In five years of marriage, this was the first time Caleb had ever interrupted my morning in the stables. Behind him stood his mistress, Brooke, and a blond little boy. “An old friend’s orphaned son,” he said, gesturing toward the boy with a practiced, easygoing charm. “Brooke’s a social worker. I thought the boy could grow up here, on the ranch.” I didn’t look at the boy’s face. I didn’t have to. I knew it would be a mirror of his father’s. I just asked, “Three years ago, when you went to Austin for that financing round, did you stay at the Four Seasons? Or was it that villa on Lake Travis, the one with the private dock?” His expression froze. The pretense evaporated. He tossed a document at me. PERMANENT LAND TRANSFER AGREEMENT. “Sign it,” he said. “You sign over the core acreage of King’s Creek to my company. Brooke will move into the guest villa. It’s the cleanest way for everyone.” I laughed. His company was built on my trust fund. His loans were......
