Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(119)

“We’d appreciate anything you can tell us now,” Brandt said.


“The stroke scared him. From my understanding, his stake in his family ranch had already been dealt with. I’ve not seen a copy of his will, so I’ve no idea what that entails.”


At least Casper hadn’t been able to give his stake to the church because no doubt the man would’ve done it just to spite his brothers and his sons.


“And so you know I’m on the up and up and didn’t in any way coerce Casper into his generosity, he had this list notarized before he brought it to me and then we had it notarized afterward.” He smiled again. “It’s in everyone’s best interests to make sure everything is official. So let’s deal with the items he’s donating to the church.” The pastor set the list in the center of the table and they all leaned closer to look at it.


Bottom line: he’d left everything to the church. So Dalton had gotten his wish in not having to deal with rummaging through his dad’s stuff.


Next he’d bequeathed all the cash in his bank accounts to the church.


Tell looked at Brandt. “Any idea how much that is? We talking five hundred bucks? Or half a million?”


“Guess we’ll have to talk to the lawyer and see what we’re legally allowed to know.”


“Like you, I have no idea of the amount of money either. Next, on to the funeral plans. The funeral will be held at Our Lord and Savior Christian church. No visitation. Closed casket. A casket that he’s already chosen through the funeral home. Hymns to be chosen at my discretion.”


Dalton had the fleeting thought, Please don’t pick “How Great Thou Art”.


“Private burial will be in the McKay family cemetery, next to his firstborn son Luke.”


“Did he denote pallbearers?” Brandt asked.


The pastor looked at his notes and frowned. “His three sons and each of his brothers’ oldest sons. Six total.”


So, the bastard wasn’t spiting him from the grave and leaving him off as a pallbearer.


“I know it’s only been a few hours, but with so many things already taken care of, have you considered a day for the funeral?”


“Friday,” Dalton said. “With all the family livin’ here three days is plenty of time.” He looked at his brothers. “Unless you want to try and do it Thursday?”


“Friday is fine,” Brandt said and Tell nodded.


The pastor stood and they all followed suit. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me.”


“Thank you, Pastor Joneki, we appreciate it.”


“I’ll be in touch on Thursday just to make sure we’re all on the same page. Are any of you going to speak on your father’s behalf?”


Silence.


“No,” Brandt said at last. “We’ll keep it a simple ceremony.



“I will tell you that the congregation will want to host a light meal directly after the service.”


“Why?”


“Casper was very well-liked with the members of the congregation. They’ll want to share their condolences with you.”


None of Casper’s sons knew what to say to that.


The pastor left, and Brandt, Tell and Dalton stared at one another. Tell looked around and rubbed the back of his neck as if spooked by something. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re in a parallel universe?”


“Yeah. And on that note, let’s get outta here.”


Rory showed up at Dalton’s house right after work. She didn’t mention the half-empty bottle of Laphroaig on the coffee table in his living room. Nor did she mention the fact he stared blankly at the TV that wasn’t on. She just crawled into his lap and wrapped herself around him.


Despite him dosing himself with scotch, his body was nowhere near relaxed. She ran her hands through his hair. “Hey.”


Dalton came out of his haze enough to say, “Hey,” and kiss the top of her head.


She was at a loss for what to say, so she just stayed close. Whether he needed or appreciated her gentle touches wasn’t the point; she just wanted him to know she was there.


After a bit he sighed. “Did you want a drink?”


“No.” She got in his face. “Maybe I’ll just get a little taste from you.” She pressed her lips to his. Licking and teasing until his mouth opened and her tongue snuck inside.


Rory moaned softly at the smoky mix of scotch and Dalton. She sought out every taste, keeping the kiss easy.


His hands slid up her back and curled over her shoulders, pulling her closer so they were chest to chest. Then those wonderfully rough-skinned, highly skilled hands were in her hair.


The man had such a thing for her hair.


The kiss didn’t catch fire; it stayed on the sweet side, the comforting side. The I-love-you-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-help-you side.


Dalton moved his lips to her ear. “I’m glad you’re here, Rory.”


She angled back to look into his eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”