Her father cut through a piece of ham. “Landon is the one who’s been raising Preston, the youngest.”
Libby’s eyes widened. “What happened to their parents?”
“Car accident,” her father said. “Five years ago some drunk college students hit them while they were coming home from a horse show.”
Libby had been too young to be affected by or apparently remember that piece of news, but Kate had felt sick for days. Preston was only twelve at the time, so the state granted guardianship to Landon, who’d been all of twenty-one.
During the next Christmas video chat, Kate’s grandfather vacillated between grief and fury in the Wyles’ behalf. He’d given a stern treatise on what should be done with teenage drunk drivers. Kate had wondered if he’d aimed those lectures at her since she was already an established person of ill-repute.
“That’s so sad.” Libby glanced at the Wyle’s table. Her attention immediately snapped back to her family. “He’s coming over here.”
So he was. As Landon drew closer, Kate noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed. She forgave him then, at least mostly, for his comment about her grandfather turning in his grave. Whatever else she thought about Landon, he’d genuinely cared about her grandfather.
He tilted his head in greeting to Kate. “Kitty.” Hearing her grandparents’ nickname for her was oddly comforting, a good memory from the past.
Landon turned to her parents. “I wanted to let you know how sorry I am for your loss. Cal was a great man. After my parents passed away, he checked in on us daily to see if we needed anything. We came home from their funeral, and his men were fixing our fences. He did things like that for us all the next year. He even went to Preston’s basketball games.”
Kate was glad to hear this, glad that her grandfather was generous to his neighbors, but another part of her asked, Why didn’t he ever come to see me run track?
Really, Kate had to stop feeling this way—jealous and resentful. Being in Arizona seemed to bring out the worst in her. She would be glad when this week was over and she could go back to her old life where she didn’t feel like a petulant fifteen-year-old.
“If there’s anything you need help with,” Landon added, “just let me know.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her father.
Her father slid the card into his pocket. “I appreciate that.” He probably would have said more, but Landon’s brothers decided to join him. The group of them walked over, looking like the new spring line in someone’s suit catalog. One had to appreciate their genetics. All of them were tall and muscular.
Dillon introduced himself and gave his condolences. Preston said a few words and then Jaxon did the same. He held a little girl’s hand who looked to be about six years old. Her long dark hair was held back by a headband, and she had an angelic face.
When Landon told her that Jaxon had a daughter, Kate had imagined a toddler or a baby. Now she couldn’t help but do the math. Jaxon was twenty-four. If he had a six-year-old, that meant his daughter was born when he was eighteen.Eighteen. So young to be a father. And his girlfriend must have gotten pregnant not long after he’d given her kissing lessons.
Her grandfather hadn’t ever mentioned that Jaxon had a daughter, but then, besides the news about Mr. and Mrs. Wyle’s death, her grandpa never said much about his neighbors’ personal lives. He considered that sort of thing gossip. His updates had been more along the line of who helped him vaccinate cattle.
“We’re going to miss Cal,” Jaxon said. “He was a good friend and an even better neighbor. Whenever I was in a pinch, he was the first to help out.”
Kate always assumed her grandfather gave Jaxon the same scolding he’d given her and figured Jaxon held the same resentment. But no. Grandpa had been a good friend and neighbor to him.
Had it just been Kate? Had he been loving toward everyone else but her? Her head was starting to hurt. She wanted to go home, but she and her parents still had to meet with Grandpa’s lawyer to go over his will. Kate was a beneficiary, which meant she had to sign documents. She hadn’t given a lot of thought to what her grandfather left her. It was hard to think of profiting from death.
Landon nodded at Kate’s parents. “We won’t keep you. I know you need to get to the lawyer’s office.”
Her mother smiled politely. “How did you know that?”
“I’m going too,” Landon said, as though surprised they weren’t aware. “I’ve been named in the will.”
On the driveto the law firm, Kate’s mother said, “It’s nice that Dad left something for Landon in his will.”
Kate was peering out the window at Bisbee. Houses perched on the sides of the city’s steep hills like mountain goats, balancing precariously. Above them, patches of lonely green brush dotted the red mountains. This scenery had been a familiar part of her childhood, and this was probably the last time she’d ever see it. The thought brought a lonely pang to her chest.
“I bet he’ll get Marigold,” Libby said. Marigold was Grandpa’s favorite horse, a prize-winning cutter who was pregnant by another champion. Grandpa’d had high expectations for the foal.
“He probably left Landon the farm equipment,” their father said. “And that’s fine. He’ll put it to good use, and we won’t have to worry about selling it off ourselves.”
Their mother relaxed a bit. “That’s probably it.”
Libby perked up. “Then can I keep Marigold?”
“No,” her parents said in unison. Her mother added, “We’ll find a good home for her.”
Their father nodded. “A horse with her pedigree and skills should go for at least fifteen thousand. Maybe closer to twenty-five.” Under his breath, he added, “That’ll pay for Libby’s first semester of college.”