Hound was lying in the grass not far away. Since they'd returned from town two days ago, after Molly's panic attack, the dog hadn't left her side, except at night when Cord shut him up in the mudroom.
Molly had been subdued, barely speaking. Even now as he watched, she was moving as if she were underwater as she swapped out one wrench for another and then leaned over the engine again.
He'd asked her if she wanted help replacing the alternator.
She'd politely declined.
It was as if the animation she'd shown that first twenty-four hours had blown away on the strong Texas wind. Or maybe it had been an act, covering up the bone-deep fear of whatever she was running from.
It was stupid, but somehow he'd missed the bubbly Molly. So much that he'd once picked up the phone and punched in Iris's phone number from a decade ago before he'd come to his senses. During high school, Iris had always been the one Cord and all their friends had confided in. All these years later, he could remember what it felt like to open up to her. The comfort he’d received.
Molly could use some of that.
And Cord didn’t have any softness to give to her.
Now, he pushed one hand through his hair and paced away from the window. His elbow brushed against the stupid fake Christmas tree, and the whole thing wobbled. He growled under his breath. He needed to take it to the dump. Or better yet, light a bonfire with it.
Instead of cleaning out the house, he'd spent the past two days rummaging through drawers and piling up every piece of correspondence he could find. The unpaid bills were astronomical.
Apparently, Mackie’d had a process. Each month, she’d paid the most pressing bills and let the others languish. The next month, she paid the most pressing—the ones she hadn't paid the previous month—and the cycle continued. Her bank account had been overdrawn, and the mortgage was five months in arrears.
And that call he'd received in the moments before Molly's panic attack? It had been the bank claiming he'd signed the ranch mortgage and was liable for Mackie's debt.
Two days of discovering the depths of his grandmother's irresponsibility had brought bad memories in waves.
He'd been relieved when the auto parts store had called on the house phone this morning, letting him know Molly's alternator had arrived. He'd run to town to pick it up, and when he'd returned home, she'd thanked him with empty eyes and immediately started working on it.
She would leave as soon as she was done.
He shouldn't feel like a heel. He hadn't made any promises. He’d let her stay on for three days out of charity. He needed to wrap up this business with the ranch and get back to Houston. There was a property coming up, and he intended to bid it. He needed a new reno job to focus on so he could forget about the life in Sutter's Hollow he'd walked away from.
What did Molly need?
His phone rang, and he shook away the stray thought. The display showed the number for an attorney he'd called yesterday. A couple of hours of the man's time was costing Cord a pretty penny, but it would be worth it if the attorney could help him out of Mackie's manure pile.
"Coulter," he answered.
"You're not gonna like this."
His gut settled like a rock. What now?
"The bank sent over a scan of the mortgage documents. I forwarded it to you. This is from a refinance that happened ten years ago."
Ten years ago, he'd been eighteen. Barely. He'd left home—been kicked out—shortly after his birthday.
"Hold on." Cord put the call on speakerphone and manipulated his smart phone to pull up his email. In a matter of seconds, he had the signature page of Mackie's mortgage in miniature. He magnified the document and scrolled to the signature line.
"Unless that's a forgery, you signed this document." The attorney's voice was far-away and echoed badly through the speaker.
Or maybe it only seemed that way as Cord felt his focus expand and snap like a rubber band.
"It's not a forgery," he said slowly. It was definitely the signature he'd used when he'd been eighteen. "I don't remember signing this."
He would've remembered if Mackie had asked him to co-sign her mortgage. Why would she? He'd had no credit at the time. How could it benefit her?
Other than to ruin his life?
"If I signed something and didn't know what I was signing, is that legal?" His heart sank even as he uttered the question. He already knew the answer.
"Unless it's a forgery, this is legally binding."
He swallowed hard. "Why hasn't this shown up on any of my credit reports? I've signed a truck loan and a small business loan." He was pretty sure they'd run a credit check when he'd signed his last apartment lease, too.
"Maybe the bank didn't report it. Or there could've been a mistake on their end. I can dig deeper, but as it stands, you're locked into that delinquent mortgage. I don't suppose you have the funds to bring it current?"
He didn't. And every hour the attorney spent on this was money down the drain.
"Don’t spend any more time on this,” Cord said. “Not until I get back with you."
He rang off, reeling so hard he had to brace himself with one hand on the wall.
He'd come here hoping to make a profit off the No Name, funds that he could use to grow his contracting business. But instead of finding the ranch in break-even territory, he was down a dark hole and sinking rapidly. He was legally responsible for the ranch and the delinquent mortgage. If he let the ranch go to foreclosure, it would ruin his credit. What if he needed a business loan in the future? What if his clients found out?
Mackie'd had the last
