Page 26 of Taming the Wild Cowboy

Most people in the area knew that the father’s name on Jordan’s birth certificate was Jared Leonard, a local troublemaker who ended up in prison. Being incarcerated at Deer Lodge, he was in no position to take responsibility for a toddler when Jordan’s mother passed away, so Wade had stepped in. He’d already given up his wild-man ways to adopt Trev and Hayes, his late brother’s children, so when approached about fostering Jordan, he’d added a third child to the crew and later adopted him, too.

“Who is it?”

“Some guy named Carl Jordan.”

“Never heard of him.” But the man’s last name was his brother’s given name.

“He spent time here in the nineties and still owns some land in the area; or rather owned it.” Jordan exhaled. “Apparently I own it now, after it goes through probate.”

Trev wasn’t certain how to respond. “Congratulations?”

“I guess. What the hell, Trev?”

That was a world-rocker for sure.

“It won’t be official until later this spring. I have a call in to our attorney and hopefully he can help me navigate this. I’ve gotta tell Hayes and Wade, if he doesn’t already know.”

“I doubt he does. He wouldn’t have let you grow up thinking you’re a felon’s kid. And if anyone else had an inkling, we’d all have known long ago.”

Indeed, the rumor mill in Marietta could be impressive at times.

“You’re right. I, uh …” Jordan sounded like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around this revelation, which kept Trev from asking where the land he’d inherited was located. Jordan cleared his throat, sounding more himself when he said, “I plan to be home by the end of next week. This might all feel a little less strange by then.”

“Hope so.” Trev hesitated, then said, “Call me if you need to … you know.”

“Talk? Not sure what to talk about.”

Trev would make it a point to check back in with him. After ending the call, Trev turned off his phone and dropped it back into his pocket. He parked the side-by-side in the barn, then crossed the driveway back to the house. When he got inside, Wade was on the landline, and he assumed from the thunderous expression on his uncle’s face that he was now talking to Jordan. He went through to the mudroom to give his uncle some privacy, hanging there until Wade ended the call.

Wade gave him a sharp look when he emerged. “I assume that was what your call was about?”

“Jordan finding out that his father isn’t Jared Leonard?”

“Yeah. He thought that I might have known. Like I’d keep something like that from him. Especially if I’d known that his dad wasn’t Leonard.”

“I’m sure he’s wondering a lot of things right now.”

“I set him straight.” He scowled at the oak table. “I never heard of this Carl whoever guy. I knew Jordan’s mom, of course, but not this guy. Why the hell did she put Jared Leonard’s name on the birth certificate, but name Jordan after the other guy?”

“Maybe she thought Leonard was the dad. He didn’t go to prison until after Jordan was born.”

“I guess so.” Wade shook his head. “The things you think you know.”

And the things they’d never know.

Trev went to the window and stared out across the yard to where Maclyn’s truck was parked. Wade was still muttering to himself as he settled into his chair in the living room and unmuted the television. Trev grimaced as the sound began to blare, totally getting Estelle’s frustration with the sound level.

Maclyn appeared out of the alley next to the barn, and he watched as she headed to her truck, muddy little Raisin dancing at her feet. She said she was heading to town and maybe she was.

He hoped she was.

That said, he’d give it a little time, then check for trespassers on Fremont Creek.

*

Maclyn drove to her camping spot, did a quick wash, changed into khaki slacks and a sweater, redid her ponytail and then headed to Marietta. Most of the mud on Raisin’s curly coat had dried and flaked off, so with a quick brushing, the dog was almost as clean as before she started her muddy adventures that day.

Mac’s first stop was the post office where—surprise, surprise—there was no final check from the Sweet Grass Ranch waiting in her rented box. The next stop was the library, which was thankfully open late two nights a week. She settled at a table close to an outlet and plugged in her almost dead laptop rather than using one of the public computers. She typed in “livestock jobs in Montana.” Two temporary wrangler jobs popped up, which were two more than she’d expected, so she began the application process.