Beck eyed the nearly pristine barns as the Dutton home came into view. His jaw slackened at the sight of the house. He'd never been this close, likening it to a mansion in comparison to their more modest home as they neared its steps.

At the sound of the pickup truck's doors creaking open, his head darted to see both Wyatt and his father gone. He immediately scrambled to follow, tugging on the handle of his own door. Once he rounded the truck, moving to stand beside them, the front door of the house swung open to reveal John Dutton.

"Bill," The rancher immediately called out in acknowledgment, taking a few steps onto the porch.

"John," His father returned, voice cool.

Beck sighed at the exchange, which earned an elbow from his older brother.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?" John's deep voice rasped, jerking his head toward the ajar door behind him. "Come in."

Beck refrained from the need to toe his dirty boots off by the door once when they entered the entryway. The inside of the house easily matched the exterior in terms of beauty. His shoulders slouched unconsciously, immediately feeling much smaller in a house so large.
Though the Harrison's cash earnings were in no means a meager amount, where the barns and fencing flourished in terms of renovation, the house had stayed more or less untouched since the 1960s.

"Take a seat." John muttered, followed by a throaty cough. He moved to an arm chair while Bill mirrored him, favoring the other chair just across from the Dutton while Wyatt fluidly moved to the nearest couch. Beck eyed the set up for a moment, before reluctantly sitting at the edge of the couch inhabited by his brother. He took his hat off, placing it atop his knee before he practically glued himself to the arm of the couch, shrinking back into the plush leather.

"This could've been a phone call, Bill." John reasoned, shrugging his shoulders languidly as he leaned further into his seat, his form impassive. Beck was sure he had never seen the man as anything but.

"Don't be so sure." His father's smile gave off a faux friendliness.

John's eyes narrowed, unwavering as a three piece suit came into view, the man who filled it moving to stand just behind the ranch owner. Beck looked up, locking eyes with Jamie. He gave the older a small nod of acknowledgement. They once played together as children, but the man in front of him seemed to portray no recollection of that, whether it be intentional or otherwise, fixing Beck with a blank expression before his eyes darted to Bill.

"Well, I've got a map here, written in 1885 of the property line." Bill smiled, setting it atop the nearest coffee table, rotating the paper as John moved to lean forward.
"Says here, you're one-point-six miles over the line."

Jamie's brows furrowed as he took a few steps forward, leaning down to peer at the scroll of paper.

"My family purchased the land in 1883." John deadpanned, unwavering.

"Do you have proof of that?" Wyatt spoke up. Both Dutton's harsh eyes turned to the eldest Harrison. Wyatt raised his hands in mock surrender, leaning back.
"Maybe your ancestors got the mile-marker wrong?" He supplied as Beck immediately winced.

"Bullshit." John grunted, tone biting.

"One and a half miles is nothing to you." Bill butt in, eyes darting defensively between his son and the man in front of him.
"That acreage can mean everything to us!"

"You mean the acreage that I own!?" John's voice raised, leaning forward in his seat.

"If you have a document, some proof, we can easily settle this." Beck placated, watching both parties carefully.

"I'll find your goddamn proof, boy." John finally looked to him, his lip curling into a sneer.

Beck reeled back slightly, breaking eye contact in favor for staring at the map that lay in front of him. He raised a thumb to his mouth, chewing nervously at his cuticle.

"We'll find the proof." Jamie muttered finally, pointing down at the paper. "Where did you get this?"

"City records." Wyatt smiled coyly, holding his hands leisurely between his open knees.

Beck craned his neck up slowly, using his hand as an attempted shield while he peered up at the group.

"Well, gentleman," Jamie pasted a polite smile onto his face. "Our lawyers will be in touch with you."

"Lovely," Bill smacked his knees as he moved to stand, Wyatt was quick to follow, a hand hovering nervously behind his father's back.

Beck stood slowly, politely nodding at either Dutton before placing his hat atop his head, following his father out.
The atmosphere was practically stifling until they reached the porch.

Jamie shut the door on them with an unceremonious thud, causing Beck to jolt.
He took a sharp breath through his nose, giving the property a final once over as his father and brother moved toward the pickup. Their boots crunched into the gravel, the sounds growing fainter as he kept still.

"Beautiful, hmm?" A stranger murmured.

Beck turned toward the voice, revealing Rip seated in a chair just at the corner of the large wrap-around porch.

"Yes." Beck answered finally, hesitant.

Rip looked up at him, voice remaining serious while his eyes crinkled at the sides, crows feet evident.
"You don't sound sure." He mused with a grumble.

"No, it's—" Beck attempted to recover, looking back out at the vast amount of land surrounding them. "Beautiful."

"Beck!" Wyatt shouted from the driver's side window, leaning an arm out of the pickup with a chastising glare.

Beck raised a mollifying hand, watching his brother's scowl deepen. He gave Rip a quick nod before heading down the steps, his feet hitting the gravel with a resounding thud.

"See you around, Beck." The ranch hand's voice was casual, almost careless in nature, but when Beck turned to look at him, the man's eyes were intensely observant.

"Bye... Rip." Beck murmured, frowning. He hadn't expected the man to speak another word to him after their recently shared event, much less remember his name. He turned back around, trudging toward his brother's truck and hoisting himself into the vehicle's backseat.

"What the hell was that?" Wyatt raised an accusing brow, eyeing his younger brother through the rear-view mirror.

"Rip." Beck dodged the question with his half-answer and a small shrug, turning to look out the window. He ignored his father's sigh and brother's continued questions, instead, watching the Dutton's home drift away as the pickup lurched forward.