This had been the plan all along, and Jane was only here to speed up the process. Colt was owner now, and he could finally take the reins.
Colt dialed Jane’s number and waited until she picked up.
“Hello?” she said.
“It’s Colt,” he said. “I just heard from Mr. Davis.”
“Me, too,” she said. “It looks like the paperwork is ready for us.”
“Looks like,” he said gruffly. “Maybe we could head down there this afternoon together.”
“Thanks. That would be great.” There was a pause. “A Mr. Armson came by. He’s chatting with Peg right now in the kitchen. He wanted to see you.”
The sale. Right.
“I’ll come on up,” Colt said. “Tell him to wait for me, if he can.”
“Okay. See you soon, Colt.” And her voice softened just a little when she said his name.
A few minutes later, Colt parked his truck by the house, right next to the big white Ford F-250 that his neighbor drove. It was shiny and new, a direct contrast to Colt’s beaten-up old pickup truck. Bruce’s ranch was doing better than this one—better management, maybe? That thought stung.
Jane was outside under the shade of the big tree, the girls digging in the dirt with what looked like kitchen spoons. She smiled and raised one hand in a hello.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She hooked a thumb toward the house. “He’s waiting on you.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “You looking forward to getting that paperwork out of the way?”
“Sure. Yeah. Sure.” Her smile fell. “I’m going to miss you, Colt.”
He nodded curtly a couple of times. “Me, too. But this isn’t going to be instantaneous. I have to sell that land, get the money from Bruce, and then I can pay you. So even if you head on out, you’ll hear from me again, at the very least.”
“That’s true.” She smiled, then spotted a toddler taking off. “Suzie!”
Colt grinned as she jogged after Suzie, who was worming under the fence. Colt felt better somehow, just for the short chat with her. But he didn’t have time to really think that over. Duty called. He headed in the side door, letting the screen slam shut behind him. Bruce sat at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him, and Peg stood by the counter, arms crossed over her chest.
“Hey, Bruce,” Colt said, and Bruce rose slightly as they both shook hands. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too,” the older man said. “I was just chatting with Peg here. Been too long since we caught up.”
Colt smiled and nodded, then looked over at his aunt.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Peg said. “We’ll chat later.”
After Peg left the kitchen, Colt pulled out the chair opposite his guest and took a seat.
“So you’re here about the land?” Colt asked.
“I don’t want to put on pressure during a difficult time, Colt,” Bruce replied. “But I’ve got a bit of a time crunch here on buying that land, if you’re willing to sell it.”
“Yeah?” Colt frowned. “Why’s that?”
“I’m putting my ranch up for sale,” Bruce replied. “And if I include that strip, I can sell for about twenty percent more.”
“As much as that?” Colt raised his eyebrows, then let out a low whistle. That meant if he kept that strip of land, he’d be doing the same for his own ranch’s land value. “But why sell?”
“It’s time,” Bruce replied. “I’ve got two kids, and neither of them are real interested in ranching for themselves. So if I sell now, I can put some aside for my own retirement and then split the rest between them. It would help them out while I’m still here to see it.”
“Easy as that?” Colt asked, narrowing his gaze. Beau had a single son who’d had no interest in ranching, and he’d made a much different choice.
“Nothing’s easy,” Bruce replied.
“How many generations of Armsons have been on that land?” Colt asked.
“My wife’s father owned it before me. How many generations of Hardins have been on yours?” Bruce countered.
It was a good point. Land changed hands every generation—that was just the way of the world.
“Before I inherited this place, there were three generations of Marshalls on this ranch,” Colt said. “There’s family history here.”
“But not your family,” Bruce replied.
No, not Colt’s family in a direct line. The one who should have taken over the ranch didn’t want it. And the man who died had been too stubborn to see past the dirt under his feet to the son whose heart he’d broken.
“There’s personal history here, too,” Colt said curtly. “I’ve worked this land since I was a teenager. I know every acre.”
“I know that, too,” Bruce said, softening his tone. “You’re asking how I can do it—sell this ranch and act like it means nothing to me.”
“I was wondering,” Colt replied.
“Truth is, it hurts like crazy. I love my ranch, and I wanted my kids to love it, too. And they do...don’t get me wrong. They just don’t love the work. My daughter’s a lawyer now, and my son is a digital artist working for a book company. I told them I wanted them to do what they loved—figured one of them would come back to cattle. What can I say?”
“I was hoping to have you as a neighbor awhile longer,” Colt said.
“Yeah, that would have been nice,” Bruce replied. “But my body is caving in on me. I’ve got diabetes now. You know that? And the doc says I should get my knee replaced. That just feels so...old.”
Colt smiled sadly.
