The bottom line is I don’t have any options.
Not if I want to keep my ranch.
The damn beef prices dropped and have been down too long. The cost of feed isn’t helping either, and over the last year, I’ve gotten behind. I’ve let all of my farmhands go in an effort to save money, but it’s not enough. The bank is breathing down my neck, threatening to take what I’ve built if I don’t come up with half the back mortgage now, and the other half in three months. It’s not like I can just snap my fingers and produce one hundred and fifty thousand bucks, dammit.
That’s when my brother called.
Convenient, isn’t it?
I’m saved from having to speculate into the whys and hows of my brother’s timing when the door opens for the twelfth floor. I step out and glance down the long hall, finding a handful of other doors, all spaced pretty far apart. I have a feeling this place isn’t some small apartment with minimal closet space.
Just as I approach door numbered 1204, it opens, revealing my twin. Even though we haven’t seen each other in well over two years, Matthew looks exactly the same. Hell, he looks exactly like me, if I were to shave my face and put on clothes that probably cost more than my work truck back at home.
“Mason,” Matthew states in way of greeting. He steps back to allow me to enter and glances down the hallway before closing the door behind me. “How was your flight?”
I shrug and glance around the apartment. “It was fine.”
“Good.”
We stand there awkwardly for several long seconds, each taking the other one in. My brother and I have always been more different than one would expect. Our similarities stopped in the looks department, that’s for sure.
Matthew is well-dressed and regal. He’s wearing suit pants and a button-down shirt, even while at home in the middle of a Saturday. He no doubt has a standing appointment to get his hair cut at a salon and his nails manicured. The leather shoes on his feet probably were flown in from Italy or Paris, where fashion reigns supreme and money is no object.
Me? I have cowshit on the bottom of my dusty ol’ work boots.
“Why don’t we head into my office and we’ll discuss the reason I brought you here,” Matthew states, his tone flat, as if he were making a business transaction instead of visiting with a brother he hasn’t seen in a while.
But I guess that’s what this is.
A business deal.
As I follow behind my twin brother, I can’t help but notice how clinical this place is. Not a splash of color anywhere. White carpet, tan leather furniture—that looks like it just rolled off the showroom—and boring black-and-white art that looks like it was done by a kindergartener. And the kitchen? From what I can tell, it looks like it hasn’t actually ever had a meal cooked in there.
The room my brother uses as an office, however, is a night and day contrast to the rest of the home. Old, worn leather chairs and a large desk with character. A large shelving unit with books, no doubt collector editions. Matthew only collects things he can make financial gain from in the long run.
“Have a seat,” he says, walking over to a small bar and pouring a finger of golden liquid into two glasses.
When he rejoins me, he hands me a glass. “Thanks.”
Matthew takes his seat behind the desk and quietly observes, scrutinizing my presence as he sips his bourbon. I take a hearty drink of my own and relax back into the chair. “So, you’re the one who brought me here. What’s up?”
My brother grins wickedly before finishing off his drink. He doesn’t answer my question, just shuffles around a few papers before settling on a manila folder. He moves everything else in the vicinity of his folder and slips a pair of glasses on to his face. I’m not sure when he started wearing glasses, but it doesn’t help soften his appearance.
Matthew slides into business mode. He’s tense and completely serious, scanning the documents in front of him with a keen, sharp eye. If I were a lesser man, I’d be a little unnerved sitting across from him right now, especially when he focuses those sharp dark eyes on me.
He leans forward, turning the document and sliding the open folder across the desk. I mimic his movement and lean forward, my own gaze dropping down to what he’s showing me. My eyes widen as I scan the contract; the one with my name on it. There’s also no missing the dollar amount displayed at the bottom.
When I glance up, I see him relax for the first time. He hitches an ankle over his knee and leans into his seat, a triumphant grin on his face. “I have a business deal for you.”
Chapter Two
Kyla
“How are the animals?” my best friend, Amalee, asks between bites of her chef salad.
“Really good.” I set my fork down, excitement racing through my veins. “We got in a new Belgian horse yesterday. She comes from a farm just outside of town. She’s in her twenties already and such a sweetheart. It took me a few tries, but I got her to eat an apple out of my hand.”
Amalee rolls her eyes, but smiles. “You and those animals.”
Those animals have been my life for nearly four years. I’ve always had a soft spot for animals of all kinds. I used to rescue birds and small squirrels regularly when I was younger, much to my parents’ and housekeeper’s dismay. She’d always find the shoebox or small crate I’d stash somewhere in my room and insist they be removed immediately. “Rabies,” she used to bellow as she’d cart them off, never to be seen again.
“This one was well cared for, but
