A Coulter's Christmas Proposal. Lois Dyer Faye
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Eli told him. “It would be easier to accept that the world had just shifted on its axis and was spinning upside down.” He shook his head, frowning first at Cade, then Zach, looking for explanations. “He blamed us for Mom’s death. And he hated my artwork. When I was ten, he threatened to lock me in the cabin’s cellar if he caught me drawing. Why would he give me her studio?”
“I know it doesn’t sound logical.” Cade’s deep voice held a wealth of understanding. “Zach and I had the same reaction when we found out about Dad’s will.” He nodded at Zach. “He left the Lodge to Zach and the cattle to me. Brodie gets the horses.”
Eli’s gaze sharpened. “What horses?”
“We’re not sure, but we think the Kigers might still be up on Tunk Mountain,” Zach answered. “We haven’t ridden out there to check yet.”
“And we won’t until Brodie comes home,” Cade said. “I figure he should decide when and how he wants to deal with what Dad left him.”
“From the brief info you gave me on the phone, it doesn’t sound likely Brodie will be able to check whether the Kigers are in the far pasture,” Eli said. “Even four-wheel drive can’t make it through that rough country, at least not all the way to Tunk Mountain, and Brodie might not be able to sit a horse.”
Cade shook his head, worry creasing lines beside his mouth. “Hard to say whether he will or not. The doctors say he won’t, but Brodie says he will.”
“Then he will,” Eli said with easy conviction. “You know Brodie. He’s never let anyone tell him what he can or can’t do.”
“I sure as hell hope you’re right,” Zach said with feeling.
“So am I.” Eli couldn’t conceive of a world in which his brother wasn’t sitting a horse, chasing cattle or riding rodeo. It was impossible to comprehend. “I guess we’ll know when he gets here. Which is … when?” He looked at each of the four in turn and registered the worried glances they exchanged. “Don’t tell me he isn’t coming home.”
“We’re not sure,” Cade said with a sigh. “Zach and I went to see him in the convalescent center in California. Brodie agreed to come home only after Zach promised to find a way to break the will if Brodie didn’t want to stay on the Triple C after he’d checked in with us.”
“Not that I can actually do that,” Zach put in, thrusting his hands through his hair to rake the heavy black strands away from his face. “The will is airtight. None of us can sell the land without all four agreeing.”
“Even if one of us wanted to sell,” Eli mused aloud. “Or even if one of us had enough money to buy out one of the others.”
“Hell,” Cade said with disgust. “If any one of us had enough money to buy out the others, we could use it to pay off the inheritance taxes.”
“How much are they?” Eli asked.
“A little over two million dollars,” Zach said succinctly.
“Holy …” Eli whistled, long and low, an audible expression of shock.
“So … I’m guessing by your reaction that you don’t have that much sitting in your bank account,” Cade said dryly.
“I wish.” Eli shook his head. “My savings took a hit when I spent a year interning with Lucan, but even before that, I couldn’t have swung two mil. How are we going to come up with that much money?”
“We’re hoping each of us will find a way to maximize what Dad left us and raise part of the money. Cade sold cattle and earned enough to meet the first payment. I’m projecting income off the Lodge over the next six months will bring in enough to make the second payment,” Zach told him. “If you can find a way to generate income from whatever you find when you open Mom’s studio, then we’re three-quarters of the way to resolving the tax situation. And if Brodie comes home …”
“Wait.” Eli held up his hand. “Haven’t you and Cade already been in Mom’s studio?”
“No,” Cade said, his deep voice quiet. “The studio is yours, just like the Lodge is Zach’s. I thought it only fair that you be the first to go in.”
“And I agree,” Zach said, his voice just as quietly convinced.
Eli lifted the bottle to his lips and drank, giving himself time to wash away the emotion that blocked his throat. “I didn’t realize you literally meant you were leaving first contact to each of us.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to be the first person entering the studio where his mother had been working moments before she died. Nonetheless, he thought grimly, he’d do what needed to be done. “I’ll do that tomorrow after I’ve seen the attorney. I’m assuming it’s still locked. Do one of you have the keys?”
Cade nodded. “I picked them up from the attorney right after I talked to you. They’re up at the house.”
Eli looked over the faces of the four seated at the counter. “Is that where we’re all staying? At the house?”
“I’m officially using my old room,” Zach told him with a grin. “But I spend a lot of time at Cynthia’s place in town.”
Eli glanced at the pretty blonde, surprised when color bloomed in her cheeks. She met his gaze without flinching, however, and he guessed she didn’t care that he knew she and Zach were semi-living together, even though she blushed at Zach’s statement.
“And I’m down at the cabin with Mariah,” Cade put in. “We’re all in and out of the house on most days, though, since I’m still using Dad’s office to run the Triple C, Zach’s using his old room on occasion, and Mariah’s been doing the housework.”
Eli nodded. “Sounds good. You two want to open the studio with me?”
“Yeah,” Zach responded, his expression somber. “I’m there.”
Cade nodded when Eli looked at him, his eyes equally grave.
“Good.” His brief acceptance closed the subject. “On another subject, I met a woman at the party tonight. She told me she’s writing a book about Mom.”
“Geez,” Zach groaned.
“Was her name Amanda Blake?” Mariah asked.
“Yes.” Eli raised an eyebrow. “Do you know her?”
“She’s been in the café where I work and I’ve waited on her. She seems nice enough.”
“No matter how nice she seems,” Cade growled, “I don’t want her poking around in our lives.”
“Me, either.” Zach’s voice was clipped. “She drove out here and talked to us. As soon as we heard what she wanted, we told her we didn’t have any comment. After she left, I looked her up online. Her credentials checked out—she’s a reporter and editor for an art magazine in New York City. I read a couple of her articles online and the woman can write, but that doesn’t change a thing. I don’t want her writing a book about life on the Triple C.”
Zach didn’t add that he didn’t want a writer telling the world about Joseph Coulter’s alcoholism and the hell that life became on the ranch after their mother died. Eli agreed. He and his brothers had walked away from the chaos their father had created. None of them wanted their personal pain documented and exposed in a book for outsiders to read.
“I thought her name was familiar,” Eli said, his memory jogged by Zach’s comments. “She contacted my agent last year about an interview but I was in Spain and told him to put her off. She apparently has solid credentials and, given her background, knows where to look for all the details about Mom’s art career. I seem to remember she has a sister who married the owner of a major gallery in New York, so she’s got connections. My agent gave me that bit of information when he was trying to talk me into doing a phone interview with her. Regardless of her background, it’s nobody’s business but ours what happened after Mom