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“Writing?” His dad was ordinarily someone who did things with a handshake. He lived by his word and expected others to do the same. “Why would you want that? I thought you liked him.”
Russell poured himself a glass of the pinot and sat across from him, loving the comfortable chocolate leather chairs. They still reminded him of his mother in a way. If this room had been for her, she would have decorated it very differently, but she had wanted Rafe and his father to be comfortable, so she’d gone with large, comfortable, and leather. “I do,” Russell said. “That’s why it needs to be in writing. I don’t want there to be misunderstandings. Make your agreement and then put it down on paper. That way everything is clear and the business part of things won’t get in the way.” He sipped from his glass, smiling at the fineness of the vintage. “And Dad, I punted this to you for a reason. If things with Rafe and me don’t work out, I want you to treat him just the same. It isn’t to affect his business or ours.” He met his dad’s gaze. “I know I can count on you to do that should things change.”
His dad nodded. “Son.” He leaned forward, clapping Russell on the knee. “I would anyway. I like him, and I think we can do good things together. But I’m glad to hear you say it.” Pride rang through his voice.
The doorbell sounded, and Russell set his glass on the coaster and went to answer it. Rafe stood on the step, and Russell ushered him inside, took his coat, and hung it up. Luther arrived right behind him, and Russell led them into the great room and poured a glass of wine for both of them.
“What’s going on?” Rafe asked Elliott.
“I ran into Luther, and he told me he needed to speak to you and Russell, so I invited him to dinner. After we eat, you three can talk all you want. But I wanted to discuss some business with Rafe before dinner, and Luther here can help us draw up the arrangements.” He took a sip from his glass, then went into detail about how they could work together.
It was fascinating, but Russell really didn’t need to pay much attention—his dad had this handled—so instead he found himself watching Rafe, who threw himself into the discussion, sharing ideas on how he wanted to use the land and adding to their plans to maintain quality. Dad was happy, and so, it seemed, was Rafe. But what was amazing was the light that shone in Rafe’s eyes when he and Dad shifted to their plan to breed bucking bulls.
“Do you want this to be part of the cattle agreement?” Luther asked.
“No,” his dad said. “The bull operation is a separate agreement. Rafe and I are going to start a new business together. I’ve always wanted to do this, and Rafe has the expertise. We’re both going to chip in some land for the operation and resources.” Dad was as revved up as a teenager. “It will take some time, but I have no doubt we can put together a top-notch program. I understand that Whistler is for sale. He isn’t bucking any longer, but he was a highly ranked bull. We could use him to sire us some buckers.” He leaned a little nearer to Rafe. “What do you think?”
“I rode him three times and he threw me twice. I say we go for it, as long as he’s got the drive left in him.”
“Good.” They went through details of how things would work, and Elliott said he’d arrange to purchase Whistler. Then they talked financing and breeding. It was pretty amazing how much they accomplished before dinner was ready.
“I’ll get the agreements drafted, and you can review them,” Luther said. Then they followed their noses to the dining room, where Violet had an amazing meal set out for them.
VIOLET ANDher niece Coreen had joined them for dinner, but now it was just him, Rafe, and Luther at the table. “I understand you have something to tell us,” Rafe said as he set his now empty glass on the table. “Did you find something?”
“Well… it’s a mixed bag, but I’ll lay out what I can. I’m afraid Dale Westmoreland passed away fourteen years ago.”
“Two years after my family found out about Uncle Mack and turned their backs on him,” Rafe said.
“Yes.” He opened a notebook. “I was able to find a few relatives and a nephew, Austin, who was willing to speak to me. He said that his uncle Dale died of cancer and that his uncle had had a regular visitor.” Luther looked right at Rafe. “It was your uncle. He apparently came to see him every few weeks, spending weekends at Dale’s home. Austin said that his uncle was happiest when Mack was there, but that Dale’s family wasn’t. Apparently Austin’s aunt, his mother’s sister, was livid about the whole thing and tried to make it so that Mack couldn’t visit. But Dale banned her instead and apparently left word in writing to that effect.” Luther folded his hands on the table.
“Could he confirm anything more?” Rafe asked.
Luther nodded and handed Rafe a stack of letters. “You found the ones your uncle kept—these were the ones Mack sent to Dale. I haven’t read them, but Austin described what was in them. He said they couldn’t be anything but love letters.”
“Why weren’t they living together?” Rafe asked.
“Apparently it was because of what Mack’s family had done to him. And it was about the same time that Dale was diagnosed. He stayed in Denver to be close to the doctors, and Mack had his ranch.”
Russell nodded. “So they lived apart but were joined by the heart.” Damn it all, Russell was tearing up, and it looked like Rafe was as well.
“Austin said that Mack’s letters were beautiful. He read them after Dale died. Judging by what Austin said, and from the letters you told me you found at Mack’s, it sounds like Dale was a man who kept his feelings to himself. Austin said that his uncle Dale was a kind man, a man of action, but one of few words. He called your uncle Mack a cowboy poet, going by his letters, and he had no doubt that they were devoted to one another.” Luther cleared his throat, and Russell got up and poured glasses of water for each of them. Hell, maybe he should have grabbed a bottle of whiskey, but he had a feeling that there was more to this story.
“Did Austin know how long they were together?” Rafe asked.
“In one form or another, since they’d met at the rodeo. Maybe fifteen or twenty years.” Luther drank his water. “Times were different then, and they had to be extra careful.” Rafe nodded in understanding. “I want to say that there will always be things that we’ll never know. But I was able to follow a legal paper trail. Dale’s will was registered, and I was able to find a copy of it. He left almost everything to Mack. And I believe that’s where the items in the safe-deposit box came from. Keeping on that subject a minute, all of the stocks are registered to your uncle. Once the estate is finalized, I’ll get them transferred to you.” Luther cleared his throat as the clock on the sideboard ticked. “Rafe, the stocks alone are worth millions… many millions now. The bonds, with decades of accumulated interest, are worth nearly as much.”
Rafe’s jaw hung open. “You’re kidding.”
Luther shook his head. “Dale also had a house, which he left to Austin’s mother, and he set up a college fund for Austin. So they weren’t left out. But Dale left almost everything to the man he loved.”
“And Uncle Mack held on to all of it and kept it in that box.”
Luther sighed. “It looks to me like that was Mack’s way of holding on to Dale.” He paused. “Once I’m able to, I’ll make sure everything is transferred to you.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Rafe said. He paused with his glass partway to his lips. “I found some pictures of Mack and Dale at the house when we were clearing out some things. Do you know someone who could duplicate them, maybe make some enlargements? We could give copies to Austin, if he’d like them.”
“I know a place,” Russell said, “and yes, they can definitely do that for you.” Russell felt more than a little worn out, and he figured Rafe had to be in the same shape.
