was having a cheeseburger.
“Can you explain to me about water rights?” I asked.
Sally nodded, waved to someone across the room, then turned to me.
“While the State of Montana owns all waters within the state on everyone's behalf, if a body of water flows through your property, you get the rights to use the water. There are senior water rights and junior water rights. The property with the oldest priority date has the more senior right to the water. Meaning, that property gets 'first dibs.' If someone with junior rights is redirecting the water of a more senior right, they can force the junior person to stop or change.”
“It sounds like Kindergarten,” I replied.
Sally nodded shrewdly. “It is, but there's no real sharing. If you've got a senior water right, you can redirect for livestock, a creek diversion, crops, whatever. It's a big deal out here.”
“So Charlie's water rights are senior?”
Sally laughed again, deep and throaty. “Honey, your water rights are the oldest in the county. I think they date back to the 1880's. Part of the original Bridgewater ranch. Meaning you can practically do with that creek of yours whatever you want.” She held up a finger. “Almost.”
Sounded complicated and pretty interesting. “It's an interesting study for a lawyer.”
