It hadn’t occurred to Robbie that Lance could ask questions Robbie wouldn’t want to answer. He’d only been thinking, eagerly, of being invited to ask Lance some of the questions that he’s been holding back for days.

But this question. This question. Robbie takes a deep breath, remembering there’s a somewhat easy answer, even if it’s incomplete. “Because someone has to be,” he says. “There’s a really weird provision in my grandfather’s will. It says that my dad’s kids get the ranch if at least one of us lives here, continuously, for twenty-one years after my dad’s death.”

Lance twists around under Robbie’s hand to blink up at him. “Seriously?”

Robbie smiles wryly. “Yeah.”

“That’s like something out of a movie.”

“Yeah.” Robbie smiles grimly and leans his head back.

“A bad movie. A bad TV movie.”

He laughs. “No argument here. My dad told me about it in vague terms. He didn’t really think it would be relevant, I guess. He was like you; he thought it was too absurd to hold up in court. He had a lawyer working on it off and on for a couple of years. But then, he died, and it—it didn’t turn out the way he’d thought it would. So, we’d lose the ranch if I ever moved.”

“It has to be you? It couldn’t be Johnny or Danny?”

Robbie shrugs, his gaze skating away from Lance. “They have lives somewhere else. I don’t want them to be tied here.” He darts a quick look at Lance and finds that his expression is a little pinched.

“That’s not fair to you, though.”

Robbie pushes back the tightness in his chest and strokes Lance’s hair off his temple. “Where else would I go, anyway?”

Lance looks like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. He settles back down with his head on Robbie’s chest. “There’s no way out of the twenty-one-year thing? I mean, no loopholes?”

Robbie just shakes his head, exhausted at the thought of summarizing all of the various research trails his father’s old, talkative lawyer got excited about over the years, all of which came to nothing. “No. It’s technically the property of my grandfather’s trust, and if we don’t meet the condition, it all goes to my uncle instead.”

“That’s crazy.”

“It is.”

“But what about your uncle? Does he…?”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Robbie interrupts hastily. “I answered your question, and now it’s my turn.” He strikes a compromise between what he most wants to know and what he thinks might not send Lance running. “Why did you come back here?”

Lance sighs. “My dad’s dying. For real, this time. I already needed an excuse to get out of Chicago. So, when the hospice people called, I just drove.” Before Robbie can comment, he says briskly, “My turn. What happened with Megan?”

“I think me and her both just realized something we should have figured out a lot earlier. We’re friends, you know? That’s all it ever really was between us. What do you like better—taking pictures or being in them?”