Her Holiday Rancher. Cathy Mcdavid

      “Your Aunt Louise sent me an email earlier. She wants to come for a visit at Christmas.”

      “Great!” Reese’s mood brightened. She adored her father’s younger sister, who’d been like a second mother to her after her parents divorced. “How long’s she going to stay?”

      “I told her no. That we were busy.”

      “What!” Reese dropped into the chair across from her father and gaped at him.

      “It’s not a good time.”

      “You can’t hide your Parkinson’s forever.”

      “I’m not ready to tell her.”

      “It won’t be Christmas without family visiting.”

      “Your Aunt Louise is a busybody. Always thinks she knows what’s best for people.”

      “She loves you.”

      “She’ll interfere.”

      Reese bit her tongue. Her father was the one sick, not her. It was his choice whom he told and when, regardless if she disagreed.

      “Off to your meeting at Dos Estrellas?” He was attempting to distract her, and she let him.

      “Depending on how long the meeting lasts, I may come straight home and skip going back to the bank.”

      “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around you being the trustee of August Dempsey’s estate.”

      She’d finally informed her father last night, when she was able to do so. “Strange, I know.”

      “August must be having himself one heck of a good laugh up in heaven.”

      “He did choose the bank to act as trustee.”

      “Probably didn’t realize you’d be the one running the show.”

      There was no way for Reese to respond without violating her client’s privacy, so she said nothing.

      “Poor man,” her father said. “He must have hated seeing the ranch fall to ruin like it did.”

      “Dos Estrellas is hardly in ruins.”

      “It’s buried in debt.”

      Buried was an exaggeration. Waist-deep, maybe. “I can’t discuss the ranch finances with you.”

      “He should have sold it to me when he had the chance.”

      Reese shook her head. “And what would you do with Dos Estrellas? Let’s be honest, you’re having enough trouble running the Small Change.”

      He grunted in displeasure. “Don’t count me out yet.”

      “Never.” She smiled and kissed his head again before retrieving her briefcase and a travel mug of coffee from the counter. “I’ll see you later.”

      “Good luck,” he called after her.

      Reese passed Enrico on the way to her car, and they exchanged hellos. The ranch foreman was heading inside to give her father a report. The loyal employee had been doing that more and more of late, three or four times a day. And because her father was being regularly checked on, Reese was able to leave the house, confident he’d be all right.

      In the indeterminable future, whether her father agreed or not, they would need to hire a caretaker. Reese could anticipate how their conversation would go and was dreading it.

      During the ten-minute drive to Dos Estrellas, she mentally prepared for the meeting. This, she realized, was the third day in a row she’d see Gabe. She should get used to it. With her new responsibilities, they would be in frequent contact. The notion gave her a not-so-small shiver of anticipation—which she promptly squashed. Her attraction to Gabe was inappropriate, and even if they were to date, the timing couldn’t be worse. He had a ranch in serious financial trouble to run alongside two brothers he didn’t get along with.

      Reese slowed to take the turn into the Dos Estrellas driveway. She parked in the same spot as yesterday, instantly reminded of her and Gabe’s awkward, yet strangely intimate, parting. She’d have sworn he was about to say something revealing and romantic to her. When he didn’t, she blamed her overactive imagination playing tricks on her.

      But there was that moment between them on the hilltop when he’d fastened her into the poncho...

      Enough, she told herself. This has to stop.

      Raquel Salazar answered Reese’s knock on the door, smiling affectionately. “Come in, chiquita.”

      Little girl? Reese could hardly call herself that. Raquel, however, was the motherly type who called everyone by an endearment.

      “I have the office all set for you.” Raquel indicated a door off the living room. “This way.”

      August’s home office was a masculine mixture of functional and comfortable. Situated behind a heavy antique desk was an oversized executive chair. It nearly swallowed Reese when she sat down. Certificates lined one wall. August, it appeared, had been a member of several professional organizations, including the Arizona Cattlemen’s Association.

      On the other wall hung family portraits spanning several decades, back to the first Dempsey who’d originally purchased the land and built the ranch. A well-worn leather couch sat beneath the portraits and looked cozy enough to sink into for long hours of reading or listening to the old-fashioned stereo system.

      Notably absent was evidence of modern technology. No computer. No TV, flat-screen or otherwise. No smartphone docking station or Bluetooth speaker. In fact, the one phone was an antiquated desktop model with a push-button dial pad, and the clock required a weekly winding to run.

      Reese glanced around the room. “Where did August keep the ranch records?”

      “In here.” Raquel walked to a black lateral filing cabinet adjacent to the couch and opened the top drawer.

      Reese could see rows and rows of hanging file folders with various headings: Payroll, Vehicles, Insurance, Veterinary Care, to name a few. “What about the financial information?”

      “Ah.” Raquel pulled out an elongated brown binder, which she placed on the desk in front of Reese. “Do you mean this?”

      “Wow.” Reese opened the binder and stared in amazement at the three-to-a-page checks and the thick stack of stubs. “I didn’t know anybody used manual checks anymore.”

      “August didn’t trust computers.”

      “So I see.” Reese sighed, flipping through the stubs and noting the entries. “What about income? How did he track that?”

      Raquel opened a side drawer of the desk. Inside were a half dozen green accounting ledger books stacked one on top of the other.

      “Great.” Reese definitely had her work cut out for her. “Prior year tax returns handy?”

      Those were in the next drawer down. Reese was relieved to see they’d been prepared by a local CPA.

      Thankfully, Hector Fuentes had given her a flash drive with August’s plan for the ranch, including a month-by-month and year-by-year schedule. Reese wasn’t sure what she’d have done with handwritten notes.

      “I’ll tell the boys you’re here,” Raquel said and left, her footsteps soundless on the thick, colorful area rug.

      Reese removed her laptop from her briefcase and powered it up. She also pulled out a copy of the entire living trust. When, a few minutes later, no one had yet arrived, she began examining the first accounting journal. It was meticulously updated until four months ago. After that, the entries were sketchy, then they stopped altogether.

      August had probably gotten too sick to continue, which didn’t bode well for the ranch finances.

      Cole entered the office,