In His Will Read Free

thousand dollars, then accept the offer from Tuttlesworth Developers to turn the land into a housing subdivision.”
    A ruckus ensued. Dylan shot to his feet, scooped her purse from the floor, and shoved it in her numb hands. “Let’s go.”
    “But—”
    Dylan took hold of her arm, yanked her from the room, and steered her through the office. Mr. Cheviot scurried alongside them, blurting out two alternatives they’d not heard because of the ruckus. He’d just finished telling them Sondra could immediately opt out for fifteen grand or, “You and Mr. Ward can marry and have full, unconditional possession.” He looked at Sondra expectantly.
    Dylan growled, “Of course she’s taking the ranch.” Then he pulled her out of the office and stuffed her in his truck. After he slammed his own door, he let out a long, gusty breath and started the engine.
    “I don’t believe it.”
    His jaw clenched. “Neither do I.”
    “He didn’t really. . .”
    “He did. You got it.” Dylan kept staring ahead. “What’s your address?”
    She stammered her cross streets. “You know I didn’t—” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I didn’t know.”
    Finally, he shot her a sideways glance. The muscle in his cheek twitched, and his lips pressed together. Determination, grudging as it sounded, finally echoed in his curt words. “What’s done is done. I’ll pull you through for a year.”
    Sondra swallowed hard. She’d been a charity case all of her life and struggled so hard to be self-sufficient. The depth of his upset was clear, even if he’d not voiced a word of it. “You expected more.”
    His long fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “No. Absolutely not. And yes. We didn’t have it on paper. There was an understanding. I’ve already made arrangements for a loan; I planned to buy all of the Curly Q, and the money was to fund Miller’s favorite charities.”
    “I see.”
    “No, you don’t.” He hit the turn signal indicator with notable force. The clicking sounded preternaturally loud until he made a right turn and it automatically shut off. Though clearly upset, he kept his voice so carefully modulated and low, it gave her the willies. “I need the land.”
    Shocked by the whole turn of events, Sondra stared out the windshield. Month by month, she barely eked by. In one incredibly generous gesture, Miller rescued her. A home. I’ll have a home. None of it seemed real. She cast a glance at Dylan. The set of his jaw and way his fingers curled in a near death grip around the steering wheel made it clear her windfall was his loss. “I’m sorry the will ruined your plans.”
    He slowly eased his hold and flexed long, callused fingers. “Not ruined. Delayed.” He nodded resolutely, as if confirming something to himself, and kept his eyes trained on the road. “As soon as we’re through this year, that acreage will be mine; but I may as well put my offer on the table here and now—I want first bidding rights to buy the rest off of you when we finish the contract year.”
    Her chin lifted. He’d stung her with that demand. By willing her that land, Miller gave her a home—the one thing she’d never had. “I’m not going to sell it.”
    “Don’t get your dander up. The original agreement I reached with Miller stipulated the money would go to a charity. This way, you’ll get it instead.”
    “So instead of worthy causes, I’ve turned out to be Miller’s ‘charity.’ ”
    “It’s none of my business. As I said, what’s done is done. Like it or not, we’re partners for the next year.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “Actually, it’s a little shy of a year. The Curly Q is set up so the fiscal year hits in mid-March. I reckon we can tolerate each other that long.”
    “Not necessarily. I can turn down the ranch and take the fifteen thousand dollars Mr. Cheviot mentioned.”
    He snorted. “That’s as likely as us getting married.”
    “No kidding,” she snapped.
    “Okay,