Dally POV
I hated thinking.
Give me weeds. Give me a shovel. Give me forty bags of mulch and a wheelbarrow with one crooked wheel.
At least then I'd know what to do.
Thoughts didn't work like that. Thoughts just went around in circles.
I crumpled the envelope in my fist.
One heir believed they were Keenan Ashwood's chosen successor, until they learned someone else mattered more.
That was somebody else's burden now.
Not mine.
Mr. Ashwood had handed me another person's secret and somehow expected me to decide whether they deserved to keep it.
Who was I to make that call?
So I grabbed a shovel. The mulch pile sat behind the greenhouse. I filled the wheelbarrow. Dumped it into the rose beds.
Filled it again. Dumped it again.
Sweat soaked through my shirt.
The muscles in my should
