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Robert headed toward the stable. “I don’t trust them not to leave the gate open,” he yelled, taking off to run for his horse. He came back out on his horse a second later, bareback, still fixing the bridle as they took off up the driveway.
The three of them went inside, all eyes on Albie as he opened the letter.
He unfolded the heavy paper, and Percy could see it was the fancy kind, the writing elegant calligraphy in blue ink.
Albie frowned at it.
“To Albie Bramwell,” he read out loud.
“In t... times of...” He squinted at the letter, then looked up, furious. “His writing is not legible. How does he expect anyone to read this?”
He eyed the fire and then the letter and took a step toward it, but before he could toss it into the flames, Percy stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.
“Let me try,” he said gently. Then he felt the need to shrug and explain. “My grandfather’s handwriting was like that. I can try to read it if you want. Then if you decide to burn it, I won’t stop you.”
Albie growled and thrust the letter toward Percy. He took it and began to read aloud.
In times of grief, we sometimes cannot see clearly. But when the clouds of mourning clear, truths often come to light. I hope you can see now the truth of your situation, young Albie. It is not your doing, simply a situation you find yourself in.
McAllister Holdings hereby offers Albert Bramwell the reputable sum of five thousand pounds for the title deeds to Echo Creek.
Your father was a good man. I trust you’ll honour his memory and do what is right. These mountains make mockeries out of lesser men. Don’t let your father’s name be one of them.
Signed, Royce McAllister.
Percy swallowed hard and looked up then. Des was shaking his head, but Albie... Albie was seething fire.
“I will do no such thing,” he said, his voice low. Then the bubble of anger burst and he went for his coat. “I’ll go and tell McAllister exactly what I think of his offer?—”
Percy stopped him, again holding his arm. Des blocked the door. “Albie, no,” Des said.
Percy agreed. “You can’t go there. You can’t go onto his land and declare war on a powerful man in his own house.”
“Yet he can come onto mine—” he cried.
“Prove you’re the better man,” Percy tried again.
“Percy’s right,” Des added. “Going over there now would be like walking into a snake pit.” He shook his head. “He’ll only make things more miserable for you, and you don’t want him as your enemy.” He patted his bad leg. “Trust me.”
Albie’s breath left him in a rush, deflated. “How dare he think he can insult me like that. Insult my father. He wants to talk about honouring my father, then he should do the same.”
“The likes of McAllister honour nothing but money and greed,” Des said quietly. “He’s after a reaction, Albie. Don’t give him what he wants.”
Percy only realised then that he still had his hand on Albie’s arm. He let go, missing the touch immediately.
“Give him the opposite of what he wants,” Percy suggested. “Reply to his letter, thanking him for his kind words during this difficult time. Thank him for the generous offer but you believe the best way to honour your father is to prove you are the man he raised.”
Albie’s eyes met Percy’s. Honesty and understanding stared back at him, pools of warmth Percy wanted to get lost in.
“Being overly nice to him will piss him off because it proves you won’t stoop to his level,” Percy added. “And then you prove you are worthy by working hard and taking those cattle to market this week. Not next week, those lying cowards. Did you hear what they said?”
Albie nodded, and Des looked between them. “You’re sure the market’s this week?”
Albie nodded. “There was talk of it coming forward.”
“And signs at the bullock run,” Percy added. “There’s logging work out on the eastern pass. And I heard men talking about it in the bar. It’s definitely this week.”
“I don’t trust them,” Albie added quietly.
