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Miles laughs, and Shankle looks—well, a little horrified.
“You can keep the house and the furniture,” Miles continues. “Even the horses. The only thing I like to ride—besides a pretty woman or two—is a motorcycle. But I earned my third.”
“Earned?” Chance shakes his head and lifts his gaze to the ceiling. The really high vaulted ceiling. “You didn’t earn shit, either one of you. I’m the one who’s worked this land all my fucking life. I knew you two existed, but he never talked about you. Neither of you. Not once.”
He turns his blue gaze my way. It’s ice-cold and full of anger—anger I recognize.
I can relate to his frustration. I don’t want to be here any more than he wants two strangers invading his space. And taking a share.
Still, I bristle at the fact that my—our—father cut us so completely from his life.
“Mention?” I say. “I never met the asshole. He ditched my mother when she was pregnant.”
Miles nods. “Same. Seems like Daddy didn’t like to wear a condom or commit to wives or kids.”
“Gentlemen, I think—” Shankle begins.
Chance cuts him off, waving his beer in the air. “You think I liked the man?” He curls his lip and takes a big swig. “He kept my mother around for a few years and then divorced her ass, too. She’s living it up in Boca Raton. Now the two of you are living it up here.”
Seriously? What a fucking dickhead.
I shake my head. “Living it up? I’m a fucking sea pilot with bills to pay. I might be a billionaire, but I’m pretty fucking poor for another fifty weeks or so.”
“That’s true,” Shankle says. “The will stipulates the entire estate will be held in trust until one year after your father’s death. If you remain at Bridger Ranch for that duration, it will be split evenly between the three of you.”
I frown, though this part isn’t news to us.
“We can’t leave at all?” From Miles.
“Why would you need to leave?” Shankle asks.
“Because we have lives,” Miles says.
A throat clear from Shankle. “There are stipulations.”
Miles rolls his eyes but he doesn’t ask for elaboration. Neither do I. What good will it do?
Shankle continues, “You may not draw on the money prior to that date, although while you live here and learn about the ranch—”
“Excuse me,” Miles cuts in. “Learn about the ranch?”
Shankle clears his throat. “Well…yes. Your father specifically states in the will that he wants the three of you to run the ranch together.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “For Christ’s sake.”
“You’ll get an allowance,” Shankle continues, “and of course your room and board will be provided.”
“Where?” Miles asks.
“Here, at the main house. The three of you will live together.”
“In bunk beds, Daddy?” Miles jokes. “And if we fight, we won’t get our allowance, right?”
I chuckle. Chance may be a huge dick, but Miles? He’s growing on me. We may have grown up on different sides of the country, but we’re stuck here in the middle now.
“The house is big enough for you each to have a private bedroom and bathroom,” Shankle says, completely ignoring Miles’s sarcasm. “Austin already knows this, since he’s been here for a few days.”
“How much is this allowance?” I do some mental calculations on how to keep the business afloat and bills paid.
