The Bequest: A Montana Men Series Novel

By Breanna Cone

The majestic country of Montana takes a certain breed of man to battle the elements. Mitchell Randolph is one such man but his inheritance of the family horse ranch is contingent on him marrying the daughter of another ranch family within six months. Mail Order Bride fashion. He hasn’t seen Kristy Lord in over fifteen years. His first instinct is to say “To hell with it.” Can he face a loveless marriage just to continue the legacy of the ranch that has been in his family since the late 1800’s?

The only memory Kristy Lord has of Mitch is of a cute teenage boy who had no time for little girls when she tried to tag along with him and her brother, Grant. Being a bequest bride makes her feel like some brood mare the two family patriarchs included in the will. Indentured servitude shouldn’t be allowed in this day and time. Is she jumping from the frying pan into the fire if she agrees to this marriage proposal?

Grant Lord moves back to Montana to guard his sister’s interests and turn the family ranch back into the best beef ranch in the country. The “brother” watches the couple develop feelings for each other despite the odd circumstances.

Can two virtual strangers survive the will bequest?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475989489

Breanna Cone

Breanna Cone has been writing since 2001. Her Spencer City Series characters are portrayed as small town citizens who live life to the fullest and truly care about the rest of the townspeople.

Book preview

THE

BEQUEST

A Montana Men Series Novel

BREANNA CONE

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

The Bequest

A Montana Men Series Novel

Copyright © 2013 by Breanna Cone.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8947-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-8948-9 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013908160

iUniverse rev. date: 05/07/2013

Contents

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

Montana Men Series

The Bequest

Second Time Around

Lord Only Knows

Love on the Border

Stampede Roundup

DEDICATION

To my husband Carl whose love inspires the romance

Within these pages.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

To Eva Bakalekos because her excellent talent and art design brings my book cover imagination to life with the stroke of a pen.

1

The silence in the attorney’s conference room was deafening. All Mitchell Randolph could hear was the loud thumping of his heart in his ears. The chill up his spine had nothing to do with the early spring temperature outside. Except for generous bequests for his longtime foreman, Peter White, and his hired hand, José Varga, James Randolph, Mitchell’s grandfather, had left the remainder of his estate, which included the ranch, the family home, and all livestock, to his only grandson with one condition: Mitchell had to marry Kristy Lord within six months. If not, the ranch would be sold at auction.

Granddad hadn’t seen his goddaughter in fifteen years. What am I supposed to do if Kristy’s already married with a couple of kids? Mitch demanded of John Barnes, the Randolph family attorney.

Your grandfather and Charlie Lord kept in touch. She’s still single and works on a dude ranch in Arizona.

Well, at least she knows horses, Mitch said.

James wanted the ranch to stay in the family. He thought the best way to do that was for you to get married and provide another generation of Randolph men to work the ranch his father started in 1870.

A mail-order bride might not be willing to have those Randolph heirs. Today’s women aren’t the same as those of Granddad’s generation. Did either of them take that into account when they concocted this stipulation?

That was discussed in this office, but Charlie didn’t think it would be an issue with Kristy. I sent her a notification letter yesterday. The sooner you discuss the situation with her the better.

Mitchell’s silence prompted the attorney to continue.

Here’s Kristy’s address and phone number. John Barnes removed a sheet of paper from a file and slid it across the table, watching as the young rancher eyed it warily.

Mitch was indeed looking at the paper as if it were a coiled rattlesnake. When he raised his head, he saw the sympathetic understanding of one man for another in Mr. Barnes’s eyes.

I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t, aren’t I? Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the paper and walked out of the room. The rancher headed to his truck. There weren’t that many vehicles on the streets, but that was a good thing; his mind wasn’t on traffic laws.

Mitch stared at the Ram hood ornament on his truck as he drove back to the ranch. When he reached the rough log entrance gate with a single horse reared up on its hind legs, he stopped and stared at the name burned into the flat board hewn out of a split log, Randolph Ridge. Straight ahead was the road to the ranch house, but to his left were faint tire tracks in the grass, the old wagon road to the front pastures. Instead of taking the road that would get him to the ranch in less time, he turned left, the long way around, to get a grip on his emotions.

He drove to the top of the rise that overlooked the pasture land of the ridge. From that distance, the horses looked like miniatures, but they were his livestock provided he could force himself to take what was ultimately a mail-order bride. Frustration made him pound the steering wheel with his palms, but all he got for his efforts were bruises. The young rancher felt like shaking his fist and shouting to the heavens to tell his grandfather’s spirit to go to hell. He might not have had that many dates the past year, but he could have found his own wife. A man his age didn’t need one force-fed to him by a damned will. Besides, he had too much going on with the horse ranch to deal with a woman who was still single at twenty-five. She was most likely one of those contrary, feminist, independent types set in her ways. Kinda like a female version of you, a voice in his head noted.

Mitch was fourteen when Charlie Lord had been forced to move to the desert for a respiratory ailment. All he could remember about Kristy was that she’d been a freckle-faced kid with red braids who trailed after him and her brother, Grant, asking dumb questions and being a complete brat. At that age, having your friend’s ten-year-old sister tagging along just wasn’t cool.

Realizing he was only delaying the inevitable quizzing by his ranch foreman, he eased the truck down the rise to the main road. As he parked beside the barn, he saw Peter waiting on the porch that ran the length of the ranch house. Flinging himself out of the driver’s seat, he slammed the door and walked up to the house.

Is Dancing Queen gettin’ ready to foal?

Not yet. But José said it could happen any day. How’d the reading go? Pete asked.

Granddad left the ranch to me, but with a twist. I have to get married and settle down. He even picked out the woman. Mitch paced back and forth.

What? Pete stood to join his agitated boss.

Charlie Lord and he thought it would be the perfect match and a way to combine the two properties if I married Kristy. Mitch stopped at the steps. Can you believe the gall of those men?

You know Jim. He had an odd way of looking at things. Charlie probably felt it was a way to provide for his daughter after his death.

Maybe so, but if I don’t marry her within six months, the ranch will be auctioned off. I’m not about to let that happen. Mitch’s voice rose in anger. That means I have to find a way to propose this strange union to a woman who’s basically a stranger.

It might not be such a bad idea. You need someone to help out in the house.

You make it sound like I’d get just a cook and housekeeper. That’s not my idea of a wife.

Why don’t you invite her to visit? Get a chance to check out her reactions up close and personal.

I thought about that on the drive back. With Dancing Queen so close to foaling, I can’t leave the ranch to go down there. Barnes gave me Kristy’s number. I’ll call her tomorrow, but right now I need to check on the Queen.

Pete watched as the young man kicked up dust as he assaulted the rocks in the gravel roadbed leading to the barn. If James Randolph had still been above ground, he would have given him a stern lecture on meddling in the fate of his grandson. But the old cuss didn’t listen when he was alive, so it would have been a waste of breath.

The young rancher felt as if the weight of the world were on his broad shoulders as he walked to the barn. His mind and heart were just getting accustomed to the empty chair at the kitchen table. It brought back memories of the traffic accident that claimed his parents when he was a teenager. Then this inheritance stipulation had slapped him in the face like a gust of wind from a thirty-below snowstorm. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he wouldn’t make any headway in the direction he wanted to go. Pushing open the barn door, Mitch saw José, technically his employee now, singing a Spanish melody to the mare as he curried her silky mane. The low voice seemed to have a calming effect on the horse.

How is she? Mitch asked in the same quiet tone.

The little mother is holding steady but is getting impatient to end this gestation period. Romping in the paddock has more appeal.

I understand her predicament completely. But she has no choice in the matter, just like me.

Are you okay, boss?

Yeah. I’m only feeling sorry for myself. Granddad’s will has a clause. Mitch threw himself down on a bale of hay.

What kind of clause?

I have to get married, Mitch said with a shrug.

Why? Is somebody pregnant?

Don’t be ridiculous. When have I had time to date let alone have sex?

It was just a thought. But getting married shouldn’t be a problem. Women been chasing you for years. Just stop and let one catch you.

But it has to be a certain woman. Granddad’s goddaughter, Kristy Lord.

That scrawny little girl who irritated you and Grant?

She’s the one.

Ay, Dios mio. You are in one hell of a mess, boss.

Thanks for the insight. The rancher’s sarcasm was not lost on José, who grinned at him. I got a lot of thinking to do. Wake me up if anything changes in the night.

Sí.

Gracias.

De nada.

Mitch considered the man in whose hands he was leaving the prize mare’s health. José’s grandfather had worked on the Randolph ranch since before either of them had been twinkles in paternal eyes. Their fathers had roamed the back acres as teenagers and considered each to be part of the other’s extended family. Consequently, José and he had grown up without the usual boss-and-hired-hand mentality. Like him, José became bereft of family when his parents moved back to Texas to care for ailing grandparents and he’d stayed on. Mitch couldn’t imagine what the ranch would be like without José’s expert handling of the horses. Mitch decided that as soon as the will was probated, he’d surprise his good friend with the news of his own bequeath from the old man. He couldn’t wait to see his reaction. At least something good would come from the will.

2

The small, one-bedroom cabin was one of Kristy Lord’s perks of her job at the Diamond Dust Dude Ranch. The cabin was on the eastern border of the property, close to the barns but far enough away from the other guesthouses to ensure some privacy, an oasis in the middle of chaos. It was a real luxury after babysitting the tourists who came to the ranch ignorant of how to act around horses and sometimes other people.

Stopping on the porch, she toed off her scuffed boots before she unlocked the door. Turning the knob, she pushed, but the door opened only a couple of inches. There seemed to be some obstruction. Bending, she extracted a couple of envelopes that had folded up instead of lying flat when they had been pushed through the mail slot. She stooped to pick up the rest of the mail Chuck Wentworth, her boss, had shoved through the front door. Her back and leg muscles protested this otherwise normal range of motion.

The day had been particularly stressful at the stables, and she was looking forward to soaking in the tub. She enjoyed working with and taking care of the animals as riding instructor, but some of the humans she dealt with were more trouble than they were worth. Sometimes she felt like asking Chuck to accept her resignation; she knew she could always find a job at a veterinarian’s.

The Diamond Dust catered to rich society families who wanted their sons or daughters to learn how to ride. Her current protégé had been more interested in looking at her rear end than watching where he put his feet. No matter how many times she told him to not touch the horse’s flanks, he’d forget, and the horse would send him sailing into the air. It had been amusing, though, seeing the horse buck him off repeatedly. Just twenty-one, he thought the world was his to command, a sense of entitlement his parents had encouraged in him from birth. After the third time, Matthew Anthony Stevenson III had given up and gone to the main house to soothe his bruised ego… not to mention his derrière… with a pitcher of margaritas.

Throwing the advertisements in the trash, Kristy leafed through her mail—a cell phone bill, a postcard from an old classmate, and the latest copy of Veterinarian Medicine. She tossed the magazine on the hall table for reading with her evening meal. When it landed, an envelope slid out of its pages. The quality of the vellum was marred by the Priority Mail tag and a note from Chuck, telling her he’d signed for it since it had looked important.

Curious as to who would be sending such a significant letter, she checked the return address:

Barnes, Barnes, and Price, Attorneys at Law, Helena, Montana, her father’s legal firm back home. Grant and she had already received a copy of the paperwork involved with the renewal of the current lease of the Lord Ranch’s grazing pastures the previous year. Her father knew he would never be able to work the ranch, but he didn’t want to sell it outright in case Grant decided to give up being a construction architect and take up ranching. He’d arranged the business deal two weeks before his body gave up its long battle to breathe.

Kristy held the letter for several minutes. A gut feeling of foreboding or feminine intuition told her it wasn’t necessarily good news. Just open it. Then you can deal with whatever it says. She carefully slit the top of the envelope with a letter opener. Spreading the sides, she peered inside, hoping it wasn’t some hoax. She pulled out a sheet of letterhead, a legal document, and a smaller envelope addressed to her in her father’s handwriting. With trembling hands, she opened it first.

9 May 2003

My darling Kristy,

If you are reading this letter, it means James Randolph and I are dead. The legal document enclosed will explain everything. Promise me you will keep an open mind about the will. James and I were thinking only about what was best for you and Mitch. Don’t judge us too harshly. Think long and seriously about the proposal before you make a decision. I only wish I could be there to walk you down the aisle.

Your loving father

Kristy blinked tears from her eyes and took a deep breath before unfolding the legal document. She sat, dumbfounded. Her heart was pounding. She read the codicil twice, but the words were the same. James Randolph, with her father’s blessing, had included her as part of Mitch’s inheritance, as if she were a prize brood mare. Oh my God! They must have lost their minds to come up with an idea so bizarre. Mitch and I have to contest this will. Surely, the courts wouldn’t condone what amounts to blackmail and slavery.

Then her curious nature had an opposite, irrelevant thought. I wonder what Mitch looks like now.

Kristy vaguely remembered a tall, skinny boy with big brown eyes, darker brown hair with a cowlick that created a curlicue, and a voice that squeaked at times. She and Mitch had grown up on neighboring ranches, but her brother Grant and Mitch had managed to avoid including her in their many childhood adventures. Little sisters had been considered a nuisance.

Mr. Barnes’s letter included Mitch’s phone number. Should I call him or wait for him to call me? What exactly is the correct etiquette for a bequest bride? Her mind didn’t have an answer to the questions. She fell back on thoughts of her usual confidante. I need to talk to Grant, get his opinion about this strange turn of events.

She went into the bathroom to turn on the water for a bath in the old-fashioned claw-footed tub she loved. Some women might have considered it a black mark on otherwise up-to-date bathroom décor, but it was deep enough that she could submerge her aching body in fragrant bubbles after a hard day. She hoped it would work its usual magic and relieve the tension in every muscle in her body, which at that point included the one between her ears. Rubbing her temples, she tried to relieve the headache she was developing.

While the tub filled, she crossed the hall to the desk in the corner of her bedroom to dial her brother’s number. The phone rang five times before his answering machine picked up.

Grant, it’s Kristy. Where the hell are you? It’s eight o’clock, and I really need to talk to you. Call me as soon as possible regardless of how late it is when you get this message.

While she waited for her brother’s call, her mind fell into a reverie of life in Montana. The first eight years had been the usual carefree ones any little girl growing up on a cattle ranch could have ever wanted. The apple of her daddy’s eye, she had been spoiled in every way. She had gotten her way in all things, to the disgust of her older brother.

But then her mother died suddenly, and her father fell into a grief-stricken funk from which he’d never recovered. He developed a lung condition two years later from exposure to the harsh Montana winters, a condition serious enough to cause their move to the dry air of the Sonora Desert in Arizona. Even with the better climate, however, her father had lasted only five years. Luckily for her, Grant had been twenty at the time and was able to assume legal guardianship of her. Her brother had fought hard to convince the judge he was the best one to take care of her; the alternative would have landed her in state foster care.

Kristy had become an orphan at fifteen, one who had to be housekeeper and cook for Grant and herself. Being each other’s only relative made them very close and the best of friends. Working full-time in construction, her brother finished his degree in architectural design online. He even managed to keep her nose to the grindstone. He wouldn’t hear of her quitting school. He shouted down all her arguments. By the time she graduating from high school and had tried one year of interior design, Grant was a partner in a company, and their bank account was healthy enough to cover her on-campus living expenses, as being on campus was a requirement for the last semester at Arizona State’s veterinarian college.

Knowing Mitch’s late hours on construction sites, Kristy placed her portable phone on the table next to the tub and sank down into the water with an audible sigh as the warmth eased her tense muscles.

3

Mitch had gone about his usual chores the next day but didn’t remember doing any. He was on automatic pilot while his mind tried to justify his grandfather’s bequest. The odd nature of the will made him wonder if insanity was a hereditary problem in his family, something genetically passed down through the males. The way he felt at the time, he believed it was a distinct possibility.

He mentally ran through all the obstacles to the crazy plan; he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. He had told his foreman he’d do whatever it took to keep the ranch, but he knew that when he made the call to Kristy, his future would change. If she agreed to this preposterous proposal, any personal choice would be taken out of their hands, and they’d be stuck in a loveless marriage. Future generations were a moot point, especially if there wasn’t any physical attraction between them. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to persuade this young woman to basically prostitute herself to ensure an heir for his family property. Though sex could lead to pregnancy, he didn’t want to feel he should put money on the dresser when it was over.

Pushing the whole matter to the back of his mind, Mitch went to check on Dancing Queen before he headed to the house for a shower and supper. The mare was waiting for the carrots she knew he always carried. The horse nudged his jacket until he retrieved the daily treat. She daintily lipped the mini carrots from his palm without using her teeth as Mitch rubbed her velvet nose.

Aren’t you gettin’ tired of that extra weight you’re carrying around? I can’t start training your colt until he arrives. The mare rubbed her nose against his chest and whinnied as if she’d understood him. I’ll be back with dessert in a couple of hours.

A bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich were on the table in front of him. Mitch knew he should eat, but his appetite had disappeared. He’d stared at Kristy’s phone number for over an hour. Just get it over with. Quickly, he dialed the number before he could talk himself out of it. Mitch was just about to hang up when he heard someone pick up.

Hello. May I speak to Kristy Lord?

This is she.

Mitch Randolph. I guess you know why I’m calling.

Yes, I know. I got the letter yesterday. I was sorry to hear about your grandfather, but I was shocked when I read the letter from your attorney. I didn’t realize arranged marriages still happened in this day and time.

I was speechless myself when I heard the conditions. Because this is such an unusual situation, I’d like to discuss it with you in person. Would it be possible for you to come to Randolph Ridge this weekend? I have a mare ready to foal, and I can’t leave the ranch.

Yes, I can come this weekend. I’ll call you as soon as I know the flight number and time.

The moment Kristy heard the defeated tone in Mitch’s voice, she forgot about contesting the will. It must be the maternal side of her that wanted to make his pain go away. Or maybe it was the crush she had had on the rancher way back. Despite his dismissal of her presence as a childhood nuisance, she had developed a serious hero worship of him.

*     *     *

Grant Lord punched the elevator button that would take him to the