Staking a Claim
Author
Janice Maynard
Reads
15,8K
Chapters
15
One
Layla Grandin hated funerals. It was bad enough to sit through somber affairs with friends who had lost family members. But today was worse. Today was personal.
Victor Grandin Sr., Layla’s beloved grandfather, had been laid to rest.
It wasn’t a tragedy in the truest sense of the word. Victor was ninety-three years old when he died. He lived an amazing, fulfilling life. And in the end, he was luckier than most. He literally died with his boots on after suffering a heart attack while on horseback.
There were worse ways to go. But that didn’t make Layla’s grief any less.
After the well-attended funeral in town, many of Royal’s finest citizens had made the trek out to the Grandin ranch to pay their respects. Layla eyed the large gathering with a cynical gaze. The Grandin family was wealthy. Even folks with the best of intentions couldn’t help sniffing around when money and inheritance were on the menu. That was the burden of financial privilege. You never knew if people really liked you or if they just wanted something they thought you could give them.
For that very reason, Layla had been lingering in the corner of the room, content to play voyeur. Her newly widowed grandmother Miriam looked frail and distraught, as was to be expected. Layla’s father was relishing the role of genial host, embracing his chance to shine now that his larger-than-life parent was out of the picture.
Layla wished with all her heart that her own father cared for her as much as her gruff but loving grandfather had. Unfortunately, Victor Junior was not particularly interested in his female offspring. He was too focused on his only son, Victor the third, better known as Vic. Her father was grooming Vic to take over one day, despite the fact that Layla’s older sister, Chelsea, was first in line, followed by Layla.
Chelsea crossed the room in Layla’s direction, looking disgruntled. “I am so over this,” she said. “I don’t think anyone here really cares about Grandfather at all. Some of them probably haven’t even met him.”
Layla grimaced. “I know what you mean. But at least Vic and Morgan are genuinely upset. Grandy loved all his grandkids.”
“You most of all,” Chelsea said. “You were the only one who could get away with that nickname.”
Layla flushed. She hadn’t realized anyone else noticed. As the middle of three girls, and with Vic their father’s clear favorite, Layla often felt lost in the crowd.
Suddenly, Layla realized her father was deep in conversation with a man she recognized. She lowered her voice and leaned toward Chelsea. “Why is Daddy cozied up to Bertram Banks? Oh, crap! Why are they looking at me?”
“Who knows? Let’s go find out.” Chelsea, always the proactive one, took Layla’s elbow and steered her across the room. Layla would have much preferred hiding out in the kitchen, but the two men obviously saw them approaching.
When they were in earshot, Layla and Chelsea’s dad gave them a big smile. For such a sober day, it might have been a bit too big, in Layla’s estimation.
“Here are my two oldest,” he said, giving Bertram a wink. “Take your pick.”
Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “That sounds a little weird, Dad.”
Bertram chuckled. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”
Layla distrusted the two men’s good humor. Both of them were known to manipulate people when the occasion demanded it. Layla had known the Banks family forever. As a kid, she had been a tomboy, running wild and riding horses and dirt bikes with Bertram’s twin sons, Jordan and Joshua.
Back then, she was lean and coltish, not at all interested in girly pursuits. She could take whatever the Banks boys dished out. As she grew older, though, she’d developed a terrible crush on Jordan. It was embarrassing to think about now.
“What’s going on?” Layla asked.
For once, Chelsea was silent.
Bertram smiled at Layla. This time it seemed genuine. “I have tickets to see Parker Brett in concert tomorrow night.”
It was Layla’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Congratulations. I’ve heard those were impossible to get.”
Bertram puffed out his chest. “I know a guy,” he said, chuckling. “But the thing is, I’ve had a conflict arise. Jordan has offered to take you, Layla, you know—to cheer you up. We all know how much you loved your grandfather.”
Layla was aghast. Chelsea bit her lip, clearly trying hard not to laugh. She knew all about Layla’s fruitless crush.
To be honest, Layla highly doubted that Jordan had volunteered to do anything of the sort. She wasn’t even sure he liked country music. “That’s sweet of you,” she said. “But I don’t think I’ll feel like going out. This has been an emotional week.”
Her father jumped in. “It will do you good, Layla. Everyone knows you’ve had a crush on Jordan forever.”
A split second of stunned silence reverberated between the uncomfortable foursome. Did he just say that? Oh, yes he did! Layla felt her face get hot. Recover, Layla. Quickly! Think! “When I was a kid, Dad. I’ve moved on,” Layla mumbled.
Chelsea tried to help. “Good grief, Daddy. Layla’s had a million boyfriends since then. Even a fiancé.” She stopped short, clearly appalled. “Sorry, sis.”
Layla forced a smile. Her doomed engagement two years ago was a sore spot, more because it reeked of failure than anything else. “No worries.” She faced the duo of late-fifties males. “I’m sure Jordan can find his own date for the concert.”
Bertram’s expression was bland, suspiciously innocent. “You’re it, kiddo. He’ll text you the details later tonight.”
Layla glanced around the room. “He’s not here?”
“He went to the funeral, but he had another commitment this afternoon.”
Victor beamed. “So, it’s settled. If you two ladies will excuse us, Bertram and I are going to mingle.”
When the two men wandered away, Layla groaned. “You have to be kidding me. Why didn’t you say something? I needed help.”
Chelsea cocked her head, her sisterly smile teasing. “Well, he wasn’t wrong. You have always had a thing for Jordan Banks. What could it hurt to get out of the house? With you swearing off men after your engagement ended and now Grandfather dying, I think it would do you good. It’s just a concert.”
Layla couldn’t disagree with the logic. “Fine,” she said. “But I hope this doesn’t put Jordan in a weird spot. I’ll have to make sure he knows I’m not pining for him.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.” Chelsea grinned.
Layla had been too tense and upset to eat lunch before the funeral. Now she was starving. Her mother had made arrangements for catered hors d’oeuvres to serve the dozens of guests who showed up for the reception. Judging by the crowd, it might ultimately prove to be two hundred or two fifty. But her mother, Bethany, was an experienced hostess. No one would run out of food.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Layla said to Chelsea.
“Good idea.”
The two sisters filled their plates and retreated to a sunny alcove just off the large living room. Some people might be taken aback by the luxurious, enormous house, but to Layla and Chelsea it was simply home.
From their comfortable seats, they enjoyed the sunshine and the food. Chelsea sighed. “I can’t believe it’s only four days till May. Summer will be here soon.”
Layla’s composure wobbled. “Grandy loved the long days and even the heat. Not to mention watermelon and fresh corn. It won’t be the same this year.” She scanned the crowd. “I guess we should have asked Morgan to join us.” Chelsea was thirty-five, Layla thirty-two. Morgan, their baby sister, was still in her twenties.
“She’s hanging out with Vic,” Chelsea said, stabbing a fat shrimp with her fork. “Did I tell you she sided with Vic over me yesterday? Again.”
Vic was third in line, but first in their father’s heart and plans.
Chelsea continued, “Every damn time she takes Vic’s side. Just once I’d like her to take mine. Still, it’s not their fault Daddy thinks I can’t handle the ranch eventually. It makes me so angry. I love this ranch as much as anybody. It ought to be me. Or you and me together.”
“Well, it won’t, so you might as well get used to the idea. Besides, if genetics are any clue, Daddy will live another thirty years. You and I might as well forget about this ranch and find something else to keep us busy.”
“True,” Chelsea said glumly.
“Look at Mr. Lattimore,” Layla said. “He must be grieving terribly, but he’s as dignified as ever.” Augustus was ninety-six. His wife, Hazel, was at his side speaking to him in a low voice. As a Black family in Royal, Texas, the Lattimores hadn’t always had it easy, but they were equally as influential as the Grandins. The only difference was, their patriarch, Augustus, had been forced to give up the reins several years ago because of his struggles with memory issues.
“He and Grandfather were so very close. I wonder if he understands that Grandfather is gone. They’ve been friends for decades.” Chelsea’s comment was wistful.
“His memory comes in flashes, I think. You’ve seen people like that.” The two families were so close the Lattimore kids probably felt sad about losing Grandpa Victor even if he wasn’t their blood kin. It would be hard to see the oldest generation begin to pass on, especially since they adored their own grandfather.
Chelsea put her plate on a side table and grimaced. “I hate funerals,” she said.
Layla burst out laughing.
Her sister gaped. “Did I say something funny?”
“Not particularly,” Layla said, still chuckling. “But I’ve been thinking the same thing all day. When it’s my time to go, just put me in the ground and plant a tree. I don’t need people kicking the dirt and fighting over my estate.”
“Always assuming you have one.”
“Touché.” Chelsea’s joking comment gave Layla something to ponder. After college, she had spent the last decade pouring her energies into this place. She assisted her mother with frequent entertaining. She helped train horses. And though her father was sometimes dismissive of her expertise, she used her business degree to make sure the family enterprise was solid.
Her grandfather had been proud of her ideas and her knack for understanding the ranching business. Unfortunately, he was too old-school to ever think a woman could be in charge of anything that didn’t involve cooking, cleaning or changing diapers. A woman’s place was in the home.
No matter that he had been affectionate and supportive of Layla’s thoughts and dreams, he had been forged in the patriarchal environs of Maverick County, and he agreed with his son. The only grandson, Vic, should be next in line to run things when it was Victor Junior’s time to hang up his spurs.
Layla was at a crossroads. Her personal life was nonexistent. If Vic was going to be heir to the Grandin ranch, she might as well make a plan for the future. Many of her friends were married and had kids by now. Layla didn’t feel any rush.
Her ex-fiancé, Richard, hadn’t been too excited about the prospect of starting a family. That should have been a red flag. But Layla had taken his words at face value. He’d said he was concentrating on his career.
Unfortunately, the thing he’d been concentrating on was screwing as many women as possible in the shortest amount of time. The only reason he’d given Layla a ring was that he saw the benefit in allying himself with the Grandin empire.
For Layla, the entire experience had shaken her confidence. How could she trust her own judgment when she had been so wrong about Richard?
Gradually, the crowd thinned. She and Chelsea split up to mingle, to thank people for coming and to say goodbyes. The food tables were demolished. The furniture was askew. By all accounts, the funeral reception was a success. Hazel and Augustus Lattimore were just now being escorted home. Layla’s grandmother Miriam looked shaky and exhausted as she headed for her suite.
Fortunately for Layla, Bertram Banks had disappeared half an hour ago. She definitely didn’t want to talk to him again. She was already planning how to ditch the concert arrangements.
She had nothing against country music. Jordan would be a fun companion. But she was emotionally wrung out. In some ways, she had never completely processed the trauma from two years ago, and now this, losing her grandfather.
As the room emptied, only the Grandins and Lattimores remained, parents and kids, though the term kids was a misnomer. Even Caitlyn, the youngest, was twenty-five. The reception had been advertised as a drop-in from two until five. Now it was almost six.
Layla was about to make her excuses and head to her bedroom when her mother went to answer the doorbell and came back flanked by a uniformed person holding a legal-size envelope.
Oddly, the room fell silent. The young courier looked nervous. “I have a delivery addressed to The Heirs of Victor Grandin Sr.,” he said.
Layla’s father stepped forward. “That’s me. Where do I sign?”
Ben Lattimore, her father’s best friend, joined him. “What’s up? Kind of late in the day for any kind of official delivery.”
Victor nodded absently, breaking the seal on the envelope and extracting the contents. After a moment, he paled. “Someone is pursuing the oil rights to both of our ranches.”
“Somebody who?” Chelsea asked, trying to read over Victor’s shoulder.
He scanned farther. “Heath Thurston.”
Ben frowned. “Why didn’t I get a copy?”
“Maybe you did at your house.” Victor glared at the document. “It’s in incredibly poor taste to deliver this today.”
“The timing could be a coincidence.” Ben Lattimore was visibly worried. “If this is legit, our properties are in trouble. We’re cattle ranchers, damn it. Having somebody search for oil would destroy much of what we’ve built.”
Vic stepped to his father’s shoulder. “I thought we didn’t have any oil, right? So this is probably all a hoax,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. At least not until we investigate.”
“That’s the ticket,” Victor said. “I know a PI—Jonas Shaw.” His gaze narrowed. “But I’ll start with my mother first.”
Layla shook her head. “No, Daddy. She’s grief-stricken and so frail right now. We should only involve her if it’s absolutely necessary.” It was obvious that her father didn’t like being opposed. But he nodded tersely.
“I suppose,” he said grudgingly. “But you...” He pointed at his brother. “I’m going to need cooperation from you, Daniel.”
“I’m flying back to Paris tomorrow.”
“Not anymore. No one leaves Royal until we meet with our lawyer.”
Layla could tell Daniel wanted to argue. But he settled for a muttered protest. “This whole thing smells fishy,” he said.
Conversation swelled as the two families broke up into small groups and began to process the bizarre information. Layla was surprised that Heath Thurston would pursue something like this. From what she knew of him, he was an honorable man. But if he and his brother thought they were entitled to the oil rights, maybe they were taking the only logical step.
Still, it was very suspicious that Thurston was claiming oil rights under both ranches. What possible claim could he have?
Layla spotted Alexa Lattimore gathering up her purse and light jacket, preparing to leave. Layla had talked to her earlier in the day, but only briefly. “Don’t rush off, Alexa. I miss you.” The eldest Lattimore daughter hadn’t lived in Royal since finishing college.
“I’ve missed you, too, Layla. I was sorry to hear about your engagement. I wish I could have come home to give you moral support, but things were crazy at work.”
Layla sighed. “It’s no fun being the subject of Royal’s grapevine. I don’t think Richard broke my heart, but he definitely dented my pride.” She tugged her friend to a nearby sofa. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Alexa sat down with a wary expression. “Oh?”
“I was hoping you might think about coming home for a longer visit. I think Caitlyn would love having you around, and besides, it looks like your lawyer skills may be in demand. For both our families.”
Alexa chewed her lip, not quite meeting Layla’s gaze. “I don’t know, Layla. I wanted to pay my respects at your grandfather’s funeral, but this was just a quick jaunt. Miami is home now. There’s no real place for me in Royal.”
“If I know you, Ms. Workaholic, you probably have a million vacation days banked. At least think about it.”
“I will,” Alexa said.
Even hearing the words, Layla wasn’t sure Alexa was telling the truth. Alexa had kept her distance from Royal and didn’t seem eager to get involved with an ongoing crisis.
At last, Layla was free to escape to her bedroom and recover from this long, painful day. She stripped off her funeral dress and took a quick shower. After that, she donned comfy black yoga pants and a chunky teal sweater.
When she curled up in her chaise lounge by the window, the tears flowed. She’d been holding them in check all day. Now she sobbed in earnest. She would never see Grandy again, never hear the comfortable rumble of his voice. She had loved him deeply, but perhaps she had never realized just how big a void he filled in her life.
With Grandy gone, she felt adrift.
In the end, she had to wash her face and reapply mascara. The family would be gathering for dinner at seven thirty. It was the Grandin way, and old traditions were hard to break.
Just before she went downstairs at a quarter after, she glanced at her phone. All her family and friends had been at the house today, so there was no real reason to think she might have a text.
But Bertram had said Jordan would text her tonight.
It was dumb to feel hurt and uncertain. She knew Bertram. He was probably, even now, pressuring his son to take Layla to the concert. It was so embarrassing. Bertram would like nothing more than to have one of his sons marry a Grandin daughter. He wasn’t picky. He would keep trying if this didn’t work out.
The concert was a day away. If Layla hadn’t heard from Jordan in the next couple of hours, she was done with this shotgun-date situation. She might have a long-standing crush on Jordan, but honestly, it was more like the feelings she’d had for a rock star or a movie idol growing up.
Doodling her name and Jordan’s in hearts and flowers had been something fun. A fantasy to entertain herself. By the time she was an engaged woman, she had known her feelings for Jordan were mostly superficial. Still, the idea of a night on the town wasn’t so terrible.
Layla would be the envy of every single woman in Royal, Texas.
What could it hurt to enjoy herself? She had been far too serious for far too long. She had let her mistakes and missteps make her afraid to live life.
Jordan Banks wasn’t her soul mate. But he was handsome and temporarily available. And from what she remembered of him, he knew how to have fun.
That was what Layla needed...fun. This one date might not be a long-term solution to her solitary state, but it was a start. She needed to open herself up to possibilities...to surprises. No telling what might happen.
