Hi Dylan and welcome to The Plotting Princesses. We’re happy you could join us today. Feel free to put your cowboy hat on that table and relax. Don't let all us ladies intimidate you. I must say, your cover is getting oodles of positive attention these days.Dylan: Really?
Me: Seems there’s just something about you Texas cowboys.
Dylan: You got me on that one. Pretty routine life.
Me: So, let’s get started. When you were a child, what did you want to be?
Dylan: A cowboy like my dad. Then by the time I reached high school, anything but.
Me: Didn’t want to be a cowboy or didn’t want to be like your dad?
Me: Okay...and now?
Dylan: I’ve tried pretty much everything else. Ranching’s a living. It’s what I do.
Me. So what do you do to unwind at the end of the day? Do you have a favorite watering hole where you like to grab a beer?
Dylan: Don’t drink.
Me: Okay, so no alcohol. What about dancing? Do you enjoy taking a lady out on the dance floor for a little Texas two-step?
Dylan: Sure. I’ll dance to anything from Strait to Seger to Springsteen. My parents had eclectic taste.
Me: What would make you ask a woman out on a second date?
Dylan: A woman who didn’t get all ruffled and bent out of shape if things didn’t follow the script. Someone who enjoyed the adventure as much as the destination.
Me: Have you ever been deeply and totally in love?
Dylan: Once. She left.
“No damn way!” Dylan McKeon blinked at the lawyer then turned his glare on his mother. “Did you instigate this?”Daisy grinned back at him with all the innocence he knew his mother did not possess. “I’m as surprised as you, sweetie. Who’d have thought your father would do such a thing?” Judging by the upturned corners of her glossed lips, she did.
“Why would Dad leave half the ranch to Jordan?” It made no sense. Jordan had walked out of Dylan’s life over two years ago and he hadn’t seen neither hide nor hair of her since. Dylan turned back to the lawyer. “Is that all? What other death bed insanity did he pull?”His father’s attorney and longtime drinking buddy ran a finger down the paper and flipped the page. “A few specified items and his vast music collection he left to Daisy.” He nodded to Mom. “All other personal property, vehicles, farm equipment, livestock, bank accounts go to Dylan McKeon, his only son. With the one specification.”
Dylan swallowed the bile in his throat. No way in Hell he was going to allow Jordan Harris to reap a cent off of his or his father’s hard work. “Fifty percent of the McKeon family’s ranch? We’ll see about that.”
CONTACT: www.pamelastone.netSo ask away folks. Any questions for our cowboy?