“Ah, yes, dear old Wayne, always fair.”
“I’m sure I sound like an echo in here,” Harper said, “but your point?”
“My point, dear nephew, is that my grandfather was not only an arrogant bastard, he was also one of the premier male chauvinist pigs of our time.” He laughed. “I confess I never thought his old school sexism would work in my favor, but I’m happy to tell you I was wrong.” He stood and handed the will to Harper. “I hear you’re an attorney.”
Harper took the paper. “Yes, I am.”
“Then I refer you to section thirteen B of the document.”
Harper rustled the papers, his eyes scanning the document. His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, shit.”
“What is it, Harper?” Maria asked.
“It seems there’s a section here that may supersede Dad’s intentions. Norman Bay did grant Bay Crossing to Dad, but left a limitation on his ownership and ability to bequeath it to his own heirs.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Maria said.
“Jefferson is right. Norman was a chauvinist.” Harper cleared his throat. “Dad can only bequeath the property on the western slope to sons or married daughters. Any daughter who is not yet married can’t inherit, and that portion reverts to any other living issue of Norman’s body, by representation, which is, in this case, Jefferson.”
Angie’s stomach plummeted.
She was the problem. The unmarried daughter. Harper got Cha Cha. Catie got half of Bay Crossing.
Angie got nothing.
Chapter Twelve
Nothing.
She had no marketable skills, no job, no income, no husband.
She had nothing.
Angie sat frozen to her chair. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. The irony of her situation gripped her like a fever. Her father had insisted she learn to ride, learn to ranch, or he’d disinherit her. He’d died before he could make good on his threat, and then said he wouldn’t have done it.
She’d been disinherited anyway.
“Harper,” Maria said, “there must be something we can do.”
Jefferson smiled sardonically. “This doesn’t affect you, pretty girl,” he said to Catie, “since you had the good sense to marry that cowboy of yours. Your sister, on the other hand, is shit outta luck.”
“Do not address my wife again,” Chad McCray said. “You won’t get away with this. The McCrays own half of this town.”
“Simmer down, McCray,” Jefferson said. “This doesn’t concern you or your wife. As for what you own, your wife, not you, owns half of Bay Crossing. The other half belongs to me.”
Catie clenched her fists and stood. “We won’t let you do this to Angie.” She clutched her belly.
“You all right?” Chad rose and helped her back to her chair.
“I’m fine. Just a little light-headed.”
“Come on,” Chad said. “We’re leaving.” He turned to Maria. “My brothers and I will help in any way we can, I promise you that. But right now I want Catie away from this stress.”
Maria nodded. “I understand completely. Go.”
Catie balked, but eventually relented. “Call me as soon as he leaves.”
“I will.” Marie shut the door behind them. “Now”—her brown eyes flared—“let’s get to the bottom of this once and for all, Jeff. You will not punish me by doing this to my daughter.” Her fists clenched. Sweat beaded on her brow. “You won’t, I tell you.”