Trumped Up Charges - By Joanna Wayne Page 0,2

protests and frustrations once the long-winded attorney finished his spiel.

“To sum it up,” Phipps said as he put down his laser, “in order to collect your share of the estate, you have to not only live on the ranch but take an active role in its operations for one full year.”

Questions and arguments started flying with everybody talking at once. Phipps’s only response to the chaos was a look of snide satisfaction, as if the uproar was exactly what he’d expected and possibly hoped for.

“I have a successful career. Do you honestly expect me to give that up to play cowboy?”

“How can we possibly all live here at once? It’s a big house, but not that big.”

“How much money are we talking about? Is there any oil involved?”

“If there’s nothing but the ranch, why can’t we just sell it and split the money? This much land so close to Dallas should be worth a small fortune.”

“My mother was right. R. J. Dalton was nuts. I say we get our own attorney and prove he was mentally incompetent. There’s no way I’m living out here in the middle of nowhere.”

That last complaint had come from Jade who had stopped kicking and was now standing with her hands firmly planted on her hips.

Phipps clapped his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention. “I know you have lots of questions, so I’m going to turn this meeting over to the man whom the money currently belongs to and whose last will and testament seem to be causing you so much distress.”

He grinned and nodded toward a door that was opening behind him. “Come in, R.J., and meet your loving and appreciative family.”

Mouths flew open, including Adam’s, as an older, gray-haired man with ruddy, weathered skin and an eagle tattoo on his wrinkled right arm sauntered into the room.

Apparently R. J. Dalton was still very much alive. If there was any grief in the room after this, Adam figured R.J. would be the one dishing it out.

* * *

R.J. TOOK HIS PLACE at the front of the room and eyeballed each of his offspring in turn. He recognized all of them from current pictures he’d had his neighbor and former private investigator Meghan Lambert locate for him.

A few of his adult children showed a slight resemblance to him. Most didn’t. But the most surprising thing was that they’d all shown up today and none had bolted and run yet even though they had no idea how much he was really worth.

“Guess you’re surprised to see me here,” he said, purposely exaggerating his Texas drawl. “Didn’t see why I should send a corpse in my place and miss all the fun. But don’t worry. According to my friendly neurosurgeon, I’ll be lucky if I see the new year ring in.”

To his children’s credit, no one cheered at that pronouncement. But that could be because they were still in shock that he wasn’t already dead as they’d been led to believe.

“I know it’s only eleven in the morning, but this is Texas. There’s beer, coffee and some of the best dad-gum barbecue this side of the Mississippi River in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen we’re all supposed to share for a year,” someone grumbled.

“There’s nothing in the will about sharing living quarters. There’s a bunkhouse, a horse barn and a drafty old foreman’s cabin on the property. I have to warn you, though, the cabin’s starting to lean and the bunkhouse needs a new roof.”

“And I suppose the horse barn is full of dead horses?” Jade quipped.

“Wrong. I got ten of the best damn thoroughbreds in the county and eight other good riding horses. I’m sure your mothers have told you that I’ve got a head as hard as a frozen wheel hub. That’s all true. However I’m open to questions or just to chat. But I can assure you that the rules aren’t going to change. So basically all you have to do is make up your mind. Do you want to be cut in or cut out?”

“To start, I think you should at least give us a ballpark figure as to the stakes we’re talking about,” Adam said.

“I reckon that’s fair. We’re talking about four hundred acres of prime ranchland that includes the house, outbuildings, about two hundred head of cattle and the horses I’ve already mentioned.”

“What about cash and investments?” one of the guys asked.

“I’m worth about eight million dollars—give or take a few thousand.”

Someone gave a low whistle. R.J. didn’t see who, but he could