The Bequest

-YOU NEED MORE THAN A WEEK. WHY NOT STAY FOR THE SUMMER?

I haven't been able to think about anything else since 7:00 a.m. when Heather's text came through. My posts have been doing well, sure, but my posts always do well.

Not usually this well. Even I have to admit that.

I've gained nearly ten thousand followers since coming out here, and my engagement is up by 30%. That makes for happy advertisers, and that means more money. Which means stability, and that has been in short supply since Paul died. I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep.

"Amanda?" Abby must be outside my door.

"Yeah?"

"I'm so sorry for waking you up, but I have a favor to ask."

Of course she does.

"I have a hearing today, a preliminary one on an important motion, and I really need to be there."

"Okay."

"Can I open the door? It's weird talking about this through solid wood."

I rub my eyes and sit up, but I don't try to disguise the annoyance in my tone. "Sure."

The door opens slowly, and of course Abby's already wearing a business suit, with her hair done, and bright, outlined, eye-shadow-ed and mascara-ed eyes. "I really am sorry to ask this, but when I called, his office person said we're supposed to pay same day by check."

Pay for what? I still have no idea what she's asking me to do.

"I've left plenty of food, and Izzy can watch Gabe, even if Ethan's busy moving water, or helping with the vet most of the day."

"The vet?"

"He's coming this morning to finish vaccinating the rest of the calves."

The sound of clicking on the wooden floors draws my attention downward. Roscoe has pushed past Abby and walked to my bed. He's now licking my hand. I snatch it away. Why do dogs always lick everything? His eyes are so hurt that I reluctantly shift it back and let him lick. Ugh.

I'm not sure what to say to Abby. "Can't one of the ranch workers do whatever you want me to do?"

Abby looks put out. "Look, I know you're only going to be here a few days, but it's not like I'm asking you to refinish the porch or something."

"I actually may stay the entire summer." The prospect filled me with dread five minutes ago, but it suddenly seems more appealing. After all, if we leave and Abby sticks around, she and her kids could inherit the entire thing. That would be infuriating.

"Wait, how long are you staying?" Now she's the one who looks pained.

I shrug. "I haven't decided for sure."

"I'm not here for a photo op, Amanda. I'm actually here for my kids-we're committed to helping out and seeing what it would be like to run a ranch."

"So are we," I lie. I almost wish it was true when a look of pure horror spreads across her face. "Are you really that desperate to get rid of us?" I shift, which Roscoe takes as an invitation to hop up on the bed. "Whoa, what are you doing?" I shake my head. "No, no, no." He immediately hops back off, shoulders hunched, face cast downward. Now I feel like a bad person, and I let him lick me. Why is it never enough with dogs?

Abby glances at her watch as if Roscoe's interruption was some kind of ploy on my part to delay her. "Can you write the check or not?"

Write a check? "Why do I have to pay-"

"Neither of us is paying." Abby casts her eyes upward. "Did you read any of the emails from Mr. Swift?"

I have no idea what she's talking about.

"He left a new checkbook in the drawer to the left of the dishwasher. It draws on the ranch account, the one connected to the estate. He created it in our names and for our use while we're here. It's only to be used for ranch expenses." "Can't you just leave a check for him?"

"We won't know how much it will cost until the vet's done. If it's too big of a hassle for you to write one check, I'm sure I can drive down to his office and drop it off after I get back."

"No need for that," I say. "I'm sure I'll be capable of doing it."

Her smile is 100% fake. "Perfect. Thank you so much."

There's no way I can stay here more than a week. Before I have time to lose my resolve, I text Heather back.

-NOT A GOOD IDEA. I'M NOT MADE FOR COUNTRY LIFE.

The second I hit send, Heather calls me. I'm sure I won't have good enough reception to answer...but miracle of miracles, I have two bars. Why do I have reception the one time I'd rather communicate via text? I consider not answering. It's not like she'll know.

But that's not very professional, and this is a big deal. I hit talk, and hope for the best. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

"You sound like one of those cell phone commercials," Heather says.

It's not a very original joke, but I fake a laugh anyway. "That's what I feel like up here, every single day. And fair warning. I have no idea how long my reception will last. It's never been this good."

"I'll be quick then. You were kind of a dark horse candidate for the last slot in our lineup, and I was the one who was really pulling for you. Your competition has more than twenty-five percent again as many followers, and slightly higher engagement. I just think you have more potential for growth, and to be frank, I like your posts more."

Ouch. I mean, it's good that she likes me, but she basically just told me I don't have a prayer.

"But since your trip, my boss is actually paying attention. She and I were talking, and we had the same thought at the same time."

Uh.

"Your brand is sort of a glamorous living showcased through the real life of a beautiful and graceful widow. You're pretty open about failed dates, about frustrations with your kids and their school and activities, and even with your shopping experiences. It's why people trust you."

That all makes sense. "Okay."

"But when we analyzed the data, you have ten to forty percent more interaction on posts about your love life than about any other topic."

"That's been pretty dry lately."

"Which is why I'm calling. We want you to find a cowboy to date. Or more precisely, my boss mentioned that it's too bad you haven't met a hot cowboy. She sort of indicated that if you did, and if your engagement and followers increased yet again, it would be the evidence she needs to sign a contract with someone who's still expanding. And you'd improve our trust in the fact that you'd be open to our guidance and direction."

'Still expanding' must be code for crappy. "A hot cowboy?" Where exactly am I supposed to find one of those? "Manila is a town of less than four hundred people." "You're saying there's not one hot, single cowboy, out of those 400 people?"

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"I did hear the two ranch hands talking about a big local rodeo, but that's not until July 4."

"Wait, did you say ranch hands?"

Oh my gosh. "They're both in their early twenties. I'm forty-one, Heather."

"Still."

I can't believe I'm even having this conversation. "They're closer in age to my daughter, Maren." That's a horrifying thought in and of itself.

"Or, if you can't find a cowboy immediately, then at least stick around until the July 4th rodeo and snap some cute photos. What guy's going to care if you just cozy up next to him for a few pictures?"

I have clearly made poor life choices, if this is my new goal in life. Snap pictures with fake love interests to increase the number of people who will click on my posts. "Okay."

"Okay? As in you'll do it?"

"I'll stick around through the rodeo." I can't believe I'm even agreeing to this. "And if I see any hot cowboys who are close to my age, I promise to flirt with them."

"Thank you!" Heather squeals. "I knew my girl would come through."

My girl? "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Heather?"

"Things are a little competitive here at corporate, and I may have a friendly bet going with a few co-workers of mine that our boss will pick the person we nominated. The New York office always wins, and I'm sick of it. That's all." She's betting on me, at least. That's something.