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Jackson, age 3. Age 5. Age 6.
I felt tears prickling in my eyes as I ran my fingertips over the markings.
Day and I had never stayed in one place long enough to justify doing this. I hadn’t even thought of it.
“Moira?” Grant said somewhere behind me, his voice lifted in concern. “What are you doing on the floor?”
I whirled around, still on my hands and knees. I’m sure I looked absolutely insane.
But then a thought struck me.
“I have good and bad news,” I said, rising to my feet.
Grant narrowed his eyes, looking incredibly skeptical.
“What do you mean? Why are you crawling around the foyer?”
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” I huffed, straightening out my shorts.
“Uh, the good news, I guess—”
“I know how to save the ranch,” I said quickly, finding myself a little breathless as I looked up at him. He was gripping the banister, his face shadowed in concern.
“And the bad news?”
I let out a breath and walked forward, clutching the report I’d left on the floor.
“You’re going to have to prove you’re not just some big money city-slicker, cowboy,” I breathed, my mouth twitching into a smile.
“Did you hit your head or something—”
“You’re going to need get friendly with your neighbors.” I walked up the stairs, pressing the report against his chest. “We have a huge fight on our hands.”
ChapterFifteen
Grant
Moira blazed into my office, dropping the thick folder she was carrying on my desk. She whirled around to face me as I shut the door. She was panting a little, and she had a wild look in her eyes.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” I growled.
“So, this is what’s going on—”
She proceeded to tell me everything. How Shelby Francis, who I thought was just a tree-hugging hippie who hated my property, was actually a lawyer for the developer who had bought the property that touched my ranch, as well as the property owned by Charmaine Parks.
The developer needed that hundred acre stretch of land or they couldn’t build the neighborhood they’d designed, because the lots and houses they’d pitched to their investors were too large for what the old Ashton property could handle.
So, they’d gotten the EPA involved, trying to get them to rip the acreage right out from underneath me and have it go into state hands.
And what would the state of Montana do with that property?
I shook my head, pressing my hands down onto my desk before looking up at Moira.
“Once it’s in state hands, the developers are going to come in with an offer.”
“And the state won’t refuse their offer like most private owners would.”
“Is this even legal?”
