The Rancher's Texas Match

He was, and he wished she was alive so he could tell her how much she’d meant to him and his siblings. But she’d passed about eight years ago, getting them mostly raised, all but Chloe, who had been not quite fifteen. May had at least seen Tanner’s business get off the ground. She’d known they would be okay without her.

Eight years later Haven Tractor and Supply was well-established, and Aunt May’s small ranch had quadrupled in size. He didn’t mind feeling proud of that accomplishment. May had sold off land to get him through college. He’d put the family spread, the Rocking B, all back together for her. It had taken him a few years, buying back the land as it came up for sale or as he convinced neighbors to sell it back to him.

He opened the door for Bea. She stepped out, not needing the hand he held out for her. He reached to open the door for Macy, as well.

“Thank you, Tanner.” Beatrice patted his arm, as if he wasn’t thirty-two and just twenty years her junior. With Bea they were all kids.

The ladies preceded him to the house. He didn’t mind. A few more minutes meant a little more time to think; maybe he might come up with some reason they were all being called to the Everett place for a meeting. But by the time they were shown to the library, where the meetings were held, he still didn’t have a clue.

A gavel pounded on the table. Tanner sat back and gave Gabriel his full attention, but then his gaze shifted to the right of the league president. The man sitting in the seat of honor was Harold Haverman, attorney and member of the Lone Star Cowboy League, of which Tanner was vice president. It seemed to him that if there was something going on, Tanner should have been told ahead of time.

Tall, with a black Stetson covering his gray hair and metal-framed glasses on the end of his nose, Harold had presence. And he had a document in his hands that looked far too official.

“Meeting to order.” Gabriel glanced around the group. He cited the date, the time, the emergency status of a meeting of the Waco district Lone Star Cowboy League chapter.

The formalities were taken care of with some seconds, a vote, and then on to new business.

“I would like to recognize our guest, Harold Haverman.”

Harold stood, pushed the silver-framed glasses back in place and shifted the papers he still held. He gave them all a look, serious as could be, no hints as to what this was all about.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming today. I know this is unexpected.” He peered at them over the top of those glasses. “As you all know, we lost a respected member of our community. Cyrus Culpepper passed last week. I know several of you attended his funeral. Today I have the honor of sharing with you his last will and testament.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Bea started to stand, but Gabriel shook his head. “I have children at home.”

“Bea, this won’t take a minute.” Harold cleared his throat and shook out the papers. “If you’ll just give me five minutes to read this. And then we can take care of the details.”

He started to read. Silence held as the members looked from one to the other, clearly astonished. Tanner glanced across the table and made quick eye contact with Macy Swanson and got caught in those green eyes of hers. She looked wary and like she was pretty sure she shouldn’t be involved. She also looked like someone still hurting. The grief for her brother had turned to pain for a little boy still missing his parents.

Listening as Haverman read the final will of one Cyrus Culpepper, curmudgeon and stirrer of the pot, Tanner thought that maybe they’d all just been tossed in the middle of a big old mess.

I, Cyrus B. Culpepper, am writing this on my deathbed with, per my doc of over forty years, only days or weeks to go. I may be about to meet my maker, but I am of sound mind and hereby bequeath the bulk of my estate to the Boys Ranch, as I was once a resident myself back when the ranch first started in 1947. Yes, that’s right. I might be an old curmudgeon who can’t tolerate a thing, but since I was once a troubled kid who was turned around by the Boys Ranch, I want to do something for the place. However, I have conditions. When I lived at the Boys Ranch, there were four other original residents who I lost touch with. I would like you to bring them together for a reunion at the ranch on March 20th, a party on my birthday for the 70th anniversary celebration of the Boys Ranch. That gives you six months. Now, now, quit your bellyaching—given all the newfangled technology, search engines and social media nonsense, you’ll probably find them lickety-split. Though I never tried, so who knows? I suppose I’ve gotten a bit nostalgic in my old age and leave it up to you whippersnappers to do my bidding.

Oh—and one more thing. I had a son, John Culpepper, who I didn’t get on with too well after his mother passed. We were estranged, but I know he had a child, a girl—Avery—who lost her mother. I heard, well after the fact, that my son died when the child was young. I have no idea what happened to her, and I’d like to invite her to the ranch to receive an inheritance.

If the terms of my will are not met, I’ve instructed my attorney, Harold Haverman, to bequeath the estate, minus a small endowment to the Boys Ranch, to Lance Thurston, a real estate developer, to build a strip mall bearing my name. Sometimes you have to provide the right incentive.

Now for the boring part. The “bulk of my estate” is to include my ranch house and all the outbuildings, livestock and land except for the cabin in which I grew up and the five acres of land it sits on. That cabin, five miles from the ranch on the outskirts of town, and land is bequeathed to Miss Avery Culpepper, to be given to her in March. I was a self-starter and believe everyone should be, but I also believe I did wrong by Avery and want her to have what she likely would have garnered over the years as my granddaughter. The rest of my bank accounts and investments are bequeathed to the LSCL Boys Ranch.

Yours, Cyrus B. Culpepper

Everyone was talking at once. Outrage. Shock. The library fairly rattled with raised voices. Fletcher Snowden Phillips, last remaining kin of the founders of the boys ranch, was the loudest. He was crowing that the ranch was meant to be at Silver Star and nowhere else. For a man constantly trying to litigate against the ranch, that rang false.

Gabriel Everett pounded the gavel on the table, and a hush fell with just a few last-ditch remarks from those wanting to voice concern.

“It looks as if we’ll need volunteers.” Gabriel looked over the group that had gone suspiciously quiet. No surprise. Everyone had something to say until they were asked to contribute more than words.

Macy Swanson raised a tentative hand, and Gabriel gave her the floor. Tanner leaned back in his chair, wondering what she planned on saying...and why he was so interested to hear it.

Chapter Two (#ulink_7a730b31-693d-5ce1-99c5-d110643e1ff0)

“I’ll volunteer to help find one of the people on the list. If anyone needs use of the library computers, they’re available. Social media is probably a good place to start searching.” She made quick eye contact with the people at the table, and when she got to Tanner, she faltered. Their gazes connected and she felt her cheeks flush.

Gabriel Everett sat down at the head of the big table. He looked too relieved when Macy volunteered. And she felt a little apprehensive. She wasn’t a part of this group, of this town, or their lives. Every single day she woke up in Haven she felt like a fraud. She could buy boots, show up at church, even cook a decent dessert for the monthly potluck. But she was as far from country as a person could get.

And she’d never been a part of a community, not a tight-knit place like this. People asked questions, they prodded, they wanted to be involved in her life and have her involved in theirs. She’d never been that kind of person. She’d grown up in a sprawling neighborhood, but she hadn’t known her neighbors.

So why in the world had she raised her hand to volunteer? Because Gabriel had looked like a lost giant standing at the end of the table waiting for someone to say something?

Now that she’d opened her mouth to volunteer, everyone was staring. Tanner Barstow, blue eyes and too-handsome face, wore a frown as he studied her from across the table. She glanced at Bea, hoping for a little moral support.

Bea patted her arm and smiled big. “Well, there you go. We’re all sitting here stunned, and Macy is jumping right in. Gabriel, give us that list again so that Macy can write them down, and we can figure out who is doing what here. It seems to me that we don’t have time to waste. We need that ranch.”

“And what if we can’t find those four people and the granddaughter?” Fletcher Snowden Phillips stood. He was tall, middle-aged, with thinning hair and a scowl that could have put off the most well-intentioned person.

Macy shivered in reaction to his growling voice. As a lawyer, Fletcher knew how to back people down. And she knew that he had long wanted the boys ranch closed. She found that hard to believe, considering his grandmother Luella Snowden Phillips, along with the Lone Star Cowboy League, Waco Chapter, had started the boys ranch. His own father, Tucker, had been the reason for the ranch. A neighboring rancher had helped put Tucker back on the straight and narrow, and later on, mother and son had done what they could to save other boys.

“What if these people have passed, or are too sick or just unwilling to come to this event Cyrus wanted us to plan?” Seth Jacobs, a rancher from closer to Waco, asked. Macy had met him at the boys ranch.

Harold Haverman tapped the pages of the will on the table and stood, sliding the papers back into a folder. “If you don’t find the people he has asked you to find, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“I think the will clearly states that the property will be turned into a strip mall.” Gabriel shook his head as he made the observation.

“That’s a mighty big strip mall,” Tanner drawled in that low, easy voice of his. He grinned at Gabriel. “I find it hard to believe Cyrus would do that to his pride and joy.”

“It isn’t for us to say what Cyrus would or wouldn’t have done,” Beatrice chimed in. “We have to make sure that ranch becomes the property of the League because we have boys waiting to be a part of our program.”

“I get that, Bea, but it seems a little like a wild-goose chase to me.” Flint Rawlings, foreman of the boys ranch, swept a large hand through his dark blond hair and then settled his hat back on his head. He rested his gaze on Fletcher. “And, Fletch, don’t get all excited. The boys ranch isn’t going to come to an end if we don’t get that property. We still have the Silver Star.”

Fletcher shook his head and then clamped his mouth closed. It was well-known around town that Fletcher used his legal might against the ranch. No one really understood why.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “We have five people to find, if you include Cyrus’s granddaughter, Avery.”

“And who are they?” Beatrice prodded.

Gabriel picked up a piece of paper. “Avery Culpepper, the granddaughter, and then we have Samuel Teller, Morton Mason, Edmond Grayson and Theodore Linley.”

Bea coughed a little, and Macy saw her shoot a look in Tanner’s direction. “Well, Gabriel, you should be able to help us find Theo.”

Gabriel pushed the paper aside. Macy was lost. She didn’t know these people or their stories. She waited, watching each person at the table as they reacted to the list.

“My grandfather and I haven’t spoken in so long, I wouldn’t recognize his voice on the phone. I’m not sure I’d know him if I saw him. And I doubt he wants to talk to me.” Gabriel glanced around the room. “I have one volunteer.”

“I’ll look for Theodore Linley,” Tanner offered into the silent room.

Gabriel gave a curt nod. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ll look for Avery Culpepper,” Macy offered.