The lawyer's shoes were wrong for the field -- too clean, too narrow -- and the cowboy noticed immediately.
The wind pushed tall grass around them as the brothers argued, voices sharp, words cutting deeper than either man wanted to admit.
"You don't own this land," the lawyer snapped, papers clenched in one hand. "You're just standing in the way."
The cowboy stepped closer. He heard his boots squish into the wet earth. "This land raised me, Clark. You don't get to price that."
"Everything has a price, Liam."
"You were always out of place out here. You never wanted to do chores or get your hands dirty."
"Someone in the family had to make something of his life."
"All the money...none of the happiness."
"That's what you say."
"Dad's dead...the land is worth a lot."
"You'd sell off the farm? Right out from under me?"
"Yes."
The first punch came fast.
Clark barely saw it before his head snapped sideways and the papers fell from his hand to scatter into the grass. "What the hell?" He swung back, clumsy but furious, knuckles glancing off his brother's cheek.
Liam grunted. "You still punch like a girl."
Clark lunged. The two men crashed into each other, shoes and boots sliding as the soft ground gave way beneath them.
They went down hard.
Mud splashed up instantly, soaking the lawyer's tailored pants, streaking his white dress shirt brown, and also splattering the cowboy's shirt and jeans.
Clark cursed loudly.
Liam rolled with him, grabbing fistfuls of fabric and hauling him closer.
There was a sharp tear as the lawyer's black jacket split at the shoulder seam, the expensive cloth giving up without a fight.
"Do you know how much that cost?" Clark shouted.
"Too much," Liam replied.
They grappled in the muck, elbows digging, hands slipping. The lawyer tried to shove the cowboy off, palms sliding uselessly over mud-smeared denim.
Liam shoved back, pinning Clark for a moment, knee sinking into the soft earth beside his ribs.
Clark bucked and twisted, tearing buttons free as he scrambled, his shirt pulled half out, collar stretched and crooked.
They rolled again, both of them coated now -- mud caked into cuffs, smeared across faces, ground into their hair.
"You're gonna pay for this!"
Liam's shirt tore along the side as Clark grabbed and yanked. The dark green fabric ripped open to expose pale skin now streaked brown. A sleeve split at the elbow. Boots kicked uselessly as they slid through the wet field.
Breathing turned ragged. Grunts had long since replaced words.
The two brothers were past the argument now -- it was just leverage, weight, stubbornness.
Clark's black tie vanished into the mud, dragged under and lost. His dress slacks ripped at the knee as he tried to stand and failed, dropping back down with a wet thud. His hands scrabbled for traction, for a grip, and his fingers found it.
Liam gasped as the back right pocket of his jeans ripped free.
The two men rolled again.
When they finally broke apart, it wasn't clean or decisive. They ended up on their knees a few feet apart, chests heaving, clothes ruined.
The two brothers faced each other.
Clark looked nothing like he had when he first arrived in his fancy car -- his fancy suit was ripped, his shirt was shredded and filthy, his hands shaking with exhaustion.
Liam was no better off. His jeans were ripped, his shirt was hanging in muddy strips.
The field was churned to sludge around them, grass flattened, the land bearing witness. Whatever decision would come next, it wouldn't be clean -- and it sure as hell wouldn't be settled by paper alone.