She checked the wayward track of her brain and extracted three bottles of beer from the refrigerator, heading back down the hall.

When she arrived on the porch, Caleb had obviously brought Travis up to speed on the will. The two men had made themselves comfortable in the painted, wood-slat chairs. Mandy handed out the beers, her fingertips grazing Caleb’s as he accepted his. She refused to look in his eyes, but the touch sent an electrical current coursing the length of her arm.

She backed away and perched herself on the wide railing, one leg canted across the rail, the other dangling between the slats.

“Just when you think a guy can’t get any nastier,” said Travis, twisting off the cap of his beer bottle.

Caleb took a swig of his own beer. “Only Wilton could screw up our lives from the grave.”

Mandy had to agree with that. It looked as if Caleb’s father had deliberately driven a new wedge between his two sons. The only way to repair the damage was to tell Reed about Caleb’s offer to return the ranch.

“How are we going to find him?” she asked.

“We won’t,” said Travis, “if he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Probably doesn’t,” said Caleb. “Which means he’s finally come to his senses and left this place in his dust.”

“He thinks you’re stealing his ranch,” Mandy corrected, her voice rising on the accusation.

“Then why didn’t he call me and talk about it? I’m listed.”

“He probably thought you’d gloat,” she guessed.

“Your faith in me is inspiring.”

She hadn’t meant it as an insult. “I was speculating on what Reed might think. I wasn’t saying what I personally thought.” She took a swig of the cold, bitter brew. It wasn’t her favorite beverage, but sometimes it was the only thing going, so she’d learned to adapt.