A Promise to Keep Read online

  She shook her head. “Gage sounded certain that he wasn’t. The only logical person for Otis to leave the ranch to is you.”

  He shook his head. “No. I was only his—”

  “—friend.” She went over to him, taking his face between her hands. She searched his eyes. “You were his friend. And from everything that I’ve seen and heard, his only friend.”

  His gaze lowered and her mouth ran dry.

  She swallowed and took a step back, holding up Archer’s number on her cell phone screen. “What are you waiting for? Start dialing. Probably going to take you at least five minutes on that old rotary dial.”

  “April.”

  Her chest felt tight. Her stomach shivery. If anyone else described the feeling, she’d suggest they were coming down with something.

  But the only thing she was afflicted with was him.

  “Look at it this way. It didn’t sound to me like he wanted to leave things to Snead. Now, are you going to call, or do I have to?”

  He exhaled sharply.

  Then began dialing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The envelope did contain Otis Lambert’s will.

  Written out entirely by him. By hand.

  It was dated.

  It was signed.

  But what else it specifically said was going to have to wait.

  April sat in the courtroom gallery along with Jed and Archer Templeton while Judge Fernandez conferred with Martin Pastore, who was the lawyer the court had appointed as the estate administrator.

  Accompanying Pastore—a middle-aged man who looked to April as if he routinely kicked kittens for entertainment—was a young woman who kept consulting the laptop open in front of her. She wore a severely tailored gray suit that seemed entirely at odds with her riotously curling brown hair.

  There were only three rows in the gallery. Wooden benches that seemed more suited to a church than a courtroom, but since April hadn’t spent a lot of time in courtrooms, she didn’t have a lot of experience to draw upon.

  She leaned toward Jed, whispering as if they were in church. “Surprised that Snead isn’t here. Do you think he got word?”

  “I know he did,” Archer assured quietly. He was sitting on the other side of Jed. “Notified him myself when I turned the envelope over to the judge.”

  That had been Friday.

  Now it was Monday afternoon. And the powers that be were trying to decide how to proceed.

  The uptight Mr. Pastore strode from the judge’s bench back to the table where his associate was busily tapping away on her computer. He bent near her, murmuring something that they couldn’t hear, then strode back to talk to the judge again. The curly-haired brunette sneaked a look in their direction, but quickly turned back to her computer when she saw April noticing.

  She leaned again. “Archer, they have to accept the will, don’t they? Even if Otis did something crazy like leave it all to Dogcatchers of the West?”

  “It’s a holographic will,” Archer murmured. “Entirely handwritten. We just have to prove that it was Otis’s hand that did it.”

  “Otis kept all his books by hand,” Jed said. “Only change in the last seventy-some years was when I took over a few years ago.” He gestured toward the lawyers. “They’ve already got the ledgers. Half-dozen boxes worth of proof to match his handwriting.”

  “It should be a straightforward matter,” Archer agreed. His gaze was following the same path as the brunette with the computer. Going from the courtroom doorway and back again. “Who’s Nell watching for?” he wondered aloud.

  “You know her?”

  “You might say that. Cornelia Brewster.” He looked like he’d swallowed something bitter. “My stepsister’s best friend.”

  April leaned forward. Lowered her voice again. “This isn’t a conflict of interest, right?”

  Irony shoved aside the bitter as he smiled. “Plenty of conflict, doll, but not in this situation.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call me doll.”

  “It’s so much fun to yank her chain,” Archer said to Jed. “Oh, hello.” The courtroom doors had flown open and Snead walked in, strutting like he was very much lord of the manor.

  The overlong hair had been groomed. The mustache tamed.

  Gone was the vile green suit. In its place was a charcoal gray one that smacked of being custom-made. She knew. Her father had a preference for them.

  She realized she far preferred Jed’s style. Clean jeans. White button-down shirt. He’d tucked it in this time, in deference to the courthouse.

  Jed leaned close to her ear. “He still looks like a ferret.”

  She closed her hand over his. She agreed. But she was less concerned with Louis Snead’s new uptown look than she was with the entourage following him into the courtroom.

  And Archer’s grimace didn’t help any.

  Snead and his party arranged themselves across from them in the gallery and Pastore headed back to his table. He didn’t seem surprised by the late arrivals. But then he’d probably had plenty of dealings with Snead already. He sat down beside Cornelia. The brunette didn’t send Archer any more sideways looks. Nor did she keep looking toward the door.

  The ones she’d been watching for had arrived.

  Judge Fernandez was an unsmiling woman whom April didn’t know. She was from the district court, and Archer had told her and Jed they were lucky to slip into the docket last minute since she traveled among several municipalities. From Weaver or not, she at least didn’t seem particularly delighted by the latecomers. “We’re not turning this into a circus,” she warned before calling the session to order. “It’s already quitting time, and I want to keep this brief. We’re here today for one purpose only. This.” She lifted a clear bag containing the familiar yellowing envelope between her fingers. “While it appears this document is the last will and testament of Otis Jerome Lambert, the estate in question is obviously one of significant importance. Therefore, I’m going to allow a reasonable period for proof.”

  Snead jumped to his feet, despite the tugging on his sleeves he earned from his companions. “Your Honor, I’ve already been recognized as my dear cousin’s only heir. That man—” he pointed toward Jed “—had undue influence over Otis. We’re supposed to believe he only just now found the will? I don’t—”

  The judge gave him an annoyed glare. “Sit down, Mr. Snead. I’m well aware that until his death, you had no interactions with your dear cousin whatsoever. This is not a hearing for you to air your opinions.”

  He grudgingly sat.

  “Mr. Pastore.” Judge Fernandez looked over her rimless glasses at the attorney. “You will work out a time for our next meeting with my clerk at which point I’ll rule on the validity of the will. Two weeks from now should be sufficient to work into the schedule.” She lifted her palm toward Snead’s direction. “And before you bother again, your opinion on the matter is noted for the court.”

  “Two weeks!” Snead hopped up again despite her warning. “I can’t wait that long. I have a right to know what it says!”

  “Mr. Snead, you can wait as long as I say you can wait and so can your new friends there from Winemeier Mining. I know you’re all salivating over the prospect of mining Rambling Mountain.”

  “Your Honor.” Mr. Pastore popped out of his seat. “With respect, Mr. Snead’s business interests are hardly relevant.”

  “That’s right!” Snead shouted. “What I do with my land is my business!”

  The judge sent them all a quelling look. “And if you interrupt one more time, I’ll hold you in contempt.” Her eyes swept across the room. “If or when the document is proven, it will be entered and the contents will become public record. Adjourned.” She slapped her gavel, rose from the bench and strode out of the room.

  “And the games will begin,” Archer murmured. He gestured
and they followed him from the courtroom, past Snead, who was huddled with his entourage, waving his arms around and looking frantic.

  As the double doors swung closed behind them, April saw Pastore approaching Snead’s trio.

  “Mr. Pastore doesn’t have anything to gain, does he? Regardless of what happens with the will?”

  “I have no love for Martin Pastore,” Archer admitted, “but even he has some respect for the rule of law.” He gave them an encouraging smile. “Keep in mind that the judge could have denied the will out of hand, but she didn’t. Now, we just need to make sure the thing is deemed valid.”

  “It’s certainly not fraudulent,” April said quickly.

  “I know,” Archer soothed. “This is just going to add to the length of the probate, which never moves quickly anyway.”

  “So what is Jed supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “Continue following the stipulations that Pastore has already assigned where the ranch is concerned. It’s not to anyone’s benefit that the livestock suffers or the ranch falls into disrepair.” He eyed Jed. “I know you’re receiving compensation for your caretaking duties, but you do have a choice.”

  Jed’s eyes slid toward Snead. His lips twisted. “Do I?”

  * * *

  “So now what?”

  They’d parted company with Archer at the courthouse and somehow ended up walking to the park. To the gazebo.

  It was a late Monday afternoon. They could hear the children from the schoolyard not far away, where a baseball game was in full play. The park itself, though, was quiet.

  April chewed the inside of her cheek, studying Jed’s face. “Well? Now what? Archer was right. I know you don’t necessarily agree, but you really do have a choice. You don’t have to keep working the Rad.”

  “Who else is going to? I promised Otis.” He sat down on the edge of the raised deck of the gazebo. “This thing needs to be painted.”

  “Winters are hard on it. It probably needs painting every year. Pastore could hire someone else to tend the stock.”

  “Leaving me to take your uncle’s offer? Work at the Double-C?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She sat beside him. He was right. When she closed her hand over the wood beside her, the paint was chipping and ragged. “In a few weeks, when Otis’s will is accepted—”

  “—I’ll need to find work. If not there, then somewhere else. And the days of me working in finance are done.”

  It shook her to think that he might leave Weaver. “B-because you’re not interested in finance anymore?”

  His lips twisted. “Because it isn’t interested in me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  His arm brushed hers when he gripped the edge of the wood the same way she was. “The firm I worked for was Hampton-Tiggs.”

  Even though she tried, she couldn’t squelch her shock.

  And he obviously recognized it.

  “Yeah.” He gave her one look and grimaced. “That Hampton-Tiggs.”

  The once-prestigious financial institution had made the news all around the country when the company’s two principals—Macarthur Hampton and Veronica Tiggs—were arrested for fraud, theft and money laundering. “I was in college when all that hit. Nearly ten years ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Eight.” He looked her way again. “Go ahead and ask. Everyone else did.”

  “Sorry?”

  “If I knew.” His lips thinned. “I didn’t. A lot of us didn’t. But it took a six-month criminal investigation to convince anyone. Didn’t matter that we were cleared. Guilt by association was enough to end a lot of careers. Not just mine.”

  Eight years ago. He’d told her his wife had died eight years ago, too. She couldn’t help wondering if it had been before or after.

  But what did it matter, anyway?

  She looked down. They were both cupping the edge of the wood. Only a few inches separated her hand from his.

  She stretched out her pinkie finger and touched him. “I’m sorry. That was a really awful year for you.” Followed by several more. Before he and Otis had encountered one another. “What happened to the others?”

  “No idea. There’s some bull notion that people going through the same crisis will band together. But they don’t. We spent eighty-hour weeks working together, but when the scandal hit, we couldn’t get away from each other fast enough. Rats on a sinking ship.”

  “Hardly rats. You just said you didn’t know what was happening.”

  “Should have. Right under our noses.”

  “I think you’re too hard on yourself. And before you start to argue with me, you keep making assumptions about what Otis wrote in his will.”

  “And you don’t?”

  She had to give him that point. “Well, it’s only two weeks and you’ll know.” She hopped down and dusted her hands together. “We’ll all know. You have only one thing you have to decide right now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Where you’re taking me for that steak you promised me.”

  “That was three days ago.”

  She lifted her hands. “A promise is a promise.”

  His gaze ran from her head to her toes and back up again. Unlike Jed, she had worn a suit to court. “You’re overdressed for Colbys.”

  The warmth running inside her had nothing to do with the warm day and everything to do with that look of his. She slipped out of her suit jacket, leaving the black slacks and thin gray tank. “Better?”

  He shook his head regretfully. “Still overdressed.”

  She huffed and looked down at herself. There was no regular dress code at Colbys. Pretty much anything went, as long as it included clothing. “I am not.”

  His eyes suddenly glinted. “For what I have in mind?”

  Shivers skidded along her spine. Somehow, she managed to ignore them and gave him a smirk. “Tempting as you think that might be, let’s just stick to being friends.”

  A smile was flirting around the corners of his mouth, making that little scar look more like a dimple. “Friends can—”

  “Clothed friends,” she said blithely. “Not that you’re not...sort of cute and all.” A description for him that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Jed Dalloway was definitely attractive. But most definitely not in a cute, harmless sort of way. “Nevertheless, you know, better that we don’t—” She waved her hand. “You know.”

  He stood, too. Sort of rose up, like a lion who was leisurely waking up from a nap in the sun. “You know?”

  Her mouth felt dry. She took a step back, only to feel her high heel sink into the grass. She wobbled slightly, adjusting her footing. “Don’t play dumb.”

  His hand clasped her arm. “You don’t seem real steady there.”

  “It’s the grass.” She tugged her arm free. “I can be your friend, Jed. But I...I can’t be your friend with benefits. I’m not made that way.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “I see.”

  “Do you?” She stepped back again. Sank into the grass again and heaved out a sigh. “Wish I did,” she muttered, finally just stepping out of the high-heeled pumps and leaning down to pull them free from the grass.

  “You’re not in Weaver for the long haul.”

  She straightened slowly.

  “You’re here because of Rambling Mountain.”

  What he was saying was true. And so, so far from the truth.

  She dangled her shoes from her fingers. She was tired of talking about the matter. No matter what happened with the will, she felt certain her boss was destined for disappointment, and she was hard-pressed to feel regret. Not when she felt so strongly that Otis would have left everything to Jed. “Where’s that steak?”

  His dark eyes studied her for a moment. Then his head dipped slightly and he gestured. “Across the street.”
r />   She forced a friendly smile and started off across the grass in her bare feet.

  After a moment, he followed. When she reached the sidewalk, she stopped to slip on her shoes once more, and then they crossed the street, aiming for the grill.

  The place wasn’t quite as busy as it usually was, and they took a small high-top table near the window overlooking the street. April hung her jacket over the back of her chair when Jed pulled it out for her before sitting. When they were both seated, his knees brushed against hers.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  Privately, she didn’t think he really looked it and she was painfully grateful when a perky-faced waitress came by to deliver tall glasses of ice water.

  “Special from the grill tonight is lasagna.” The waitress handed them their menus. “Get you started on something from the bar?”

  April shook her head. The last thing she needed was alcohol. “Just the water, thanks.” She set aside the menu without needing to even open it. “I’ll have the rib eye. Medium rare. No onions or mushrooms. Baked potato with all the fixings.”

  “Same,” Jed said when the waitress turned her attention to him. He shifted in his seat, glancing toward the bar and his knee brushed April’s again. “Plus whatever seasonal you have on tap.”

  “You bet.” The waitress scooped up the unnecessary menus and headed off.

  His knee was still pressed against April’s.

  She lifted her water and took a long drink, but it did little to calm the rattling going on inside her.

  “So what do you hear from Loverboy?”

  She nearly choked on the water and quickly set it aside. “Kenneth?”

  “You have more than one lover boy?”

  “He’s not my lover boy. He never was. And I haven’t seen him since, well, you know.”

  “Not even when you went back to Denver?”

  “Not even.”

  The waitress returned with Jed’s frosty glass of beer and when she left again, April rested her forearms on the table, clasping her hands together. “How old are you?”

  His brows quirked. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Curious.”