A Father′s Stake
A Father's Stake
Mary Anne Wilson
The ranch should have been his… To struggling single mom and L.A. waitress Grace Evans, a ranch was a place for horses and cowboys–not a place for her and her daughter to live. Now, thanks to a shocking windfall from her estranged father, she owns one! It's a crazy notion, but Wolf Lake could be her shot at a whole new life in New Mexico. The only question is: Can she handle it?Obviously Jack Carson, the handsome and haunted rightful heir to Wolf Lake, doesn't think so. And he isn't about to hand over the reins without a fight. But the more he tries to scare her off, the more intrigued she's becoming….
The ranch should have been his…
To struggling single mom and L.A. waitress Grace Evans, a ranch was a place for horses and cowboys—not a place for her and her daughter to live. Now, thanks to a shocking windfall from her estranged father, she owns one! It’s a crazy notion, but Wolf Lake could be her shot at a whole new life in New Mexico. The only question is: Can she handle it?
Obviously Jack Carson, the handsome and haunted rightful heir to Wolf Lake, doesn’t think so. And he isn’t about to hand over the reins without a fight. But the more he tries to scare her off, the more intrigued she’s becoming….
Grace had done the unexpected. She’d won him over.
“I understand about you wanting the land, maybe needing it—I do, too. It’s beautiful, and you’ve been here all your life, Jack. This is what you know, what you love. It’s just, I’ve never had anything like this. I’ve never even lived in a house, much less one with all this land.” Her eyes looked overly bright. “You’ve got everything. You’ve got family and this town, and friends on top of friends. You’re so lucky, so very lucky.”
Her words almost broke his heart. And they were true about him. He had it all, except a reason to be here, to keep going, to find his way beyond his old life. If there was a woman like Grace in his future... He didn’t want to even think like that. He couldn’t.
“You’re right,” he managed to say, and if she hadn’t touched his arm, he would have ended it there.
Dear Reader (#ulink_ac90401a-b5d3-5479-b304-ed58c0522756),
In Wolf Lake, family and friends are everything.
So when Grace Evans receives a windfall from her now deceased father, who deserted her and her mother years ago, she takes what is on offer—a piece of land in Wolf Lake, New Mexico, that feels like home to her from the minute she sets foot on the property. But one person’s blessing can be another’s source of pain.
The story of Grace and Jackson Wolf, the eldest Wolf brother, is of their struggle to make a life that they both want desperately, and to make that life work in spite of what seem insurmountable odds.
But unexpected love has a way of evening out the differences, giving each person what he or she truly needs, and making a high-stakes gamble become a blessing so incredible that hearts are mended and lives are changed forever.
I hope you enjoy the journey of Grace and Jack as they find their home, together, in Wolf Lake.
Mary Anne Wilson
A Father’s Stake
Mary Anne Wilson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARY ANNE WILSON
is a Canadian transplanted to Southern California, where she lives with her husband, three children and an assortment of animals. She knew she wanted to write romances when she found herself rewriting the great stories in literature, such as A Tale of Two Cities, to give them happy endings. Over her long career she’s published more than thirty romances, had her books on bestseller lists, been nominated for Reviewer’s Choice Awards and received a career nomination in romantic suspense.
For Emily Vaughn Geisler, an unexpected joy and blessing in my life ten years ago and still making everything brighter and more fun. Love you more than you could ever say you love me!
Contents
Cover (#u61c2cc08-c635-56ab-a7b7-3b25a1a5b5d5)
Back Cover Text (#ue3825268-d087-5854-8f31-15129bb15764)
Introduction (#u70cae08d-f82a-54f4-a02d-77f37f38196b)
Dear Reader (#u8107ec11-75d7-5a4b-b60c-ef67c8541494)
Title Page (#u61ae2273-ab90-51fc-9740-900a5341db8c)
About the Author (#ud440432b-3c60-5ed1-bf9f-cd25d2c72d49)
Dedication (#u02d6421b-2231-5a6b-b09f-4ee561f4c828)
CHAPTER ONE (#u5afacd47-538d-520e-9fb2-9bdb818fc683)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubbeb4646-523c-57e9-aeeb-ea5c135888e3)
CHAPTER THREE (#u6465d6fc-dbed-5bc6-b7b3-11366db9a918)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uc7cb1650-6c10-5554-a853-8df65e8d0693)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_82f3d291-06a3-56d4-af92-80d68627e80a)
IT HAD BEEN almost two years.
To him it seemed an eternity since his life had been torn apart, and now, it had happened again.
Jackson Wolf Carson sat on the stone step that led up to the porch of the old adobe house, and he could feel that gut-wrenching churning once more. He thought he’d moved past that in the two years since his wife, Robyn, had died. But he was wrong. It had stayed there, hiding, until an hour ago when he’d gone to the family ranch to confront his father.
That shattering encounter had brought those old emotions back to life and this time he wasn’t sure how he could get beyond them without giving up...for good.
He closed his eyes and ran a hand roughly over his face, damp with sweat that came from the baking July sun beating down on the fallow three hundred acres spreading out all around him. Life had gone on while he’d wandered through the days and nights of the past two years alone. He’d finally thought he had found an anchor, something to hold on to. But any hope he’d let flicker back to life had been extinguished at nine o’clock that morning, the moment he’d walked into his law offices in Wolf Lake.
The email had come with four attachments. He’d thought his contact in the county offices had sent it, but the moment he started to read the letter, he knew he was wrong. Dead wrong.
Disbelief had given way to a burning anger at his father’s betrayal. He almost cringed at his reaction. He’d driven to the ranch, burst into his father’s office and thrown the papers at him. He’d yelled, kicked the massive desk so hard it jarred his entire body, but his father just sat behind the desk without saying a word. It was his mother who’d come up behind him, her face filled with horror, and asked what was wrong.
One look into her eyes and he realized she’d been betrayed as badly as he had. Without looking at his father again, he’d touched his mother’s shoulder. “Ask him,” was all he’d said before storming out, heading for the old ranch adjoining his parents’ spread.
He took off his baseball cap, raked his fingers through his shoulder-length, iron-straight black hair, then slapped the navy hat against his denim-covered thigh. He’d been so sure the old adobe house and the land sprawling around it was the connection he needed so desperately in his life. Each brick of the low structure had been handmade by Jack’s grandfather, Jackson Wolf, the man he’d been named for. The older man had passed away more than three years back, going quietly at the age of ninety-two, outliving his only wife by almost twenty years.
His grandpa had come down from the reservation with his wife, down from the high country in the foothills of distant mountains to the low valley, all Wolf land. It had been his people’s land, generation after generation. He’d worked against the odds to make a life for his family, creating one of the best grazing areas in the state and building a home for his seven children. This place had always been a second home to Jack.
Jack narrowed his eyes and gazed into the distance, the land shimmering in the oppressive heat. Generation after generation of the Wolf people were embedded in the very soil of this land. The town of Wolf Lake bore the people’s name. And Jack had figured out that his only hope for survival was to hold on to that past and try to make a future by taking over this place.
He stood, tugged the cap sharply to shade his eyes, and stretched in an attempt to release some of the knotting tension in his shoulders and neck. He took the steps down to the packed earth and gravel of the drive, where dust motes curled up into the still air. The parched scent of sage and grass only made the place feel more deserted. The ranch had been closed since his grandfather died, and all the joy he’d brought to this land had gone with him. Jack wanted it back with a vengeance.
He kicked at a rock near the drive, hitting it squarely and sending it sailing through the air toward the run-down stables that sprawled on the low hill beyond the house. He’d never seen this coming. He’d never thought his own father could do this. He’d never dreamt, that after every promise and every protestation, his father would damage everything again.
He turned his gaze to the drive that disappeared over a rise beyond the stables then cut down through the grazing land to the main road. The sound of a car engine was barely audible, and when a cloud of dust rose up over the roof of the stables, he knew his phone calls had worked.
He’d made the first of two phone calls fifteen minutes after he’d practically run from his parents’ house. Sitting then in his red Jeep at the end of the drive, he’d phoned his brothers; he hadn’t been able to move from the spot since.
A police cruiser crested the hill, followed by the billowing dust. He hadn’t wanted to pull either brother into this right away, but he needed them. And, realistically, there was no other way this could all play out.
The cruiser pulled in behind his red Jeep, the engine died and the door swung back as Adam stepped out. It still felt odd to see his kid brother in his police uniform, the billed cap shading his eyes. It had only been a month since he’d come back from Chicago, alone. Faith, the woman he’d left with, had stayed there with her father following his conviction in federal court for a series of fraudulent business practices. Adam had quit his job as a detective in Dallas, Texas, before he had gone to Chicago, and joined the Wolf Lake Police Force when he returned, working side by side with Chief John Longbow, a family friend since they were kids. Adam said he’d come back for the job, and he probably had, but Jack knew it was also because his brother was concerned about him. That hurt, to think people altered their lives to try and repair his. And now Adam was walking into another rescue mission, but Jack wouldn’t let it come to that.
He raised a hand, and saw the strained look on his brother’s face. Before Adam could say anything, Jack cut him off. “Let’s talk when Gage gets here. He shook his head. “I can only do this once.”
Adam didn’t fight him, just nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s your call.”
His younger brother stood an inch or so below Jack’s six-foot-two, but had the same broad shoulders. All the Carson brothers had inherited the dark eyes, dark hair, and bronzed skin of their mother’s ancestors.
Jack found himself saying, “I’m sorry.” And he realized he was apologizing for the past two years, for all he knew they’d gone through watching him grieve.
Gage and Adam had known Robyn all their lives, and they’d loved her, but not like he had, and still did. It had always been Jack and Robyn. When he’d graduated from law school in California, and come home, the first thing he’d done was propose to Robyn. That memory still made his stomach clench. It had been the most natural thing in the world to marry the love of his life and the best decision he’d ever made.
They’d built a life together for almost nine years, and then one night, one wrong turn on the way home from the Reservation where Robyn taught second grade, and she’d been gone.
Adam studied him from shadowed eyes, then shook his head. “You’re looking bad.”
“Thanks.”
Adam held up a hand. “Hey, I’m sorry. This day started out rough, very rough. I’m just....”
Jack thought he was going to talk about their parents despite his request to wait, but Adam’s next words were about him and Faith.
“I’m not used to being here and Faith being in Chicago. I mean, she really needs to help her dad adjust to house arrest and what will follow, but I need her, too.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “Who would have thought I’d ever say that about a woman?”
“Not me,” Jack admitted as the two of them headed for the porch, sinking side by side onto the stone.
“Can’t figure out why this place has been empty since the old man died. Makes no sense.” Adam turned to rest his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I was really glad that you were thinking of taking it over.”
Jack tensed and glanced at his brother. Adam looked away, off to the distance. “What’s taking Gage?” he asked as if he hadn’t spoken before.
“He said he had a few things to do. Any time now, I’d think. This place belongs here,” Adam went on, obviously unable to keep totally silent about the purpose of this meeting. “The folks’ ranch is great, bigger and newer, but it doesn’t fit into the land like this does. Grandpa knew what he was doing.”
His words echoed the way Jack had always felt. Their grandfather’s ranch was right where it should be, and he wanted to be here, too. “All I’m going to say until Gage gets here is, I’m sorry.” He squeezed Jack’s shoulder then drew back, looking out beyond the stables.
The heat seemed to hum in the silence until Jack finally cleared the lump in his throat. “Did you ever bring Faith out to see the place?”
Adam shook his head. “When she was here it was too cold, too much snow and not enough time.”
“When is she coming back?”
Adam stood abruptly, flexing his shoulders under the tailored uniform shirt. “I don’t know.” His voice seemed tight, and Jack had a fleeting thought that maybe things weren’t right between him and Faith, that maybe Adam coming back without her had nothing to do with Jack, or with the job.
“Hey, there!”
The loud shout from the west startled Jack and he looked toward the heavy stand of trees in that direction.
“He couldn’t just drive over like the rest of us, could he?” Adam said.
Jack watched Gage walk toward the house, leading his black horse, Grenada. “Sorry to be late,” he called out, kicking up dust as he got closer. He stopped by an old stone hitching post their grandfather had hewn from a long rock he’d lugged down from the Rez, and secured the large horse to it.
Jack knew if any strangers saw them, they’d see three men who looked like possible triplets, all tall, dark and strong looking. But those strangers would never know how very different all three were. “Day from night,” their grandfather had said more than once. And that was true. It was incredible that all three of them were back in Wolf Lake at the same time. That timing was perfect for Jack.
As Gage strode to the bottom of the step, he actually smiled up at his brothers. “Merry soloed this morning.” he said.
“I never thought she’d ever get back in a plane after your scare on the mountain.” Jack said, remembering the haunted look on the woman’s face during the rescue helicopter ride after she and Gage had crashed in the high mountains last February.
Gage nodded. “I wasn’t sure, either, but now she’s doing great and is even thinking about taking Erin up. That little girl is in love with planes.” Another flash of pleasure lighted his face. Gage, Merry and the little girl they were adopting were already a family, even though their wedding date hadn’t been set.
Jack felt a wave of jealousy, but blocked it. “Good.”
As suddenly as he’d smiled, Gage sobered. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
“Let’s go inside,” Jack said, turning to lead the way to the great room, the ceiling low with heavy beams, the worn tile floor starting to get dusty after the last monthly visit from the cleaning crew. The air in the adobe was at least twenty degrees cooler than outside, the natural insulation of the thick bricks doing a good job against the dry heat.
They passed the massive stone fireplace in the middle of the room, getting glimpses of the well-worn leather furniture where the dust sheets had slipped a bit. All the furniture in the house had been handmade on the Rez by friends of his grandfather’s and was still sturdy and usable. They walked into the small kitchen at the back of the house.
An old-fashioned yellow Formica table, its faux marble pattern almost worn away by use, stood by a window that overlooked a stand of huge pines, parted to expose the panorama of the distant mountains. If you knew where to look, you could see part of the Rez from there, a deliberate decision by his grandfather when he’d cleared some of the pines.
Once they were all seated on the high-backed wooden chairs, Jack leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table beside two large manila envelopes that he ignored for the moment. He had to figure out exactly how to say what he had to say. He didn’t want that anger to come again. He didn’t want to destroy their family.
“It seems like forever since the three of us have been in here together.” And he meant it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this connection with the past and his brothers.
Gage nodded. “Yeah, it’s nice. It’s been a while what with Adam catching criminals and me building the complex and you....” His voice died off before he added. “I hear you’re doing a bit of law now and then.”
“I do, now and then.”
Both brothers sat silently, giving him time. Finally, he just started to talk. Whatever he said, he’d live with. “I talked to Mom and Dad a couple of weeks ago. I asked about this place, about me buying it out of the trust, and they said they’d thought about it before and they agreed that they wanted to deed it over to me.”
His brothers didn’t say anything. After clearing his throat, Jack pressed his hands palms down on the dull yellow table top. He spoke to Gage. “Seems you’re thinking of living in town, getting an office going, and that acreage out by Delany’s Stables that you bought years ago, you could build on that.” He turned to Adam. “And you’ve always wanted that parcel over by Natchee’s spread—word is, he’s thinking of heading back up the hill. It could become available.”
Adam nodded, but his face was tight. “Yeah, I’ve had my eye on it.”
“And this has always felt right for me.” If he’d been able to talk Robyn into coming out here to live, he would have already been in possession of the land. But her teaching position was on the Reservation, and being in town let her tutor the kids more easily. Their loft above his law offices had been right for them until they had their own kids. Kids that would never be born now. “This place feels right for where I am now,” he admitted. His heart started to race, as if he was running full tilt.
“Go on,” Gage said. “Right after you hung up, and Merry and Erin drove off for town, Mom was there, crying, and said Dad was locked in his office. When I asked what was going on, all Mom said was, ‘Ask Jack.’”
“I didn’t want Mom to be in on it,” Jack muttered. “I really didn’t, but I couldn’t get her out, and....”
He looked from brother to brother. “Okay, this morning I found out that they don’t own this land anymore.”
Both brothers looked surprised. Adam said. “But it doesn’t make sense.”
“Dad lost it,” Jack said bluntly. “It’s gone.” He looked around the house, then back at his brothers. “We’re trespassing, in the eyes of the law.”
Adam shook his head, took off his uniform cap and hung it on the back spindle of the chair beside him. “It can’t be gone.”
Jack pushed the papers toward Gage and Adam. Swallowing hard, he finally managed, “Just read these.”
Both men hesitated, but mercifully didn’t ask any questions before picking up an envelope and taking out the four papers inside. Jack closed his eyes, not able to bear watching them read the words. He didn’t open them again until Adam spoke.
“Dad wouldn’t have done something like this, he wouldn’t.” He tossed the copy of the new deed onto the table top. “He couldn’t,” he muttered tightly.
Gage simply lowered his copy of the enclosed letter from the county offices and met Jack’s gaze. “How did you get these?”
“I finally put in the papers to switch the deed on the property. I know someone in the county offices, and she sent them to me, telling me I didn’t have any right to transfer it into my name since it wasn’t a Wolf property anymore. Dad took the land. He deeded it to a Charles Luther Michaels in June, the tenth to be specific, of this year. All legal. All very binding.”
“Just like that? Dad sold this place? That doesn’t make any sense. It’s a mistake, a county error. It has to be. Besides, he couldn’t do that without Mom’s signature and she’d never agree, no matter what.”
“I checked. He has power of attorney over all their financial dealings,” Jack said flatly.
“Why?”
“After everything he’s done in the past, she still trusts him!” Suddenly the anger and hurt were there again, and he couldn’t stop himself from hitting the table as hard as he could with the flat of his right hand. “It’s done. He did it. He took it and gave it away. No money changed hands. And do you want to know why he gave the land to that Michaels person?”
He didn’t wait for them to respond. “He was drunk and in a private high stakes poker match, and he put up the deed for this place on a bet, winner take all. It’s all there in the letter the clerk faxed to me.”
“And Dad told you the same story?” Gage asked, his shock still lingering on his face.
“No, actually, he looked surprised. June tenth was toward the end of his last bender, when he disappeared for two weeks. My guess is, he had one of his drunken blackouts. I doubt he even remembers the game.”
Adam looked up at him intently. “Why would he tell you to take the land if it was already gone?”
Jack ran both hands over his face. “Like I said, a blackout. He didn’t remember much of anything.” He looked at Adam. “At least he found his way to Rick Carter’s, his old banking friend who lives in Henderson, Nevada. Two days later, he was back here, refused rehab, but got a grip and seems to have been sober ever since.” He grimaced. “But who knows.”
“What about Mom?” Gage asked, barely above a whisper.
“I hoped she’d be gone when I got there, but she wasn’t, and she knew something was wrong. I managed to get Dad alone in the office, but Mom came in when she heard me yelling.” That broke his heart. “I can’t believe how many ways he’s hurt her and she’s forgiven him. I’m not sure she will this time.”
Jack swallowed hard before continuing. “She was crying when I left. I should have stayed for her. I should have never left her like that.”
“No,” Gage said quickly. “No, you shouldn’t have stayed. You’d said enough.”
Jack felt reproach in the words, but when he looked at Gage, he didn’t see any sign of criticism. Just pain. And he felt it too, for their mother. He could barely think about his father, crying, begging for her forgiveness, promising anything it would take to keep her with him. More empty promises, as empty as his vows to never drink again.
Adam sat back, his arms folded tightly over his chest. “Mom and Dad will have to deal with their own lives. We’ll be there, and Mom knows that, but we can’t change anything.”
Jack nodded, feeling an odd exhaustion now that he’d told his brothers about everything. “You’re right. For now.”
Gage sat back. “So, all we have to do is find this Michaels guy, make him an offer he can’t refuse and that’s that.” He made it sound like a foregone conclusion. “As for Dad, I don’t know what to do. He refused rehab when he got back, so that’s probably out. But we really need to talk to Mom about rescinding Dad’s power of attorney.”
“You two do it,” Jack said, not having the heart to even see his mother yet. “I’ll work on trying to contact Michaels. There’s an address from the original deed change, so I’ll start there.”
“Where is it?” Gage asked.
Adam glanced down at the letter on the table. “It’s in New Jersey. While you do that, Jack, I’ll run a background check on Mr. Michaels.”
Gage had picked up the letter and scanned it before he looked at one brother, then the other. “The one thing that doesn’t make sense to me is, if Michaels has owned the title for about a month, it seems odd that he hasn’t made his way out here, from New Jersey or even from Las Vegas right when he got the land. Even if it was just to scope it out and sell it? Wouldn’t he at least send someone to size it up and figure out what to do with it?”
Three hundred acres of prime grazing land, with water rights, wouldn’t be cheap if it went on the open market. “No one’s been out here, I don’t think, and we would have heard if someone in town was asking around about the ranch.” Jack exhaled as he raked his fingers through his hair. He actually felt a bit more settled now that he’d talked to Gage and Adam. He motioned to the documents on the table between them. “Take what you need, Adam. I’ve got the originals back at the office.”
Gage was the first one to stand. “I can ask around about deals like this going down, and what can be done.”
Jack shook his head. “It’s too late to call any of this illegal. It’s not.”
“No, it’s not, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be some leverage brought to make sure, when you find him, that Michaels would be more compliant with your request to purchase it back from him.”
Frowning, Jack just shrugged. “I appreciate whatever either of you can do to help out.”
“Done,” Gage and Adam said in unison.
The three brothers stepped out into the afternoon heat, the sky a true blue overhead. They stopped by Gage’s horse, and as Jack rubbed the large animal’s silken muzzle, Adam asked, “What about Dad? Are you going to talk to him again? ” Jack knew his tone was tight, but he couldn’t help it. “I don’t want any kind of contact with Dad for now. He can’t make up for any of this. I just want this land back from Charles Michaels.”
Gage reached for his horse’s lead, and with a glance at each brother, walked off toward the trees. Adam slipped into the cruiser and gave Jack the hint of a salute, his forefinger tapping the brim of his uniform cap before he drove off down the dusty driveway, another cloud of dust in his wake.
The slight diminishing of stress was gone as soon as both brothers were out of sight. Jack felt the tension return. He shouldn’t have yelled, or threatened his father. He shouldn’t have done anything in front of his mother. She didn’t deserve that.
He locked the door and then dropped down heavily onto the stone step again.
As his gaze skimmed over the land spread out before him, memories of his grandfather herding cattle and sheep came to him. He could almost see him, the dogs yipping at the heels of the stock, dust rising and his grandfather bringing up the rear. He could hear his sharp whistles to the dogs, altering their patterns, an old-fashioned herder’s staff in one hand.
This ranch was their family’s heritage and his father had gambled it away. There would be no new memories created for future generations. Jack couldn’t let that happen. He wanted to make a life for himself right here. His father had fought for sobriety, and had lost the battle several times, but the war was not over. Win or lose, that part was up to him. All Jack could do was try his best to get the land back. And to make that happen, he needed to find Charles Luther Michaels.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_93badd79-b02f-59d4-b230-ec58913675b6)
THE TRIP FROM Los Angeles to Albuquerque, New Mexico was the first time Grace Evans had ever flown in her twenty-six years. As she stepped out of the terminal with her suitcase and overnight bag, she spotted a tram she was supposed to use to pick up her rental car. Half an hour later, she was in that car, a red compact, and heading out of the terminal parking lot toward her future. At least she hoped it was her future—her daughter’s and her mother’s as well.
Her world had been turned upside down, and she still didn’t know if this trip would lead to something more than a huge wish on her part. It had all started two weeks ago. After a double shift waitressing at the diner, she had been exhausted as she’d headed to the tiny, second story apartment she and her family shared in a less than gentrified area of Los Angeles. All she wanted was a hot bath after ten hours on her feet.
She’d found her mother in the living room with a stranger. The man probably wasn’t much taller than her own five-feet-two-inches and was sitting in the rocking chair. Grace had immediately noticed the assortment of papers spread on the low coffee table.
The stranger stood when he saw her, smoothing the front of his elegant dove-gray suit.
“I am Ethan Vaughn, with the Seals, Silkirk and Vaughn Law Firm.” Grace barely had the time to acknowledge her mother’s strained expression before he took her hand and said, “I am representing your father in a legal matter that concerns you.”
She’d just stared at him. Her father? She looked around, then let go of his hand and sank onto the couch by her mother. Reclaiming his seat in the rocker, he’d leaned forward, picked up a couple of papers and handed them to her.
The first one she read was a deed for a three hundred acre property in New Mexico, outside a small town called Wolf Lake. “What is this?” she asked, then stopped as she saw her name on the deed. She stared at it, certain she was hallucinating.
“A property deed and....” He motioned for her to look at the next sheet of paper.
The hallucination expanded. In her hands was a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars attached to a verification letter that had her name on it. She’d shaken her head, then turned to her mother. Gabriella Michaels touched her daughter’s knees. “It’s yours,” she said in a shaky voice. “It’s all yours.”
Mr. Vaughn had spoken then. “Your father wanted me to bring these to you.”
Charles Luther Michaels had disappeared from Grace’s life when she was about three years old. The man had been there one day, and gone the next. No goodbyes, no arguments, no warning.
“He’s restless,” her mother had explained more than once. “He needs to be on the move, and he’s not equipped to be a husband or a father.” The words had meant little to a tiny girl who didn’t have a daddy anymore, and though the tears had long since dried up, she had never quite lost that deep longing for a family.
When her own marriage had failed, she wondered if she’d deliberately picked a man like her father to try and prove to herself that she could make it work. But she’d been wrong. So very wrong. Her daughter Lilly, now six, hadn’t even been born when Jerry Evans said he couldn’t do the whole family thing. Her mother’s mistake had become her own, and the only good thing out of the mess was her daughter. Grace had listened as Mr. Vaughn explained that the deed and money were hers if she wanted them. If not, they could go to charity. She’d almost laughed at that, although she’d recognized that the laughter would have bordered on hysteria. She was close to being her own charity with a child to support.
As she drove now into the afternoon sun, the New Mexico countryside passing by unnoticed, her mind refused to settle. By the time Mr. Vaughn had left the apartment that day, she’d known that no matter what the reason behind this sudden windfall, it was hers, and she could make the life she’d always dreamed of for her little family.
Maybe Lilly could go to a school that didn’t require security guards at the doors, even for kindergarten. The air had to be cleaner out here, the streets safer. As the miles flew by, she was getting closer and closer to the end of her own personal rainbow. New Mexico. She’d never thought much about it before, except for the city of Taos far to the south, an artists’ mecca. But that had been in her teens, when she’d had dreams of being an artist after she graduated from high school. Instead she’d ended up as waitress at The Table, a down-on-its-heels diner.
She exhaled. The owners were talking about making the diner into a bikini bar, giving the area yet another dive. Now she wouldn’t have to figure out how to get another job in the city or worry about how she could make her boyish figure fill out a bikini. She shook her head at that thought. She’d been getting a bit desperate before Mr. Vaughn suddenly appeared in her apartment.
She glanced at her bag on the passenger seat and smiled. If this worked out, she wouldn’t ever be desperate again. She had images of rolling pastures and maybe a horse or two, some cows and chickens, definitely a dog and a cat. Everything she’d never had and never would have in her Los Angeles neighborhood. Clean air, clear skies, safe surroundings. It all sounded like a fairy tale to her.
She just didn’t know why the euphoria she’d had while planning this trip had deflated a bit since she got on the plane. She felt a tinge of fear now that all this might just be her own fantasy. After all, her father had never owned anything, he’d never wanted to. No money, no land, nothing like that.
That afternoon in her apartment, she’d looked from Mr. Vaughn to her mother and voiced her confusion. “I don’t understand any of this. Is he dead?”
Mr. Vaughn had shaken his head immediately. “No, he’s not.”
“Then why did he send you?”
“Honestly, I believe he didn’t want any direct contact, just to make sure you got the land and the money.”
That had brought anger and pain in equal measure. She hadn’t missed the soft gasp from her mother. No contact. A slap in the face. But Grace hadn’t been stupid enough to let the attorney take the deed and check back.
There was a note her father had sent with Mr. Vaughn for her. “It might explain things a bit,” the attorney had said.
The words were burned into her mind, and she could almost see the single sheet of paper with the strong writing on it. “Never did nothing for you, Gracie, never could. Thing is, I’m no father, never meant to be and it scared me. I knew, as much as you would hate me for it, the best thing I could do for you and your mother was to leave and keep away. I loved you both, as much as I was able to love anyone, but I never could be tied to much of anything. I had some good luck recently, and I have no use for what came with it, so I want to offer it to you. Maybe it can make up in some way for what I never could do for you.” The note wasn’t even signed.
Pain still came with the memory, but she realized it was as close to an explanation for all of this as she’d ever get. Mr. Vaughn had tried to clarify things. “Why he did this is the one thing I can’t explain to you, but I can assure you that all of this is yours, and it’s up to you what you decide to do with it.”
Her call. A fortune in land and money, and it was her call. Why her father had done it shouldn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that it could change her life, her daughter’s life and her mother’s life.
She drove past Santa Fe, barely glancing at the city. Her only thoughts were on getting to Wolf Lake, then driving on to her property. The deed included buildings and water rights. Mr. Vaughn had explained it was near an Indian reservation, but the three hundred acres was totally private, unencumbered by liens or mortgages, and it had been empty for a few years, maybe three or four.
The person her father had received it from was a man named Herbert Carson. The land where the ranch was situated had been part of a land grant in the eighteen hundreds to the Wolfs, then deeded to the Carsons after Jackson Wolf had died.
When she’d looked at her mother, silently questioning what she should do, Gabriella had simply nodded. “Let him do it for you. He owes you that much.”
After that, there had been a blur of signings on the dotted lines, making arrangements to have the check deposited in her account, then figuring out how she could go and look at everything to check it out. Now she was close, so close, and nervousness was building in her. Mr. Vaughn had said there was a house on the property, but he had no idea what condition it was in. Even a search on Google Earth had shown lots of land, roads cutting through it, dark stands of trees, outbuildings, maybe a barn. Details were lost in the aerial photo.
She rode in silence as portions of her father’s note came to her. “...the best thing I could do was leave and keep away. I had some luck...make up in some way for what I never could do for you.” Good luck was all the deed and the money were to him.
She’d been so worried about Lilly’s school, worried about saving to move to a better location, worried about her job disappearing. Now she had a place to go, and fifty thousand dollars in the bank. All thanks to her father’s luck. That probably meant gambling, though it seemed far-fetched that three hundred acres of land could be payment for a gambling debt. But that was all her father had known about making money. Find a game, get the upper hand and know when to fold.
Her world had always felt a bit unstable, ready to tip upside down in a second. And she’d been holding on for dear life. But now, she had the means to let go and have a life, a stable life. A real life.
* * *
JACK GOT HIS horse out of his parents’ stable around dawn and rode off before he saw anyone stirring. He’d spoken with his mother on the phone only once since the confrontation with his father, hearing determination in her voice to make the best of what had happened. He’d hated it when she’d apologized to him for the land being lost to them, as if it was her fault.
He hadn’t had any contact with his father over the past six weeks, and that was fine with him. He didn’t want words and promises. They were too easy to speak and impossible to back up.
He spent most of the day up in the high country, visiting a few friends on the Rez, then headed back down in the middle of the September afternoon. The heat was at its peak, but more mellow than it had been for a while, and the day was bright and clear. When he approached his parents’ land, he hesitated, then road past, farther east, and a short time later cut between the worn stone pillars that marked the drive to the old ranch.
He slowly headed up the incline of the packed dirt trail to a smaller rise that hid the old house from view. He wound around, past the stables, and the house appeared. He was trespassing again, he knew it, but he had to come. Just one last time until he could be here legally again.
He drew up by the hitching post, dismounted and secured his horse. Instead of going inside the house, he sat down on the stone step where he’d waited for his brothers back in July when he’d felt as if his world was going to end. It had come darned close, but it hadn’t ended. His determination to get this land back one way or the other kept him going,
Now frustration was driving him. The problem was, he’d found out plenty about Charles Luther Michaels, except the most important things—where he was and how to reach him. They knew he was basically a drifter and a professional gambler, moving constantly from place to place. The papers he’d sent to the address listed on the legal documents with an offer for the property had been returned. By the time a private investigator checked out the address, a boarding house in a small city near the Jersey shore, Charles Luther Michaels had been gone for two weeks.
Adam had found a criminal record for the man, a few DUIs, public disorder, minor confidence charges, vagrancy, misdemeanor assault on a casino bouncer, all scattered around the country, one in Canada. But all of them had been more than five years old. Jack and his brothers knew he’d been in Las Vegas in June, but that led nowhere. The game had been “private,” which meant big spenders in a private suite in one of the hotels and unreported to any gambling authority. They couldn’t find anyone who would admit to him being there. Privacy for big spenders was everything in that city. But it meant the man had enough stake money to get in the door, and he’d walked out with whatever cash he’d won along with the deed their father had thrown into the pot.
Michaels was out there somewhere, they knew that, but the man left no tracks. That frustrated Jack to no end. Somewhere along the way he’d come to believe that healing the tear in the Wolf family heritage by regaining the lost land would mean he could heal his own wounds. But unless their luck improved and they found Michaels, he didn’t know what would happen with the land and with him.
He flexed the tension in his shoulders as he glanced at his horse, then over to the stables. He frowned and looked back to his horse. Something was different than the last time he’d come here, but he couldn’t figure out what. Then he knew. The dead weeds in the gravel edging the drive had been cleared, but only in front of the house. He went down to take a closer look, and found lugged tire tracks. Glancing around first, he followed them down the slope to the end of the abandoned stables.
Booted foot prints in the dust led to the hay doors, and he followed them along the side of the stables to the doors to the stalls. A new lock glistened in the sun. Jack stared at it then spun around and broke into a run, heading across the dry weeds and packed earth and up the shallow hill to the drive. He took the stone step in one stride and stopped in front of the door to the house.
A new key lock with a dead bolt above it had been installed there. Going to the nearest window, he cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the streaked glass into the great room. Nothing had changed. Dust covers were in place, and as far he could tell, nothing had been moved. He went back to the door and pounded on it. “Hello! Hello? Anyone here?”
When there was no response, he stopped, suddenly feeling like the trespasser he was on the land he loved. He stood at the top of the step, unsure what to do. Someone had been here to make sure the property was secured. Possibly Charles Michaels. Or had he hired someone to come out and check on things, then change the locks?
At least something was happening. Jack headed for his horse, then rode off down the driveway and turned back to the family ranch. He needed wheels. “This could be very good,” he thought as he pulled out his cell phone and put in a call to John Longbow at the police station.
* * *
AS SOON AS Santa Fe was in the rearview mirror, Grace felt the gnaw of hunger, but didn’t want to take the time to have a sit-down meal. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last, not even peanuts on the flight, but right then the hunger was starting to be tinged with nausea. She needed food. Not sure how long it would take to get to Wolf Lake, she started looking for signs for take-out food. One proclaimed Willie G’s, The Best Food Around, Eat-in/Take-out, just two exits ahead.
A few minutes later she found the off ramp, drove onto it and down a narrow road. She could see a grouping of buildings back under the highway overpass and headed toward them. The cluster comprised little more than a gas station, a teepee-shaped souvenir shop with a heavy emphasis on Indian and Western collectibles, and a group of trailers beside a broad parking lot that serviced an old adobe building with a huge sign proclaiming Willie G’s Diner.
She pulled into a space in front of the dark wooden entry doors, shadowed by a heavy beamed overhang. A flat roof, trimmed in overlapping half pipe tiles, and plastered pink walls that were chipped to show spots of adobe brick gave the place an old Southwestern style. Only a few vehicles were parked in front—an old blue pickup truck and a very big motorcycle, painted patriotically in red, white and blue with an eagle decoration on one side. An eighteen-wheeler was parked off to the side.
Grace slid out into the blanketing warmth of the afternoon, thankful she’d worn a short-sleeved white shirt and denim shorts with sandals. As soon as she stepped inside she was greeted with cool air. The space was larger than it had looked from the exterior, with low-beamed ceilings and worn Salito tiles underfoot. Western music hummed in the background.
“Help you?” someone asked, and she looked toward a set of swinging doors to the kitchen. An older man, dressed in stained cook’s whites, smiled at her as he stepped into the room. He came to the counter and wiped his hands on a white rag. Lines fanned the edges of his eyes, and his gray hair was pulled back from a center part in a long braid.
“I need some food to go,” she said, crossing to the counter and slipping onto the nearest stool.
“Just name your poison,” he said as he passed her a single sheet menu protected by plastic.
She realized it was about the same as the menus in most of the diners she’d worked in—sandwiches, burgers and fries, chili, even some pizza. “I’ll take a turkey sandwich on wheat, not toasted, with steak fries and the largest cola you have with lots of ice, please.”
He nodded and crossed to a soda machine, packing ice in a large take-out cup before filling it with soda. He brought it back and set it down in front of her. “Thought you could use this first,” he said, and reached for a straw from under the counter.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t move to put in her food order. “Where you heading to?”
“Wolf Lake.”
“You’re too early if you’re looking for the casino or hotels that way,” he said. “Not even up yet, but they will be.” He shook his head. “So, what you got left is picking up some native art, or souvenirs, or maybe taking in one of the tours near the Rez.”
She undid the straw and pushed it through the lid. “None of that,” she said, then took a sip of the chilled drink.
Thankfully, he turned, saying, “Gonna get your food,” before heading through the swinging doors. Next thing she knew, he was pulling on a cook’s cap over his gray hair. He winked, then got busy with her order.
She took another drink and glanced around. No waitress was in sight, and only five customers were at the tables near the front windows. The cook looked as if he was doing everything by himself, moving quickly around the kitchen. He came out with two plates of food for one of the tables, then hurried back into the kitchen, reappearing almost immediately with a large white bag. “There you go, Ma’am. Napkins and ketchup in the bag.”
She paid, then grabbed the bag.
“Drop by on your way out of town if you’re going this way,” he said. “I’ll get you some real food when you’ve got the time to sit and enjoy.”
“If I come this way again, I’ll do that,” she said, slipping off the stool. “You know Wolf Lake very well?”
He chuckled. “Heck, yeah, born and bred on the Rez, then slipped on down into town when I was, oh, around twelve. Been there ever since, except when I’m down here running this place. If you need a place to stay, my niece runs a bed-and-breakfast in town. Nice place, too, and reasonable.”
“Thanks, but I have a place,” she said, hoping the house was livable.
“Where’s that?” he asked, reaching for the white rag and starting to clean the counter.
“On a ranch on the other side of town, from what I was told.”
“What ranch?”
“Wolf Ranch.”
His hand stilled and his dark eyes looked right at her. “Wolf Ranch,” he echoed. “You sure you have that right?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” she said.
“You’re a friend or something with the new owner?”
She had a feeling the man was upset for some reason, but his voice stayed even. “I am the new owner,” she said, and loved the words as they came out of her. The new owner. That sounded so great, but the cook didn’t look pleased at all.
“I knew that whole mess with the Carsons was crazy, but sure never expected old Jackson Wolf’s property to be bought by a tiny thing like you.”
She’d been called a lot of sexist things by men over the years, and she hated it, but she barely reacted anymore. Now this man was calling her a “tiny thing,” and she knew it wasn’t a sexist thing to him. He just couldn’t believe she had the land—a woman, on her own, coming in to take it over. “I didn’t buy it,” she said by way of clarification. “But it’s mine.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he said in a low voice, “I guess you didn’t buy it.”
“Sir, I need to get going,” she said.
He came around the counter toward her. “First of all, I’m Willie G., not ‘sir’ to anyone, and secondly, I was a friend of Jackson Wolf, the original owner. Old man used to head the council for years on the Rez. Town’s named after his people. Great man,” he said. “And that was his place, a Wolf place.”
She had decided from the start that she liked the idea of the land having a history, but obviously this man didn’t think she had any right to be there. She tried to divert the conversation. “What’s it like there?”
“Fallow. Empty,” Willie G. said, “for maybe four or so years, since the old man passed. Age ninety-two, I think, and still on that land until the day he died.”
“I’m here to check it out,” she said, sticking to the bare facts and not letting his attitude make her defensive. She had nothing to be defensive about.”
He shook his head. “So, it’s come to this?” he asked softly, as if talking to himself. “Stupid man,” he muttered, then must have realized he’d been speaking out loud. “Sorry, Ma’am, but life gets crazy sometimes around here.”
“It does everywhere,” Grace said and started for the door.
“Miss?” he called after her.
She turned just before reaching for the handle. “Yes?”
“Who have I been talking to?”
“Grace, my name’s Grace.”
“Okay, Grace. I know this will sound strange, but if you decide by any chance that that hunk of land isn’t for you, would you let me know? I’ve been looking for a bit of land around that area.”
She was as shocked by his question as he’d seemed to be when she’d told him she owned the land. “I won’t be selling it, I don’t think.”
“Just let me know, one way or the other, okay?” He reached for the order pad lying on the counter and quickly wrote something on it before tearing the page off. “Just let Willie G. know, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, and started to shift her load so she could take it from him, but he simply reached over and dropped it in her bag.
He opened the door for her, calling after her, “Safe trip, Grace.”
His interest in the property had taken her back, but once she saw what condition it was in, she might hunt the man down and see how much she could get out of it. She slipped inside the sweltering interior of her car, put her purse and the food bag on the seat, then started the engine and flipped the air conditioner on. She put her drink in the holder in the console, then reached into the white bag to get a French fry.
Cool air flowed into the space and she put the car in gear. Glancing up at the restaurant, she was a bit surprised to see Willie G. still standing there in the doorway watching her. He lifted a hand in her direction, that smile back in place, before ducking inside. She felt odd for a moment, then pushed the feeling away and drove back toward the highway.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5f377a93-ceab-5dfc-883f-99e08c6ff49d)
GRACE REMEMBERED THE crumpled paper Willie G. had pushed in the food bag. She took it out, saw a phone number with his name under it, then folded the note and dropped it into her purse. She glanced at the directions the attorney had given her, then kept her eyes open for the turnoff to Wolf Creek.
After just a few more miles, she finally saw two signs. One was a billboard, announcing the way to the reservation, and the other, much smaller, informed travelers that they had twenty miles to go to arrive at Wolf Lake, population 3,201, altitude 5,106 feet.
She’d been surprised at the altitude and the heat, but one seemed to go with the other. The off-ramp curled back under the overpass, and Grace found herself driving north on a two lane, paved county road that cut through hauntingly beautiful land. Not much green, and the few trees seemed twisted and stunted by the heat. But the colors were stunning.
The sky was starting to be invaded by the suggestion of purple, gold and orange from the west. The shadows of majestic buttes and mesas that rose from the high desert floor were lengthening. Small dust devils skipped over the packed earth, leaving puffs of cloud in their wake. The land made her feel very small and insignificant.
A few cars passed her in the opposite lane, but she hadn’t seen anyone in her rearview mirror since she turned onto the highway. Gradually, she started to notice patches of green off to the west, along with trees here and there that looked tall and ancient. Over the next few miles, the green patches grew in proportion to the parched earth. Finally, a sign for Wolf Lake appeared, overshadowed by a more elaborate one for the Reservation ten miles beyond the town. At a rise in the road, she could see Wolf Creek, maybe three miles to the northwest. It was a simple layout, a long main street, with streets branching out from it. The first buildings were clustered together, as others then fanned out in the colors and shadows of the low sun. Beyond those were large chunks of land, with greenness and distinguishable pastures.
When she finally drove onto the main street after passing through a section of construction, she realized the place had been fine-tuned for tourists. The buildings that lined the street were separated from the road by an old-fashioned raised wooden walkway that used to protect people from snakes and mud. Now they added a quaint charm.
Some of the businesses had been determinedly fashioned after frontier structures, with a mix of aged wood and stone and brick. Others were designed like Willie G’s, with adobe and chipped stucco shouting “Southwest.” When she had time, she’d come back and walk the wooden sidewalks, but for now the elaborate window displays in the businesses were a blur of color and glitter. The only thing she noticed was the bed-and-breakfast Willie G. had told her about, then she was heading out of the town.
She looked at her odometer, made a note of the miles, and was about to reach for another French fry when the roar of an engine sounded behind her. A bright red Jeep gunned past, then cut back into the lane with very little distance to spare.
She caught a glimpse of the driver, a man with a cap pulled low over an angular face. He was staring at her instead of the road as he raced ahead, rounded a curve, and disappeared from sight.
“Jerk,” she muttered, realizing that even though there were no traffic jams out here, the area still had its share of crazy drivers.
She popped the almost forgotten French fry into her mouth, aware now of the ranches that seemed to spread all the way to the horizon, checkerboarded with green and brown sections. The houses and ranch buildings were far off the road, barely visible, but the entrances were fancy, with intricate gates of wrought iron, wood, stone and brick.
She rounded a curve and saw a new sign for the Reservation in the direction of the foothills. Then her attention was caught by the entry to yet another ranch, but this one was different. It was a simple entrance, almost plain, with worn stone pillars on either side of a dirt drive. The wooden gate stood open. On the pillar to the left, chiseled into a flat stone halfway up from the dead weeds and dirt at the base, were two weather-eroded words. Wolf Ranch.
Grace slowed and made the turn into the entrance, but then she stopped, unable to drive between the pillars. Excitement, apprehension, curiosity and that bit of fear kept her foot on the brake. So much was at stake that she could barely breathe. She fingered the steering wheel, then touched the gas pedal and slowly drove through the pillars and onto the dirt drive that cut up a gentle hill between neglected wooden fencing.
Some of the crosspieces had fallen into dead weeds and grass, while others sat at crazy angles. The ranch looked as if it had been neglected for more than a few years. It felt deserted, no, abandoned, waiting for someone to come along and make things right again.
“Well, here I am,” she said over the low hum of the engine and air conditioner. She imagined the weeds gone, the fences up and painted white, surrounding green fields, the front pillars hung with iron gates. A huge tumbleweed bounced over the drive in front of her, curiously lifting at the last moment to sail over the broken fence and into the pasture.
Stacks of piping were arranged on either side of the broken fence, tangled with weeds. She had water rights. Her papers stated that, and if there was water, green grass would follow. Her heart was starting to beat faster, excitement pushing out other conflicting emotions.
She was near the top of the hill when she spotted a building off to the right. It was long and low, tumbleweeds piled randomly along its foundation. A stable, she thought, some of its many doors boarded shut. Then as the car crested the hill, she saw her house.
Without realizing what she was doing, she again stopped dead on the drive. As the air conditioning blew a cool breeze over her skin, she just sat there trying to take everything in. The backdrop of the clear sky above, streaked with pale colors from the west, trees to both sides, maybe thirty feet from the house that was much larger than she’d even dared to hope for. Low and sprawling, it was built of adobe and heavy dark wood, making it seem part of the surrounding land. A porch ran end to end along the front, shading windows that reflected back the view to the south. A massive rock chimney rose through the central ridge of the deep red and brown tiled roof.
She could see how much work the place needed, from the dried wood of the porch posts to the faded trim and weeds, but to her it looked incredible. The colors from the sinking sun were deepening gradually, the rays bathing the house in an almost ethereal light. Long shadows were gradually creeping toward a stand of huge cottonwoods nearby.
She rolled down her window to stillness, the air carrying a gentler heat now, and from out of nowhere, a sense of peace touched her. Until a voice by her open window set her heart hammering.
“Hello, there.”
She turned to see a tall man staring down at her. He had to be over six feet, darkly tanned, with high cheekbones set in a face that seemed all angles and shadows under a baseball cap. She tensed as he gripped the window frame with a strong hand and leaned down toward her. The glint of a gold wedding band flashed as it caught a glimmer of sun.
“What...what are you doing?” she gasped.
He immediately drew back, his large hand held up, palm toward her. “Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”
She hadn’t even sensed movement before he had suddenly appeared. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, she looked away from him. “Well, I didn’t,” she muttered.
If a man had approached her car like that in L.A., she would have felt threatened, but she figured this man must be working here in some capacity. The attorney had said he’d made sure the place would be ready for her when she arrived.
He didn’t come closer, but didn’t leave, either. “Are you parking the car?” he asked.
Without a verbal response, she did just that, going slowly to the front of the house and parking beside a small stone pillar by the pathway to the porch. She wasn’t sure if she should get out of the car or stay put.
She watched the stranger in the rearview mirror slowly coming toward her. Dusty jeans on long legs, equally dusty cowboy boots and a chambray shirt open at the neck made him look all cowboy, except for the dark baseball cap. Jet-black hair was straight and long enough to touch the collar of the shirt. The shadow of a new beard darkened a strong jaw.
Before she could make a move, he was at the window again, bending down. This time she got a better look at him. Midnight dark eyes were deep set, studying her intently. Rough features and high cheekbones gave him a handsome look in her opinion. Then he smiled at her, flashing a single deep dimple to the right of his mouth. Something in her relaxed.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said in a deep, slightly roughened voice. “I was just waiting for you to get here.”
He had to be a worker, waiting for her arrival. She reached for the door handle and the man stepped back to let her get out. “I was told you would be here,” she started to say, then glanced toward the barn, stunned to silence. A red Jeep was parked by the big doors. The same Jeep that had sped past her on the highway.
“That was you on the road, wasn’t it?” she managed to get out, spinning around to confront him. “You could have killed us both!”
* * *
JACK WAS STUNNED as he faced the tiny blonde in beige shorts that revealed remarkably long legs for someone who barely topped five feet.
“You could have killed us both!”
She was right. He could have killed them. He’d been acting crazy. But the accusation tore at him, and he felt cold in his soul. Robyn’s accident had made no sense, and the only explanation had been that she was going too fast. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to get control. The shaking was there, deep inside, but he held it at bay and concentrated on the woman in front of him.
Willie G. had called him maybe fifteen minutes ago at the office. “Heads up, boy, there’s a lady coming your way, name’s Grace, a little, cute blonde, and she claims she owns your Grandpa’s ranch. She just left here.”
Jack had run out of the office, calling to his assistant, Maureen, “Check on the records for the land as quickly as you can!” She would understand immediately that “the land” was the Wolf Ranch.
Jack really didn’t remember most of the drive to the old ranch, except for the car that he’d impatiently gunned past. Just before he’d driven through the gate, Maureen had called to tell him the property had changed hands in August, deeded from Charles Michaels to a Grace Anne Evans. She couldn’t find any money trail.
Now he was looking at Grace Anne Evans, and when he could finally speak around the tightness in his throat, he said, “I was in a hurry.” And he’d been stupid and totally taken off balance, he should have added. All these weeks he’d planned to deal with a man, someone he’d researched and knew very well on paper. Now he was facing a stranger, maybe midtwenties, with a few freckles dusted across her small, straight nose. And those eyes. He actually wondered if that violet color came from her DNA or tinted contacts.
She lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the slowly sinking sun behind him. “How long have you been here?” she asked.”
“Just a few minutes before you drove up.”
“No, I mean, here, on the ranch?”
He shook his head. “When?”
Now she was looking confused. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be getting everything ready for me, aren’t you?”
“Sorry, no.” Why did he keep telling her he was sorry?
“Then why are you here?” she asked, trying to stand taller, but failing.
“I told you, waiting for you, as long as you’re Grace Evans.”
She shook her head, as if nothing was making sense to her at that moment. “I don’t have a clue who you are, if you’re not a handyman or a caretaker.”
“Sorry,” he said, inwardly cringing at that word again. “Neither. I’m Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. I need to know what this is about, or I’m going inside and I hope, for your sake and the other drivers on the road, that you’ll drive slower on your way back to wherever you came from.”
He was a bit surprised at how such a tiny woman had no problem standing her ground. She’d had an edge from that first moment he’d approached her. He understood being careful with strangers, but she seemed to have an added toughness, despite her delicate appearance.
“I was told that someone named Grace Evans was coming here.” He paused a moment. “And I’m pretty sure you’re Grace Evans.”
“You spoke to Mr. Vaughn?” she asked.
In this whole mess he’d never come across anyone named Vaughn. “No, I didn’t.”
“I don’t get it, then,” she said, cocking her head to one side. He’d run out of time. He was an attorney who could figure out a million ways around a legal case, and yet he was losing this woman. She was ready to kick him off the ranch, so he gave up any sort of attempt at finesse and simply spoke the blunt truth.
“I came to meet you and find out how you got this land and what you intend to do with it.” That was simple enough, he thought, and actually felt a bit relieved to get it out there.
* * *
GRACE DIDN’T ANSWER his question. She stared up at him, then took a step back. “I don’t know who you are, or why you think I’d share my personal business with you, but one thing I learned growing up was not to talk to strangers.”
She knew she was bordering on rudeness, but she didn’t even know his last name. And she was edgy, and tired from sleepless nights, then the flight out and the drive to the ranch. And she still hadn’t eaten much more than a few French fries. And she felt a bit light-headed.
“I’m Jack Carson,” he said without preamble and held out his hand to her.
Carson. He had to be a relative of the man who had owned this land before her father got it. Okay, she could deal with this. She met his grip, which was warm and firm. “Grace Evans. Not that you don’t already know that.” She drew her hand back. “And this is my land. I own it.”
“You purchased it from Charles Michaels?” he asked, tucking the tips of his fingers in the pockets of his Levis.
“He’s my father.” She saw a flash of something like surprise cross his face, then it was gone. “And I didn’t buy it from him.”
“You’re not the legal owner?”
“Yes, I am. He signed it over to me.”
“Why?”
“He’s my father, I told you that. He gave it to me. He said he didn’t have any use for it, so I should have it.”
“Where is he now?”
That seemed an odd question, but she didn’t mind answering it truthfully. “I don’t know. All of the land business was done through an attorney in Los Angeles, Mr. Vaughn.” And that was all she was going to say. She would never tell anyone that her father hadn’t even wanted to see her or Lilly.
“And he has no legal interest in this land anymore?”
He has no interest in anything, period, except what he wants to do, she thought. Bitterness didn’t sit well with her, but she couldn’t seem to get beyond it. And she sure wasn’t going to tell this man about her father. “No, no interest at all.”
“That’s it? He just gave it you?”
“Yes,” she said.
* * *
SHOCKED WAS THE only way to describe how Jack felt. Michaels hadn’t wanted this ranch, so he gave it to his daughter? Just like that. Still, there had been something in her expression when she spoke about her father. Maybe sadness. Jack wished he understood her just a bit. He had to make her see it his way about the land. He had to know Grace Evans and what made her tick.
All he really understood was that Grace Anne Evans was the one with the prize. Charles Michaels was out of the picture. His daughter stood between Jack and what Jack wanted. And if he’d thought to recheck the deeding of the land before he came, he wouldn’t be standing here figuring out things on the fly.
“I’ve got a question for you,” Grace said, crossing her arms and shifting slightly to use his shadow to block the sun from her eyes.
“What’s that?”
“You said you were told I was coming here. So, who told you?”
That was a simple question and he didn’t hesitate. “Willie G. at the diner let me know.”
“You’re kidding me!” she said. “He told you about me?”
“Absolutely. He’s an old friend, and he thought I’d like to know someone was claiming to own this place. He’s very protective of this land and his people. Just ask him about the new entertainment center.”
She brushed at her hair, the tendrils that had escaped the high ponytail lifting in the gentle breeze. “I should tell you that he asked me if I was going to sell this place, and if I decided to, to let him know so he could make an offer on it.”
That didn’t surprise him. Willie G. saw the land as the peoples’ land, not possessed by individuals. They were just the caretakers. Since he’d found out about the ranch being lost, he hadn’t spoken to Jack’s dad. But finding a woman who claimed to own it, a stranger, must have set off all sorts of warnings in Willie’s head. “And what did you tell him?”
“That I wasn’t considering selling.” He saw her look around, her gaze taking in the house and outbuildings, then skimming the distant hills. “I don’t think I would ever sell it,” she said in a near whisper.
And it was legally hers. When Maureen had confirmed that Grace Anne Evans was indeed the owner of record, Jack had known right then that his quest had changed course dramatically. She was his target. She was the one he’d have to deal with.
“So, you’re keeping the land?” he finally asked.
“So far, yes, I am,” she said without hesitation.
“But if you find you don’t want to, that this place is too isolated or too hard to handle or not your taste, you’d be selling it, wouldn’t you?”
She turned away from him again to look at the house. “I don’t see any reason for me to sell.”
It couldn’t be sentimentality over her father that was stopping her. The man had never been here as far as Jack knew, and Michaels had only owned it for a month or so. He was surprised she wasn’t put off by the parched earth and obvious neglect. But she seemed pretty determined to stay, and he didn’t know what cards to play to make sure she didn’t.
He’d have a background check run on Grace Evans first thing, to figure out where she stood in life, then go from there. “Where are you from?” he asked.
She didn’t turn back to him, but kept staring at the old adobe house. “L.A.”
He’d been in Los Angeles for college and law school, so he knew most of the areas. “What part?”
When she told him, he frowned. The area she’d named was rough, on the edge of a high crime district. Maybe the ranch looked like Shangri-La to her.
She finally turned when he didn’t speak again. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Is Herbert Carson your father or uncle or something like that?”
“Father,” he said.
“I saw his name on the deed.” She bit her lip. “What I can’t imagine is why your father let this all go.”
“Me, too,” he said in a low voice. “But he did. And your father got the benefit of his stupidity.”
That brought a look of incomprehension to her face. “What stupidity?”
“You don’t think it’s stupid to gamble away a place that’s been in your family for over a century in a poker game?”
She knew all about it. It was there on her face, along with a slight blush. His father had bet the land on a single hand of poker, and her father had won it on a single hand. “You know,” she said, a statement, not a question.
“Yes, and my father was a drunk who fell off the wagon and lost any semblance of control.” He heard the disgust in his voice and didn’t bother trying to pretend it wasn’t there. “Just like that, it’s a done deal.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed with a slight lift of her slender shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t want her sympathy. “Is your father a professional gambler?”
“Professional? I don’t know, but it’s a huge part of who he is.”
“He never wanted the land, did he?”
Her color deepened again. “He never wanted anything that held him down.”
“You wanted it, though?”
“I never knew about it until the attorney contacted me and told me he’d signed it over to me.” Her voice was not quite steady. “So, he gave it to me.” Her eyes lifted to meet his and he was taken aback by the intensity in them. “Actually, he owed it to me,” she said. “We have quite a pair of fathers, don’t we?”
He just stood there. This had gone off in a direction he’d never seen coming, and he knew that he’d hit the end right then. Until he could figure out what to do next. “I guess we do,” he admitted.
Grace motioned to the house. “I have to get my things inside.”
“Do you need help?” he offered.
“No, I don’t,” she said, then headed for the car.
“If you need to know anything about this place, just call me. I’m in the book.”
She had the trunk of the car open but stuck her head around it to look back at him. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
Jack waited a moment while she grabbed a small bag out of the trunk, then closed it. Without a glance at him, she headed for the steps and up onto the porch.
By the time he was back in the Jeep, ready to head down the driveway, he turned and saw Grace in the doorway watching him. She raised a hand in a vague wave, then disappeared inside.
In that moment, a memory flooded over him. His grandfather at that door watching three boys on their horses leaving at the end of a long summer’s day. The lift of one hand in a wave, the call out to them, “Straight home!” before he went inside and shut the door behind him.
Jack’s breath caught in his chest, and he turned from the sight of the empty doorway. His grandfather was gone, but he wouldn’t let his land be gone too. He’d find a way to get it back. He wished he hadn’t spoken to her about the poker game. That look of sadness in her eyes lingered in his mind, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He couldn’t let that stop him from doing what he had to do. And if things worked out, soon Grace could go back to L.A. with enough money to move to a better area of the city, and he’d get a huge chunk of his life back.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_cec99985-fec1-5677-948e-a53e81c000d2)
GRACE STOOD ALONE in the great room of the house, and felt close to tears. She was tired. She hadn’t slept well since Mr. Vaughn’s visit, and now she was here. She’d just never expected someone like Jack Carson to show up. He was upset about the loss of his family’s land. She understood that. Even worse that his father had been drunk and lost it in a poker game.
When she’d first arrived and seen the house, she’d felt like jumping up and down and yelling, “It’s mine, all mine!” Now all she wanted to do was cry. She hugged herself, trying to shake off this sudden depression, and quietly examined the room in front of her, taking in every detail. Heavy beams zigzagging overhead, tile floors well worn with age, rough plaster walls, and a fireplace surrounded by comfortable leather furniture. Everything fit perfectly together. Five minutes later, she’d discovered three decent size bedrooms, one empty, one used as storage for furniture and boxes, and the last containing an old iron double bed along with a sturdy dresser. White sheets and a deep turquoise blanket were folded on the bare mattress, and two pillows were stacked by the linens. The main bathroom had a pedestal sink and a claw-foot tub with a shower over it. The second bathroom was tiny, with just a small shower, sink and toilet.
Heading back to the great room, she crossed instead to the low archway that led to the kitchen. The square room was small but held an old refrigerator and stove. Counters ran along the side wall with a large sink under one of the two windows. A table with four chairs sat beneath a third window on the back wall beside a door to the outside.
She opened the first cupboard and found plates and cups and some well used pots and pans. When she tugged on the back door, her breath caught at the view, a wide swath of bare land between two stands of towering pines. Far in the distance majestic mountains rose, their sheer sides streaked with angular shadows. There were no sounds of traffic, no smell of fumes, and although dusk was close, the sky was overwhelmingly beautiful, without a single cloud in sight. The air had cooled, and she could make out the low hum of insects and the rustle of distant leaves.
This was incredible, like a dream that had somehow become real. The land, the house, the sky, the air—she felt that peace again, just as she had before Jack showed up, along with a sense of belonging. As she stood there staring at the beauty of the land, a huge weight slipped off her shoulders. She felt as if she could breathe easily for the first time in a very long while. She was sorry for the way her father had obtained this ranch, but she was going to make it something special.
She went back through the house to the front porch and sank down on the stone step. Taking out her cell phone, she tapped out her mother’s number, got her voice mail, and almost blurted, “Get out here as soon as you can. We’ve got a home and I need you and Lilly here with me!” But she stopped herself.
No, she’d wait until she could talk to her mother directly. And until then, she’d absorb as much as she could of this place. She looked up and was surprised to see someone by the stables. The man turned, and with a wave, came up the drive toward her. Raw-boned, gray-haired, with narrowed eyes in a deeply tanned face, he stopped a couple of feet away from her. Pale amber eyes remained narrowed on her, but he held out his hand.
“I’m assuming you’d be Grace Evans. The name’s Parrish. I was hired on as cleaner and caretaker, at least for now, and I apologize for not being here when you arrived.”
When she shook his hand, she could feel the calluses and the sureness in his grip. “That’s okay,” she said as she drew back.
She spotted an old pickup truck parked right where Jack’s Jeep had been sitting before. It was oxidized, maybe a green or blue, she couldn’t tell, but it almost blended in with the barn. “You got any luggage you need inside?” he asked.
“There’s one more bag in the trunk,” she said, and before she finished speaking, he was heading for the car. He popped the trunk and took out her last suitcase while she hurried to collect her purse from the car seat. “So, where are you from?” she asked as they got to the door.
With the toe of his lug-soled work boots, Parrish pushed the door open and went in before her, setting her luggage inside to the left of the door. “All over, but right now I’m bunking down in the stables,” he said, turning toward her. “If you need anything, come on down and get me.”
“I thought you might be from the town or close by.”
“No, Ma’am, just lucky enough to get paying work for a while.”
“Mr. Vaughn hired you?”
He looked confused. “No, Ma’am, a property management company over in Santa Fe. I came out yesterday early to check things out and put new locks on the doors, although, from what I’ve heard, around here locks are pretty much optional.”
She liked hearing that. “It’s safe?”
“Like I said, from what I heard.” He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at her. “I’m heading back to town to get the rest of my supplies. Anything you need me to get for you?”
She had the sandwich from Willie G.s’ till in the car, and she couldn’t even begin to think what she might need beyond that. She’d wait until tomorrow and go into town herself. “Not right now,” she said, “but thanks for asking.” Her last words were spoken to his back as he ambled off toward the stables.
Grace watched him slide back one of the doors and disappear inside. Right then, her cell phone rang in her pocket. She took it out, looked at the LCD screen and smiled. She hit the green button and put the phone to her ear as she walked back into the house. “Hello, Mom,” she said, excitement returning in a rush. “You won’t believe what’s here.”
* * *
JACK WAS UP late that night, his mind going over and over his unplanned meeting with Grace Evans. He had a feeling he’d only get one good chance to get her to agree to sell, and he didn’t want to blow it. But he needed information, and he hadn’t gotten the call with it yet.
He glanced at his bedside clock. Midnight. He reached for his cell phone and lay back in the big poster bed. After punching in a number, he stared up at the shadowy ceiling as he listened to the rings. On the fourth one, the Chief of Police answered. Jack knew John had the night shift, but he thought he’d be out driving around or sleeping in the back room. “Hey, John, it’s Jack.”
“Hey, bro, what can I do for you?”
“Did you get the information I asked for about Grace Evans?”
“I actually just got through running it. We had another demonstration out by the site of the new casino and I didn’t get back until a half hour ago. People are just crazy when they get in a group like that.”
Gage’s construction contract to build an entertainment center halfway between the main highway and town still had people upset, although they were gradually coming around. “What did you find out?” he asked, sitting up and moving to push back against the headboard.
“I’ve got it right here.” Jack heard rustling. “Okay, here goes. Grace Anne Michaels Evans is twenty-six, no college although she applied to an art school in the area, but didn’t finish the enrollment process. She got married to a Jerald Evans, had a daughter, Lilly Joy, six months after the marriage dissolved. Jerald Evans is now in Maine, remarried and some sort of big rig operator. Grace works at a diner in L.A., not a good place, and seems to have taken a temporary leave while she comes out here.
“She lives in a small rental apartment with her mother, Gabriella Michaels, and her daughter, and two weeks ago, her bank account went up to almost fifty thousand dollars thanks to one deposit. Most of it is still there.
“Never been arrested, has just a couple of traffic tickets, and, oh, I forgot, she was born in L.A., and seems to have stuck pretty close to that area most of her life.” He exhaled. “A real city girl, it looks like. Not one you’d think would be coming out here to set up camp.”
Fifty thousand dollars. Another gift from her father? A born and bred SoCal girl, and she was going to live out here.
“Hey, you still there?” John asked.
“Yeah, just thinking about what you said, about the city girl thing.” A germ of an idea was forming. “Why would she want the hard work of ranch life? No malls, no drive-thru on every corner.”
“Maybe she thinks it’ll be good for the child?”
“Yes, that could be what she’s thinking about.”
“So, what are you going to do now Michaels is out of the picture?”
“I figure Grace Evans might need a guide to show her around the land, so she can see how large it is, how much work and money it would take to keep it up, and maybe, if she’s offered enough to go back to L.A., she just might accept and leave.”
He heard John’s low chuckle over the line. “I’m thinking that your thinking might be spot on.”
“It’s all I’ve got right now,” he admitted.
“Okay, count me in if I can help.”
“Thanks,” he said and hung up.
He looked around the shadowy loft, thinking again how convenient it was to live above his law offices, then got up and crossed to the window. The town was “rolling up its streets” for the night, few people in sight, only the odd car making its way slowly down Main Street. In his opinion, there was no better place to grow up and live out your life than in Wolf Lake. He’d have to make sure he didn’t give voice to that opinion when he was around Grace Evans.
* * *
GRACE BARELY SLEPT. It was due, in part, to all the excitement after her long conversation with her mother, and in part, concern, since Parrish was sleeping in the stables. He seemed nice, but she’d locked the doors, anyway, just to be safe. After finally eating the turkey sandwich from Willie G’s, she’d soaked in the claw-foot tub, staying in the comforting water for so long, she almost fell asleep. But when she actually got to bed, she was wide awake. Her mind played and replayed the day’s events. The part with Jack Carson made her uncomfortable, so she thought instead of the first glimpse she’d had of the house. The fresh air. The clear skies and sprawling land.
By the time she felt the tug of sleep it was midnight, and she gave in to it willingly. Dreams wove in and out of her mind. So many memories. Her father, a giant in her three-year-old eyes, hugging her, rolling a ball back and forth with her, his smiles, and then he was gone. Her mother tired from working two jobs, yet having time for her, always.
The day an envelope had come with her name on it, then opening it to find it was just a flier from a kid’s store, not a letter from her father. Then high school, meeting Jerry, knowing almost from the first weeks of their marriage that she’d made a mistake, trying to make it work until he found out she was pregnant and walked out. Her first glimpse of Lilly as the nurse laid the baby in her arms, and the instant love she had felt.
So many things, both good and bad, mingling, then coming here, seeing the house, feeling that peace for a few seconds, that sense of home, and meeting Jack. Sadness touched the dream. He wanted the land. She knew that, but he couldn’t have it. She wanted it. She had to have it. He’d never realize how desperate she was. She would make a home here, a place Lilly could always come back to, always.
A noise sounded, a strange cry, and Grace woke instantly, bolting upright in the dark room. The iron bed creaked and groaned as she shifted to listen. Then she heard it again. A coyote howling. It made her shiver and she lay back down, pulling the covers up high to her chin. She stayed like that until dawn, then knew she wouldn’t sleep again. She got up, padded barefoot to the kitchen and looked through the rest of the cupboards.
Apparently Parrish had stocked some staples, even a small jar of instant coffee. She got out a mug, heated water in a saucepan and made herself a cup, then headed back to get dressed. Between sips of coffee, she dressed in khaki shorts, a loose blue shirt and her sandals, then headed for the front porch.
The air had a coolness to it, despite the heat from the day before, and she could hear the sound of birds off in the distance. The sun was inching up from the east, washing the land in cool light, and she stayed where she was for a long time, just looking and listening and making plans.
Finally she stood, took her mug into the kitchen and grabbed her camera. She needed photos to show her mother and Lilly. Going back down the step to the drive, she took several shots of the stables. Then she headed down the drive to photograph the stone pillars at the entry with the ranch name. The ground was rough, and she felt it through her sandals. Next time she’d wear running shoes.
At the road, she touched the rough letters of the sign with her fingertips. Would they keep the same name? Or would they think up one all of their own. She kind of liked that idea. A sound caught her attention, a cry, no, it wasn’t a cry. It was the soft whinny of a horse. She turned but didn’t see anything at first. Then around a curve in the road, a rider appeared on a huge, butterscotch horse. The rider, a big man with a dark Stetson on, nudged the horse into a brisk pace when he saw her.
She thought of heading back up the driveway until she realized she knew the man. Jack. He waved to her and called out, “Good morning!”
She watched him dismount and take the reins in one easy motion. The horse was massive, all muscles, and towered over her. Nervously, she kept her distance. “Good morning,” she said to Jack.
He took off the Stetson, and hooked it on the saddle horn before turning to her, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re up early.”
She raised the camera. “Taking pictures of the place.”
“I’m actually glad to meet up like this. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Please, not the land,” she thought, but just nodded. “About what?”
“Do you ride?” he asked.
“Some.”
“I was wondering if anyone was going to show you around the land, the boundaries, that sort of thing?”
She hadn’t thought about doing anything other than walking. “Not yet.”
He shrugged, the shoulders of his white shirt straining under the action. “I understand that this is your place now, and since I’ve lived on this land all my life, I thought I could take you around and answer the questions you must have.”
His offer made a great deal of sense. She knew she’d never see it all if she went on foot. “I don’t want to take you away from your work,” she said.
“No problem. It’s slow for me now, so I have time on my hands.”
“Then, I would appreciate it, but I don’t have a horse.”
“Okay, but do you have time now to take a short hike, just enough to get your bearings?”
“Sure, that sounds fine.”
He looked down at her feet. “Do you have anything more substantial than sandals?”
“Of course,” she said. “Let me go and get changed.”
They walked together up the driveway, the horse following docilely. As Parrish came out of the stables, Grace ran up to the house. She dug out her barely used white and purple running shoes and went back outside.
Jack had tied his horse to the stone pillar, which was apparently a hitching post, and put a bucket of water in front of the animal. Parrish was nowhere in sight. Jack looked up as she came toward him, the Stetson back in place, shadowing his face. She motioned to her shoes. “How are these?”
He eyed them. “They’ll do.” He looked toward the house. “Let’s go ’round back and head out that way? It’s not too rough.”
She got his meaning. “I’m used to walking,” she said, “so don’t worry about it being too rough.”
“Good to know,” he said, but she didn’t miss his slight suggestion of a smile.
She fell in step with him, skipping a bit to keep up as they went around the house. “Is your horse okay back there?”
“Gizmo? Sure, he’s a patient sort,” he said, giving her a look with his dark eyes.
Grace almost missed her step, but managed to keep up with Jack as they headed toward the massive pines. As they got closer, she noticed a worn path that cut through the stand.
Jack motioned to it. “This way,” he said.
She hurried after him into the dim light of the woods, the silence broken only by the muffled sound of their feet stepping on the spongy layers of fallen pine needles. The scent of earth and pine was pleasant as they made their way without speaking. Then the light began to get brighter through the lacing branches, and they headed up a rise that Jack took easily. At the highest point, she realized they’d changed direction somewhere along the line. They were facing directly west, she thought, the sun behind them, and she got a good idea of the way the mountains almost circled the lowlands.
She motioned to the rolling brown land slightly below them, the trees much more sparse here. “What is this?”
“A small part of the...of your ranch and some of the best grazing land this area ever saw.”
There was no trace of anything in the brown earth an animal could graze on. “But, it’s dead.”
He exhaled harshly. “Looks that way.” She thought for a moment the cryptic comment was all he was going to say. “This was the way my grandfather found it when he came down from the Rez to make a home here,” Jack said at last. “Dead. Nothing growing. But he worked all this land, building it from nothing, until it was able to support sheep and cattle and his family, all seven kids. He was known for his breeding stock, and this grazing land was the best in the area.”
His eyes never met hers, but stayed on the land sprawling out ahead of them. “What happened?” she asked.
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Mary Anne Wilson
The ranch should have been his… To struggling single mom and L.A. waitress Grace Evans, a ranch was a place for horses and cowboys–not a place for her and her daughter to live. Now, thanks to a shocking windfall from her estranged father, she owns one! It's a crazy notion, but Wolf Lake could be her shot at a whole new life in New Mexico. The only question is: Can she handle it?Obviously Jack Carson, the handsome and haunted rightful heir to Wolf Lake, doesn't think so. And he isn't about to hand over the reins without a fight. But the more he tries to scare her off, the more intrigued she's becoming….
The ranch should have been his…
To struggling single mom and L.A. waitress Grace Evans, a ranch was a place for horses and cowboys—not a place for her and her daughter to live. Now, thanks to a shocking windfall from her estranged father, she owns one! It’s a crazy notion, but Wolf Lake could be her shot at a whole new life in New Mexico. The only question is: Can she handle it?
Obviously Jack Carson, the handsome and haunted rightful heir to Wolf Lake, doesn’t think so. And he isn’t about to hand over the reins without a fight. But the more he tries to scare her off, the more intrigued she’s becoming….
Grace had done the unexpected. She’d won him over.
“I understand about you wanting the land, maybe needing it—I do, too. It’s beautiful, and you’ve been here all your life, Jack. This is what you know, what you love. It’s just, I’ve never had anything like this. I’ve never even lived in a house, much less one with all this land.” Her eyes looked overly bright. “You’ve got everything. You’ve got family and this town, and friends on top of friends. You’re so lucky, so very lucky.”
Her words almost broke his heart. And they were true about him. He had it all, except a reason to be here, to keep going, to find his way beyond his old life. If there was a woman like Grace in his future... He didn’t want to even think like that. He couldn’t.
“You’re right,” he managed to say, and if she hadn’t touched his arm, he would have ended it there.
Dear Reader (#ulink_ac90401a-b5d3-5479-b304-ed58c0522756),
In Wolf Lake, family and friends are everything.
So when Grace Evans receives a windfall from her now deceased father, who deserted her and her mother years ago, she takes what is on offer—a piece of land in Wolf Lake, New Mexico, that feels like home to her from the minute she sets foot on the property. But one person’s blessing can be another’s source of pain.
The story of Grace and Jackson Wolf, the eldest Wolf brother, is of their struggle to make a life that they both want desperately, and to make that life work in spite of what seem insurmountable odds.
But unexpected love has a way of evening out the differences, giving each person what he or she truly needs, and making a high-stakes gamble become a blessing so incredible that hearts are mended and lives are changed forever.
I hope you enjoy the journey of Grace and Jack as they find their home, together, in Wolf Lake.
Mary Anne Wilson
A Father’s Stake
Mary Anne Wilson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARY ANNE WILSON
is a Canadian transplanted to Southern California, where she lives with her husband, three children and an assortment of animals. She knew she wanted to write romances when she found herself rewriting the great stories in literature, such as A Tale of Two Cities, to give them happy endings. Over her long career she’s published more than thirty romances, had her books on bestseller lists, been nominated for Reviewer’s Choice Awards and received a career nomination in romantic suspense.
For Emily Vaughn Geisler, an unexpected joy and blessing in my life ten years ago and still making everything brighter and more fun. Love you more than you could ever say you love me!
Contents
Cover (#u61c2cc08-c635-56ab-a7b7-3b25a1a5b5d5)
Back Cover Text (#ue3825268-d087-5854-8f31-15129bb15764)
Introduction (#u70cae08d-f82a-54f4-a02d-77f37f38196b)
Dear Reader (#u8107ec11-75d7-5a4b-b60c-ef67c8541494)
Title Page (#u61ae2273-ab90-51fc-9740-900a5341db8c)
About the Author (#ud440432b-3c60-5ed1-bf9f-cd25d2c72d49)
Dedication (#u02d6421b-2231-5a6b-b09f-4ee561f4c828)
CHAPTER ONE (#u5afacd47-538d-520e-9fb2-9bdb818fc683)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubbeb4646-523c-57e9-aeeb-ea5c135888e3)
CHAPTER THREE (#u6465d6fc-dbed-5bc6-b7b3-11366db9a918)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uc7cb1650-6c10-5554-a853-8df65e8d0693)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_82f3d291-06a3-56d4-af92-80d68627e80a)
IT HAD BEEN almost two years.
To him it seemed an eternity since his life had been torn apart, and now, it had happened again.
Jackson Wolf Carson sat on the stone step that led up to the porch of the old adobe house, and he could feel that gut-wrenching churning once more. He thought he’d moved past that in the two years since his wife, Robyn, had died. But he was wrong. It had stayed there, hiding, until an hour ago when he’d gone to the family ranch to confront his father.
That shattering encounter had brought those old emotions back to life and this time he wasn’t sure how he could get beyond them without giving up...for good.
He closed his eyes and ran a hand roughly over his face, damp with sweat that came from the baking July sun beating down on the fallow three hundred acres spreading out all around him. Life had gone on while he’d wandered through the days and nights of the past two years alone. He’d finally thought he had found an anchor, something to hold on to. But any hope he’d let flicker back to life had been extinguished at nine o’clock that morning, the moment he’d walked into his law offices in Wolf Lake.
The email had come with four attachments. He’d thought his contact in the county offices had sent it, but the moment he started to read the letter, he knew he was wrong. Dead wrong.
Disbelief had given way to a burning anger at his father’s betrayal. He almost cringed at his reaction. He’d driven to the ranch, burst into his father’s office and thrown the papers at him. He’d yelled, kicked the massive desk so hard it jarred his entire body, but his father just sat behind the desk without saying a word. It was his mother who’d come up behind him, her face filled with horror, and asked what was wrong.
One look into her eyes and he realized she’d been betrayed as badly as he had. Without looking at his father again, he’d touched his mother’s shoulder. “Ask him,” was all he’d said before storming out, heading for the old ranch adjoining his parents’ spread.
He took off his baseball cap, raked his fingers through his shoulder-length, iron-straight black hair, then slapped the navy hat against his denim-covered thigh. He’d been so sure the old adobe house and the land sprawling around it was the connection he needed so desperately in his life. Each brick of the low structure had been handmade by Jack’s grandfather, Jackson Wolf, the man he’d been named for. The older man had passed away more than three years back, going quietly at the age of ninety-two, outliving his only wife by almost twenty years.
His grandpa had come down from the reservation with his wife, down from the high country in the foothills of distant mountains to the low valley, all Wolf land. It had been his people’s land, generation after generation. He’d worked against the odds to make a life for his family, creating one of the best grazing areas in the state and building a home for his seven children. This place had always been a second home to Jack.
Jack narrowed his eyes and gazed into the distance, the land shimmering in the oppressive heat. Generation after generation of the Wolf people were embedded in the very soil of this land. The town of Wolf Lake bore the people’s name. And Jack had figured out that his only hope for survival was to hold on to that past and try to make a future by taking over this place.
He stood, tugged the cap sharply to shade his eyes, and stretched in an attempt to release some of the knotting tension in his shoulders and neck. He took the steps down to the packed earth and gravel of the drive, where dust motes curled up into the still air. The parched scent of sage and grass only made the place feel more deserted. The ranch had been closed since his grandfather died, and all the joy he’d brought to this land had gone with him. Jack wanted it back with a vengeance.
He kicked at a rock near the drive, hitting it squarely and sending it sailing through the air toward the run-down stables that sprawled on the low hill beyond the house. He’d never seen this coming. He’d never thought his own father could do this. He’d never dreamt, that after every promise and every protestation, his father would damage everything again.
He turned his gaze to the drive that disappeared over a rise beyond the stables then cut down through the grazing land to the main road. The sound of a car engine was barely audible, and when a cloud of dust rose up over the roof of the stables, he knew his phone calls had worked.
He’d made the first of two phone calls fifteen minutes after he’d practically run from his parents’ house. Sitting then in his red Jeep at the end of the drive, he’d phoned his brothers; he hadn’t been able to move from the spot since.
A police cruiser crested the hill, followed by the billowing dust. He hadn’t wanted to pull either brother into this right away, but he needed them. And, realistically, there was no other way this could all play out.
The cruiser pulled in behind his red Jeep, the engine died and the door swung back as Adam stepped out. It still felt odd to see his kid brother in his police uniform, the billed cap shading his eyes. It had only been a month since he’d come back from Chicago, alone. Faith, the woman he’d left with, had stayed there with her father following his conviction in federal court for a series of fraudulent business practices. Adam had quit his job as a detective in Dallas, Texas, before he had gone to Chicago, and joined the Wolf Lake Police Force when he returned, working side by side with Chief John Longbow, a family friend since they were kids. Adam said he’d come back for the job, and he probably had, but Jack knew it was also because his brother was concerned about him. That hurt, to think people altered their lives to try and repair his. And now Adam was walking into another rescue mission, but Jack wouldn’t let it come to that.
He raised a hand, and saw the strained look on his brother’s face. Before Adam could say anything, Jack cut him off. “Let’s talk when Gage gets here. He shook his head. “I can only do this once.”
Adam didn’t fight him, just nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s your call.”
His younger brother stood an inch or so below Jack’s six-foot-two, but had the same broad shoulders. All the Carson brothers had inherited the dark eyes, dark hair, and bronzed skin of their mother’s ancestors.
Jack found himself saying, “I’m sorry.” And he realized he was apologizing for the past two years, for all he knew they’d gone through watching him grieve.
Gage and Adam had known Robyn all their lives, and they’d loved her, but not like he had, and still did. It had always been Jack and Robyn. When he’d graduated from law school in California, and come home, the first thing he’d done was propose to Robyn. That memory still made his stomach clench. It had been the most natural thing in the world to marry the love of his life and the best decision he’d ever made.
They’d built a life together for almost nine years, and then one night, one wrong turn on the way home from the Reservation where Robyn taught second grade, and she’d been gone.
Adam studied him from shadowed eyes, then shook his head. “You’re looking bad.”
“Thanks.”
Adam held up a hand. “Hey, I’m sorry. This day started out rough, very rough. I’m just....”
Jack thought he was going to talk about their parents despite his request to wait, but Adam’s next words were about him and Faith.
“I’m not used to being here and Faith being in Chicago. I mean, she really needs to help her dad adjust to house arrest and what will follow, but I need her, too.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “Who would have thought I’d ever say that about a woman?”
“Not me,” Jack admitted as the two of them headed for the porch, sinking side by side onto the stone.
“Can’t figure out why this place has been empty since the old man died. Makes no sense.” Adam turned to rest his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I was really glad that you were thinking of taking it over.”
Jack tensed and glanced at his brother. Adam looked away, off to the distance. “What’s taking Gage?” he asked as if he hadn’t spoken before.
“He said he had a few things to do. Any time now, I’d think. This place belongs here,” Adam went on, obviously unable to keep totally silent about the purpose of this meeting. “The folks’ ranch is great, bigger and newer, but it doesn’t fit into the land like this does. Grandpa knew what he was doing.”
His words echoed the way Jack had always felt. Their grandfather’s ranch was right where it should be, and he wanted to be here, too. “All I’m going to say until Gage gets here is, I’m sorry.” He squeezed Jack’s shoulder then drew back, looking out beyond the stables.
The heat seemed to hum in the silence until Jack finally cleared the lump in his throat. “Did you ever bring Faith out to see the place?”
Adam shook his head. “When she was here it was too cold, too much snow and not enough time.”
“When is she coming back?”
Adam stood abruptly, flexing his shoulders under the tailored uniform shirt. “I don’t know.” His voice seemed tight, and Jack had a fleeting thought that maybe things weren’t right between him and Faith, that maybe Adam coming back without her had nothing to do with Jack, or with the job.
“Hey, there!”
The loud shout from the west startled Jack and he looked toward the heavy stand of trees in that direction.
“He couldn’t just drive over like the rest of us, could he?” Adam said.
Jack watched Gage walk toward the house, leading his black horse, Grenada. “Sorry to be late,” he called out, kicking up dust as he got closer. He stopped by an old stone hitching post their grandfather had hewn from a long rock he’d lugged down from the Rez, and secured the large horse to it.
Jack knew if any strangers saw them, they’d see three men who looked like possible triplets, all tall, dark and strong looking. But those strangers would never know how very different all three were. “Day from night,” their grandfather had said more than once. And that was true. It was incredible that all three of them were back in Wolf Lake at the same time. That timing was perfect for Jack.
As Gage strode to the bottom of the step, he actually smiled up at his brothers. “Merry soloed this morning.” he said.
“I never thought she’d ever get back in a plane after your scare on the mountain.” Jack said, remembering the haunted look on the woman’s face during the rescue helicopter ride after she and Gage had crashed in the high mountains last February.
Gage nodded. “I wasn’t sure, either, but now she’s doing great and is even thinking about taking Erin up. That little girl is in love with planes.” Another flash of pleasure lighted his face. Gage, Merry and the little girl they were adopting were already a family, even though their wedding date hadn’t been set.
Jack felt a wave of jealousy, but blocked it. “Good.”
As suddenly as he’d smiled, Gage sobered. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
“Let’s go inside,” Jack said, turning to lead the way to the great room, the ceiling low with heavy beams, the worn tile floor starting to get dusty after the last monthly visit from the cleaning crew. The air in the adobe was at least twenty degrees cooler than outside, the natural insulation of the thick bricks doing a good job against the dry heat.
They passed the massive stone fireplace in the middle of the room, getting glimpses of the well-worn leather furniture where the dust sheets had slipped a bit. All the furniture in the house had been handmade on the Rez by friends of his grandfather’s and was still sturdy and usable. They walked into the small kitchen at the back of the house.
An old-fashioned yellow Formica table, its faux marble pattern almost worn away by use, stood by a window that overlooked a stand of huge pines, parted to expose the panorama of the distant mountains. If you knew where to look, you could see part of the Rez from there, a deliberate decision by his grandfather when he’d cleared some of the pines.
Once they were all seated on the high-backed wooden chairs, Jack leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table beside two large manila envelopes that he ignored for the moment. He had to figure out exactly how to say what he had to say. He didn’t want that anger to come again. He didn’t want to destroy their family.
“It seems like forever since the three of us have been in here together.” And he meant it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this connection with the past and his brothers.
Gage nodded. “Yeah, it’s nice. It’s been a while what with Adam catching criminals and me building the complex and you....” His voice died off before he added. “I hear you’re doing a bit of law now and then.”
“I do, now and then.”
Both brothers sat silently, giving him time. Finally, he just started to talk. Whatever he said, he’d live with. “I talked to Mom and Dad a couple of weeks ago. I asked about this place, about me buying it out of the trust, and they said they’d thought about it before and they agreed that they wanted to deed it over to me.”
His brothers didn’t say anything. After clearing his throat, Jack pressed his hands palms down on the dull yellow table top. He spoke to Gage. “Seems you’re thinking of living in town, getting an office going, and that acreage out by Delany’s Stables that you bought years ago, you could build on that.” He turned to Adam. “And you’ve always wanted that parcel over by Natchee’s spread—word is, he’s thinking of heading back up the hill. It could become available.”
Adam nodded, but his face was tight. “Yeah, I’ve had my eye on it.”
“And this has always felt right for me.” If he’d been able to talk Robyn into coming out here to live, he would have already been in possession of the land. But her teaching position was on the Reservation, and being in town let her tutor the kids more easily. Their loft above his law offices had been right for them until they had their own kids. Kids that would never be born now. “This place feels right for where I am now,” he admitted. His heart started to race, as if he was running full tilt.
“Go on,” Gage said. “Right after you hung up, and Merry and Erin drove off for town, Mom was there, crying, and said Dad was locked in his office. When I asked what was going on, all Mom said was, ‘Ask Jack.’”
“I didn’t want Mom to be in on it,” Jack muttered. “I really didn’t, but I couldn’t get her out, and....”
He looked from brother to brother. “Okay, this morning I found out that they don’t own this land anymore.”
Both brothers looked surprised. Adam said. “But it doesn’t make sense.”
“Dad lost it,” Jack said bluntly. “It’s gone.” He looked around the house, then back at his brothers. “We’re trespassing, in the eyes of the law.”
Adam shook his head, took off his uniform cap and hung it on the back spindle of the chair beside him. “It can’t be gone.”
Jack pushed the papers toward Gage and Adam. Swallowing hard, he finally managed, “Just read these.”
Both men hesitated, but mercifully didn’t ask any questions before picking up an envelope and taking out the four papers inside. Jack closed his eyes, not able to bear watching them read the words. He didn’t open them again until Adam spoke.
“Dad wouldn’t have done something like this, he wouldn’t.” He tossed the copy of the new deed onto the table top. “He couldn’t,” he muttered tightly.
Gage simply lowered his copy of the enclosed letter from the county offices and met Jack’s gaze. “How did you get these?”
“I finally put in the papers to switch the deed on the property. I know someone in the county offices, and she sent them to me, telling me I didn’t have any right to transfer it into my name since it wasn’t a Wolf property anymore. Dad took the land. He deeded it to a Charles Luther Michaels in June, the tenth to be specific, of this year. All legal. All very binding.”
“Just like that? Dad sold this place? That doesn’t make any sense. It’s a mistake, a county error. It has to be. Besides, he couldn’t do that without Mom’s signature and she’d never agree, no matter what.”
“I checked. He has power of attorney over all their financial dealings,” Jack said flatly.
“Why?”
“After everything he’s done in the past, she still trusts him!” Suddenly the anger and hurt were there again, and he couldn’t stop himself from hitting the table as hard as he could with the flat of his right hand. “It’s done. He did it. He took it and gave it away. No money changed hands. And do you want to know why he gave the land to that Michaels person?”
He didn’t wait for them to respond. “He was drunk and in a private high stakes poker match, and he put up the deed for this place on a bet, winner take all. It’s all there in the letter the clerk faxed to me.”
“And Dad told you the same story?” Gage asked, his shock still lingering on his face.
“No, actually, he looked surprised. June tenth was toward the end of his last bender, when he disappeared for two weeks. My guess is, he had one of his drunken blackouts. I doubt he even remembers the game.”
Adam looked up at him intently. “Why would he tell you to take the land if it was already gone?”
Jack ran both hands over his face. “Like I said, a blackout. He didn’t remember much of anything.” He looked at Adam. “At least he found his way to Rick Carter’s, his old banking friend who lives in Henderson, Nevada. Two days later, he was back here, refused rehab, but got a grip and seems to have been sober ever since.” He grimaced. “But who knows.”
“What about Mom?” Gage asked, barely above a whisper.
“I hoped she’d be gone when I got there, but she wasn’t, and she knew something was wrong. I managed to get Dad alone in the office, but Mom came in when she heard me yelling.” That broke his heart. “I can’t believe how many ways he’s hurt her and she’s forgiven him. I’m not sure she will this time.”
Jack swallowed hard before continuing. “She was crying when I left. I should have stayed for her. I should have never left her like that.”
“No,” Gage said quickly. “No, you shouldn’t have stayed. You’d said enough.”
Jack felt reproach in the words, but when he looked at Gage, he didn’t see any sign of criticism. Just pain. And he felt it too, for their mother. He could barely think about his father, crying, begging for her forgiveness, promising anything it would take to keep her with him. More empty promises, as empty as his vows to never drink again.
Adam sat back, his arms folded tightly over his chest. “Mom and Dad will have to deal with their own lives. We’ll be there, and Mom knows that, but we can’t change anything.”
Jack nodded, feeling an odd exhaustion now that he’d told his brothers about everything. “You’re right. For now.”
Gage sat back. “So, all we have to do is find this Michaels guy, make him an offer he can’t refuse and that’s that.” He made it sound like a foregone conclusion. “As for Dad, I don’t know what to do. He refused rehab when he got back, so that’s probably out. But we really need to talk to Mom about rescinding Dad’s power of attorney.”
“You two do it,” Jack said, not having the heart to even see his mother yet. “I’ll work on trying to contact Michaels. There’s an address from the original deed change, so I’ll start there.”
“Where is it?” Gage asked.
Adam glanced down at the letter on the table. “It’s in New Jersey. While you do that, Jack, I’ll run a background check on Mr. Michaels.”
Gage had picked up the letter and scanned it before he looked at one brother, then the other. “The one thing that doesn’t make sense to me is, if Michaels has owned the title for about a month, it seems odd that he hasn’t made his way out here, from New Jersey or even from Las Vegas right when he got the land. Even if it was just to scope it out and sell it? Wouldn’t he at least send someone to size it up and figure out what to do with it?”
Three hundred acres of prime grazing land, with water rights, wouldn’t be cheap if it went on the open market. “No one’s been out here, I don’t think, and we would have heard if someone in town was asking around about the ranch.” Jack exhaled as he raked his fingers through his hair. He actually felt a bit more settled now that he’d talked to Gage and Adam. He motioned to the documents on the table between them. “Take what you need, Adam. I’ve got the originals back at the office.”
Gage was the first one to stand. “I can ask around about deals like this going down, and what can be done.”
Jack shook his head. “It’s too late to call any of this illegal. It’s not.”
“No, it’s not, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be some leverage brought to make sure, when you find him, that Michaels would be more compliant with your request to purchase it back from him.”
Frowning, Jack just shrugged. “I appreciate whatever either of you can do to help out.”
“Done,” Gage and Adam said in unison.
The three brothers stepped out into the afternoon heat, the sky a true blue overhead. They stopped by Gage’s horse, and as Jack rubbed the large animal’s silken muzzle, Adam asked, “What about Dad? Are you going to talk to him again? ” Jack knew his tone was tight, but he couldn’t help it. “I don’t want any kind of contact with Dad for now. He can’t make up for any of this. I just want this land back from Charles Michaels.”
Gage reached for his horse’s lead, and with a glance at each brother, walked off toward the trees. Adam slipped into the cruiser and gave Jack the hint of a salute, his forefinger tapping the brim of his uniform cap before he drove off down the dusty driveway, another cloud of dust in his wake.
The slight diminishing of stress was gone as soon as both brothers were out of sight. Jack felt the tension return. He shouldn’t have yelled, or threatened his father. He shouldn’t have done anything in front of his mother. She didn’t deserve that.
He locked the door and then dropped down heavily onto the stone step again.
As his gaze skimmed over the land spread out before him, memories of his grandfather herding cattle and sheep came to him. He could almost see him, the dogs yipping at the heels of the stock, dust rising and his grandfather bringing up the rear. He could hear his sharp whistles to the dogs, altering their patterns, an old-fashioned herder’s staff in one hand.
This ranch was their family’s heritage and his father had gambled it away. There would be no new memories created for future generations. Jack couldn’t let that happen. He wanted to make a life for himself right here. His father had fought for sobriety, and had lost the battle several times, but the war was not over. Win or lose, that part was up to him. All Jack could do was try his best to get the land back. And to make that happen, he needed to find Charles Luther Michaels.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_93badd79-b02f-59d4-b230-ec58913675b6)
THE TRIP FROM Los Angeles to Albuquerque, New Mexico was the first time Grace Evans had ever flown in her twenty-six years. As she stepped out of the terminal with her suitcase and overnight bag, she spotted a tram she was supposed to use to pick up her rental car. Half an hour later, she was in that car, a red compact, and heading out of the terminal parking lot toward her future. At least she hoped it was her future—her daughter’s and her mother’s as well.
Her world had been turned upside down, and she still didn’t know if this trip would lead to something more than a huge wish on her part. It had all started two weeks ago. After a double shift waitressing at the diner, she had been exhausted as she’d headed to the tiny, second story apartment she and her family shared in a less than gentrified area of Los Angeles. All she wanted was a hot bath after ten hours on her feet.
She’d found her mother in the living room with a stranger. The man probably wasn’t much taller than her own five-feet-two-inches and was sitting in the rocking chair. Grace had immediately noticed the assortment of papers spread on the low coffee table.
The stranger stood when he saw her, smoothing the front of his elegant dove-gray suit.
“I am Ethan Vaughn, with the Seals, Silkirk and Vaughn Law Firm.” Grace barely had the time to acknowledge her mother’s strained expression before he took her hand and said, “I am representing your father in a legal matter that concerns you.”
She’d just stared at him. Her father? She looked around, then let go of his hand and sank onto the couch by her mother. Reclaiming his seat in the rocker, he’d leaned forward, picked up a couple of papers and handed them to her.
The first one she read was a deed for a three hundred acre property in New Mexico, outside a small town called Wolf Lake. “What is this?” she asked, then stopped as she saw her name on the deed. She stared at it, certain she was hallucinating.
“A property deed and....” He motioned for her to look at the next sheet of paper.
The hallucination expanded. In her hands was a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars attached to a verification letter that had her name on it. She’d shaken her head, then turned to her mother. Gabriella Michaels touched her daughter’s knees. “It’s yours,” she said in a shaky voice. “It’s all yours.”
Mr. Vaughn had spoken then. “Your father wanted me to bring these to you.”
Charles Luther Michaels had disappeared from Grace’s life when she was about three years old. The man had been there one day, and gone the next. No goodbyes, no arguments, no warning.
“He’s restless,” her mother had explained more than once. “He needs to be on the move, and he’s not equipped to be a husband or a father.” The words had meant little to a tiny girl who didn’t have a daddy anymore, and though the tears had long since dried up, she had never quite lost that deep longing for a family.
When her own marriage had failed, she wondered if she’d deliberately picked a man like her father to try and prove to herself that she could make it work. But she’d been wrong. So very wrong. Her daughter Lilly, now six, hadn’t even been born when Jerry Evans said he couldn’t do the whole family thing. Her mother’s mistake had become her own, and the only good thing out of the mess was her daughter. Grace had listened as Mr. Vaughn explained that the deed and money were hers if she wanted them. If not, they could go to charity. She’d almost laughed at that, although she’d recognized that the laughter would have bordered on hysteria. She was close to being her own charity with a child to support.
As she drove now into the afternoon sun, the New Mexico countryside passing by unnoticed, her mind refused to settle. By the time Mr. Vaughn had left the apartment that day, she’d known that no matter what the reason behind this sudden windfall, it was hers, and she could make the life she’d always dreamed of for her little family.
Maybe Lilly could go to a school that didn’t require security guards at the doors, even for kindergarten. The air had to be cleaner out here, the streets safer. As the miles flew by, she was getting closer and closer to the end of her own personal rainbow. New Mexico. She’d never thought much about it before, except for the city of Taos far to the south, an artists’ mecca. But that had been in her teens, when she’d had dreams of being an artist after she graduated from high school. Instead she’d ended up as waitress at The Table, a down-on-its-heels diner.
She exhaled. The owners were talking about making the diner into a bikini bar, giving the area yet another dive. Now she wouldn’t have to figure out how to get another job in the city or worry about how she could make her boyish figure fill out a bikini. She shook her head at that thought. She’d been getting a bit desperate before Mr. Vaughn suddenly appeared in her apartment.
She glanced at her bag on the passenger seat and smiled. If this worked out, she wouldn’t ever be desperate again. She had images of rolling pastures and maybe a horse or two, some cows and chickens, definitely a dog and a cat. Everything she’d never had and never would have in her Los Angeles neighborhood. Clean air, clear skies, safe surroundings. It all sounded like a fairy tale to her.
She just didn’t know why the euphoria she’d had while planning this trip had deflated a bit since she got on the plane. She felt a tinge of fear now that all this might just be her own fantasy. After all, her father had never owned anything, he’d never wanted to. No money, no land, nothing like that.
That afternoon in her apartment, she’d looked from Mr. Vaughn to her mother and voiced her confusion. “I don’t understand any of this. Is he dead?”
Mr. Vaughn had shaken his head immediately. “No, he’s not.”
“Then why did he send you?”
“Honestly, I believe he didn’t want any direct contact, just to make sure you got the land and the money.”
That had brought anger and pain in equal measure. She hadn’t missed the soft gasp from her mother. No contact. A slap in the face. But Grace hadn’t been stupid enough to let the attorney take the deed and check back.
There was a note her father had sent with Mr. Vaughn for her. “It might explain things a bit,” the attorney had said.
The words were burned into her mind, and she could almost see the single sheet of paper with the strong writing on it. “Never did nothing for you, Gracie, never could. Thing is, I’m no father, never meant to be and it scared me. I knew, as much as you would hate me for it, the best thing I could do for you and your mother was to leave and keep away. I loved you both, as much as I was able to love anyone, but I never could be tied to much of anything. I had some good luck recently, and I have no use for what came with it, so I want to offer it to you. Maybe it can make up in some way for what I never could do for you.” The note wasn’t even signed.
Pain still came with the memory, but she realized it was as close to an explanation for all of this as she’d ever get. Mr. Vaughn had tried to clarify things. “Why he did this is the one thing I can’t explain to you, but I can assure you that all of this is yours, and it’s up to you what you decide to do with it.”
Her call. A fortune in land and money, and it was her call. Why her father had done it shouldn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that it could change her life, her daughter’s life and her mother’s life.
She drove past Santa Fe, barely glancing at the city. Her only thoughts were on getting to Wolf Lake, then driving on to her property. The deed included buildings and water rights. Mr. Vaughn had explained it was near an Indian reservation, but the three hundred acres was totally private, unencumbered by liens or mortgages, and it had been empty for a few years, maybe three or four.
The person her father had received it from was a man named Herbert Carson. The land where the ranch was situated had been part of a land grant in the eighteen hundreds to the Wolfs, then deeded to the Carsons after Jackson Wolf had died.
When she’d looked at her mother, silently questioning what she should do, Gabriella had simply nodded. “Let him do it for you. He owes you that much.”
After that, there had been a blur of signings on the dotted lines, making arrangements to have the check deposited in her account, then figuring out how she could go and look at everything to check it out. Now she was close, so close, and nervousness was building in her. Mr. Vaughn had said there was a house on the property, but he had no idea what condition it was in. Even a search on Google Earth had shown lots of land, roads cutting through it, dark stands of trees, outbuildings, maybe a barn. Details were lost in the aerial photo.
She rode in silence as portions of her father’s note came to her. “...the best thing I could do was leave and keep away. I had some luck...make up in some way for what I never could do for you.” Good luck was all the deed and the money were to him.
She’d been so worried about Lilly’s school, worried about saving to move to a better location, worried about her job disappearing. Now she had a place to go, and fifty thousand dollars in the bank. All thanks to her father’s luck. That probably meant gambling, though it seemed far-fetched that three hundred acres of land could be payment for a gambling debt. But that was all her father had known about making money. Find a game, get the upper hand and know when to fold.
Her world had always felt a bit unstable, ready to tip upside down in a second. And she’d been holding on for dear life. But now, she had the means to let go and have a life, a stable life. A real life.
* * *
JACK GOT HIS horse out of his parents’ stable around dawn and rode off before he saw anyone stirring. He’d spoken with his mother on the phone only once since the confrontation with his father, hearing determination in her voice to make the best of what had happened. He’d hated it when she’d apologized to him for the land being lost to them, as if it was her fault.
He hadn’t had any contact with his father over the past six weeks, and that was fine with him. He didn’t want words and promises. They were too easy to speak and impossible to back up.
He spent most of the day up in the high country, visiting a few friends on the Rez, then headed back down in the middle of the September afternoon. The heat was at its peak, but more mellow than it had been for a while, and the day was bright and clear. When he approached his parents’ land, he hesitated, then road past, farther east, and a short time later cut between the worn stone pillars that marked the drive to the old ranch.
He slowly headed up the incline of the packed dirt trail to a smaller rise that hid the old house from view. He wound around, past the stables, and the house appeared. He was trespassing again, he knew it, but he had to come. Just one last time until he could be here legally again.
He drew up by the hitching post, dismounted and secured his horse. Instead of going inside the house, he sat down on the stone step where he’d waited for his brothers back in July when he’d felt as if his world was going to end. It had come darned close, but it hadn’t ended. His determination to get this land back one way or the other kept him going,
Now frustration was driving him. The problem was, he’d found out plenty about Charles Luther Michaels, except the most important things—where he was and how to reach him. They knew he was basically a drifter and a professional gambler, moving constantly from place to place. The papers he’d sent to the address listed on the legal documents with an offer for the property had been returned. By the time a private investigator checked out the address, a boarding house in a small city near the Jersey shore, Charles Luther Michaels had been gone for two weeks.
Adam had found a criminal record for the man, a few DUIs, public disorder, minor confidence charges, vagrancy, misdemeanor assault on a casino bouncer, all scattered around the country, one in Canada. But all of them had been more than five years old. Jack and his brothers knew he’d been in Las Vegas in June, but that led nowhere. The game had been “private,” which meant big spenders in a private suite in one of the hotels and unreported to any gambling authority. They couldn’t find anyone who would admit to him being there. Privacy for big spenders was everything in that city. But it meant the man had enough stake money to get in the door, and he’d walked out with whatever cash he’d won along with the deed their father had thrown into the pot.
Michaels was out there somewhere, they knew that, but the man left no tracks. That frustrated Jack to no end. Somewhere along the way he’d come to believe that healing the tear in the Wolf family heritage by regaining the lost land would mean he could heal his own wounds. But unless their luck improved and they found Michaels, he didn’t know what would happen with the land and with him.
He flexed the tension in his shoulders as he glanced at his horse, then over to the stables. He frowned and looked back to his horse. Something was different than the last time he’d come here, but he couldn’t figure out what. Then he knew. The dead weeds in the gravel edging the drive had been cleared, but only in front of the house. He went down to take a closer look, and found lugged tire tracks. Glancing around first, he followed them down the slope to the end of the abandoned stables.
Booted foot prints in the dust led to the hay doors, and he followed them along the side of the stables to the doors to the stalls. A new lock glistened in the sun. Jack stared at it then spun around and broke into a run, heading across the dry weeds and packed earth and up the shallow hill to the drive. He took the stone step in one stride and stopped in front of the door to the house.
A new key lock with a dead bolt above it had been installed there. Going to the nearest window, he cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the streaked glass into the great room. Nothing had changed. Dust covers were in place, and as far he could tell, nothing had been moved. He went back to the door and pounded on it. “Hello! Hello? Anyone here?”
When there was no response, he stopped, suddenly feeling like the trespasser he was on the land he loved. He stood at the top of the step, unsure what to do. Someone had been here to make sure the property was secured. Possibly Charles Michaels. Or had he hired someone to come out and check on things, then change the locks?
At least something was happening. Jack headed for his horse, then rode off down the driveway and turned back to the family ranch. He needed wheels. “This could be very good,” he thought as he pulled out his cell phone and put in a call to John Longbow at the police station.
* * *
AS SOON AS Santa Fe was in the rearview mirror, Grace felt the gnaw of hunger, but didn’t want to take the time to have a sit-down meal. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last, not even peanuts on the flight, but right then the hunger was starting to be tinged with nausea. She needed food. Not sure how long it would take to get to Wolf Lake, she started looking for signs for take-out food. One proclaimed Willie G’s, The Best Food Around, Eat-in/Take-out, just two exits ahead.
A few minutes later she found the off ramp, drove onto it and down a narrow road. She could see a grouping of buildings back under the highway overpass and headed toward them. The cluster comprised little more than a gas station, a teepee-shaped souvenir shop with a heavy emphasis on Indian and Western collectibles, and a group of trailers beside a broad parking lot that serviced an old adobe building with a huge sign proclaiming Willie G’s Diner.
She pulled into a space in front of the dark wooden entry doors, shadowed by a heavy beamed overhang. A flat roof, trimmed in overlapping half pipe tiles, and plastered pink walls that were chipped to show spots of adobe brick gave the place an old Southwestern style. Only a few vehicles were parked in front—an old blue pickup truck and a very big motorcycle, painted patriotically in red, white and blue with an eagle decoration on one side. An eighteen-wheeler was parked off to the side.
Grace slid out into the blanketing warmth of the afternoon, thankful she’d worn a short-sleeved white shirt and denim shorts with sandals. As soon as she stepped inside she was greeted with cool air. The space was larger than it had looked from the exterior, with low-beamed ceilings and worn Salito tiles underfoot. Western music hummed in the background.
“Help you?” someone asked, and she looked toward a set of swinging doors to the kitchen. An older man, dressed in stained cook’s whites, smiled at her as he stepped into the room. He came to the counter and wiped his hands on a white rag. Lines fanned the edges of his eyes, and his gray hair was pulled back from a center part in a long braid.
“I need some food to go,” she said, crossing to the counter and slipping onto the nearest stool.
“Just name your poison,” he said as he passed her a single sheet menu protected by plastic.
She realized it was about the same as the menus in most of the diners she’d worked in—sandwiches, burgers and fries, chili, even some pizza. “I’ll take a turkey sandwich on wheat, not toasted, with steak fries and the largest cola you have with lots of ice, please.”
He nodded and crossed to a soda machine, packing ice in a large take-out cup before filling it with soda. He brought it back and set it down in front of her. “Thought you could use this first,” he said, and reached for a straw from under the counter.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t move to put in her food order. “Where you heading to?”
“Wolf Lake.”
“You’re too early if you’re looking for the casino or hotels that way,” he said. “Not even up yet, but they will be.” He shook his head. “So, what you got left is picking up some native art, or souvenirs, or maybe taking in one of the tours near the Rez.”
She undid the straw and pushed it through the lid. “None of that,” she said, then took a sip of the chilled drink.
Thankfully, he turned, saying, “Gonna get your food,” before heading through the swinging doors. Next thing she knew, he was pulling on a cook’s cap over his gray hair. He winked, then got busy with her order.
She took another drink and glanced around. No waitress was in sight, and only five customers were at the tables near the front windows. The cook looked as if he was doing everything by himself, moving quickly around the kitchen. He came out with two plates of food for one of the tables, then hurried back into the kitchen, reappearing almost immediately with a large white bag. “There you go, Ma’am. Napkins and ketchup in the bag.”
She paid, then grabbed the bag.
“Drop by on your way out of town if you’re going this way,” he said. “I’ll get you some real food when you’ve got the time to sit and enjoy.”
“If I come this way again, I’ll do that,” she said, slipping off the stool. “You know Wolf Lake very well?”
He chuckled. “Heck, yeah, born and bred on the Rez, then slipped on down into town when I was, oh, around twelve. Been there ever since, except when I’m down here running this place. If you need a place to stay, my niece runs a bed-and-breakfast in town. Nice place, too, and reasonable.”
“Thanks, but I have a place,” she said, hoping the house was livable.
“Where’s that?” he asked, reaching for the white rag and starting to clean the counter.
“On a ranch on the other side of town, from what I was told.”
“What ranch?”
“Wolf Ranch.”
His hand stilled and his dark eyes looked right at her. “Wolf Ranch,” he echoed. “You sure you have that right?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” she said.
“You’re a friend or something with the new owner?”
She had a feeling the man was upset for some reason, but his voice stayed even. “I am the new owner,” she said, and loved the words as they came out of her. The new owner. That sounded so great, but the cook didn’t look pleased at all.
“I knew that whole mess with the Carsons was crazy, but sure never expected old Jackson Wolf’s property to be bought by a tiny thing like you.”
She’d been called a lot of sexist things by men over the years, and she hated it, but she barely reacted anymore. Now this man was calling her a “tiny thing,” and she knew it wasn’t a sexist thing to him. He just couldn’t believe she had the land—a woman, on her own, coming in to take it over. “I didn’t buy it,” she said by way of clarification. “But it’s mine.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he said in a low voice, “I guess you didn’t buy it.”
“Sir, I need to get going,” she said.
He came around the counter toward her. “First of all, I’m Willie G., not ‘sir’ to anyone, and secondly, I was a friend of Jackson Wolf, the original owner. Old man used to head the council for years on the Rez. Town’s named after his people. Great man,” he said. “And that was his place, a Wolf place.”
She had decided from the start that she liked the idea of the land having a history, but obviously this man didn’t think she had any right to be there. She tried to divert the conversation. “What’s it like there?”
“Fallow. Empty,” Willie G. said, “for maybe four or so years, since the old man passed. Age ninety-two, I think, and still on that land until the day he died.”
“I’m here to check it out,” she said, sticking to the bare facts and not letting his attitude make her defensive. She had nothing to be defensive about.”
He shook his head. “So, it’s come to this?” he asked softly, as if talking to himself. “Stupid man,” he muttered, then must have realized he’d been speaking out loud. “Sorry, Ma’am, but life gets crazy sometimes around here.”
“It does everywhere,” Grace said and started for the door.
“Miss?” he called after her.
She turned just before reaching for the handle. “Yes?”
“Who have I been talking to?”
“Grace, my name’s Grace.”
“Okay, Grace. I know this will sound strange, but if you decide by any chance that that hunk of land isn’t for you, would you let me know? I’ve been looking for a bit of land around that area.”
She was as shocked by his question as he’d seemed to be when she’d told him she owned the land. “I won’t be selling it, I don’t think.”
“Just let me know, one way or the other, okay?” He reached for the order pad lying on the counter and quickly wrote something on it before tearing the page off. “Just let Willie G. know, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, and started to shift her load so she could take it from him, but he simply reached over and dropped it in her bag.
He opened the door for her, calling after her, “Safe trip, Grace.”
His interest in the property had taken her back, but once she saw what condition it was in, she might hunt the man down and see how much she could get out of it. She slipped inside the sweltering interior of her car, put her purse and the food bag on the seat, then started the engine and flipped the air conditioner on. She put her drink in the holder in the console, then reached into the white bag to get a French fry.
Cool air flowed into the space and she put the car in gear. Glancing up at the restaurant, she was a bit surprised to see Willie G. still standing there in the doorway watching her. He lifted a hand in her direction, that smile back in place, before ducking inside. She felt odd for a moment, then pushed the feeling away and drove back toward the highway.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5f377a93-ceab-5dfc-883f-99e08c6ff49d)
GRACE REMEMBERED THE crumpled paper Willie G. had pushed in the food bag. She took it out, saw a phone number with his name under it, then folded the note and dropped it into her purse. She glanced at the directions the attorney had given her, then kept her eyes open for the turnoff to Wolf Creek.
After just a few more miles, she finally saw two signs. One was a billboard, announcing the way to the reservation, and the other, much smaller, informed travelers that they had twenty miles to go to arrive at Wolf Lake, population 3,201, altitude 5,106 feet.
She’d been surprised at the altitude and the heat, but one seemed to go with the other. The off-ramp curled back under the overpass, and Grace found herself driving north on a two lane, paved county road that cut through hauntingly beautiful land. Not much green, and the few trees seemed twisted and stunted by the heat. But the colors were stunning.
The sky was starting to be invaded by the suggestion of purple, gold and orange from the west. The shadows of majestic buttes and mesas that rose from the high desert floor were lengthening. Small dust devils skipped over the packed earth, leaving puffs of cloud in their wake. The land made her feel very small and insignificant.
A few cars passed her in the opposite lane, but she hadn’t seen anyone in her rearview mirror since she turned onto the highway. Gradually, she started to notice patches of green off to the west, along with trees here and there that looked tall and ancient. Over the next few miles, the green patches grew in proportion to the parched earth. Finally, a sign for Wolf Lake appeared, overshadowed by a more elaborate one for the Reservation ten miles beyond the town. At a rise in the road, she could see Wolf Creek, maybe three miles to the northwest. It was a simple layout, a long main street, with streets branching out from it. The first buildings were clustered together, as others then fanned out in the colors and shadows of the low sun. Beyond those were large chunks of land, with greenness and distinguishable pastures.
When she finally drove onto the main street after passing through a section of construction, she realized the place had been fine-tuned for tourists. The buildings that lined the street were separated from the road by an old-fashioned raised wooden walkway that used to protect people from snakes and mud. Now they added a quaint charm.
Some of the businesses had been determinedly fashioned after frontier structures, with a mix of aged wood and stone and brick. Others were designed like Willie G’s, with adobe and chipped stucco shouting “Southwest.” When she had time, she’d come back and walk the wooden sidewalks, but for now the elaborate window displays in the businesses were a blur of color and glitter. The only thing she noticed was the bed-and-breakfast Willie G. had told her about, then she was heading out of the town.
She looked at her odometer, made a note of the miles, and was about to reach for another French fry when the roar of an engine sounded behind her. A bright red Jeep gunned past, then cut back into the lane with very little distance to spare.
She caught a glimpse of the driver, a man with a cap pulled low over an angular face. He was staring at her instead of the road as he raced ahead, rounded a curve, and disappeared from sight.
“Jerk,” she muttered, realizing that even though there were no traffic jams out here, the area still had its share of crazy drivers.
She popped the almost forgotten French fry into her mouth, aware now of the ranches that seemed to spread all the way to the horizon, checkerboarded with green and brown sections. The houses and ranch buildings were far off the road, barely visible, but the entrances were fancy, with intricate gates of wrought iron, wood, stone and brick.
She rounded a curve and saw a new sign for the Reservation in the direction of the foothills. Then her attention was caught by the entry to yet another ranch, but this one was different. It was a simple entrance, almost plain, with worn stone pillars on either side of a dirt drive. The wooden gate stood open. On the pillar to the left, chiseled into a flat stone halfway up from the dead weeds and dirt at the base, were two weather-eroded words. Wolf Ranch.
Grace slowed and made the turn into the entrance, but then she stopped, unable to drive between the pillars. Excitement, apprehension, curiosity and that bit of fear kept her foot on the brake. So much was at stake that she could barely breathe. She fingered the steering wheel, then touched the gas pedal and slowly drove through the pillars and onto the dirt drive that cut up a gentle hill between neglected wooden fencing.
Some of the crosspieces had fallen into dead weeds and grass, while others sat at crazy angles. The ranch looked as if it had been neglected for more than a few years. It felt deserted, no, abandoned, waiting for someone to come along and make things right again.
“Well, here I am,” she said over the low hum of the engine and air conditioner. She imagined the weeds gone, the fences up and painted white, surrounding green fields, the front pillars hung with iron gates. A huge tumbleweed bounced over the drive in front of her, curiously lifting at the last moment to sail over the broken fence and into the pasture.
Stacks of piping were arranged on either side of the broken fence, tangled with weeds. She had water rights. Her papers stated that, and if there was water, green grass would follow. Her heart was starting to beat faster, excitement pushing out other conflicting emotions.
She was near the top of the hill when she spotted a building off to the right. It was long and low, tumbleweeds piled randomly along its foundation. A stable, she thought, some of its many doors boarded shut. Then as the car crested the hill, she saw her house.
Without realizing what she was doing, she again stopped dead on the drive. As the air conditioning blew a cool breeze over her skin, she just sat there trying to take everything in. The backdrop of the clear sky above, streaked with pale colors from the west, trees to both sides, maybe thirty feet from the house that was much larger than she’d even dared to hope for. Low and sprawling, it was built of adobe and heavy dark wood, making it seem part of the surrounding land. A porch ran end to end along the front, shading windows that reflected back the view to the south. A massive rock chimney rose through the central ridge of the deep red and brown tiled roof.
She could see how much work the place needed, from the dried wood of the porch posts to the faded trim and weeds, but to her it looked incredible. The colors from the sinking sun were deepening gradually, the rays bathing the house in an almost ethereal light. Long shadows were gradually creeping toward a stand of huge cottonwoods nearby.
She rolled down her window to stillness, the air carrying a gentler heat now, and from out of nowhere, a sense of peace touched her. Until a voice by her open window set her heart hammering.
“Hello, there.”
She turned to see a tall man staring down at her. He had to be over six feet, darkly tanned, with high cheekbones set in a face that seemed all angles and shadows under a baseball cap. She tensed as he gripped the window frame with a strong hand and leaned down toward her. The glint of a gold wedding band flashed as it caught a glimmer of sun.
“What...what are you doing?” she gasped.
He immediately drew back, his large hand held up, palm toward her. “Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”
She hadn’t even sensed movement before he had suddenly appeared. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, she looked away from him. “Well, I didn’t,” she muttered.
If a man had approached her car like that in L.A., she would have felt threatened, but she figured this man must be working here in some capacity. The attorney had said he’d made sure the place would be ready for her when she arrived.
He didn’t come closer, but didn’t leave, either. “Are you parking the car?” he asked.
Without a verbal response, she did just that, going slowly to the front of the house and parking beside a small stone pillar by the pathway to the porch. She wasn’t sure if she should get out of the car or stay put.
She watched the stranger in the rearview mirror slowly coming toward her. Dusty jeans on long legs, equally dusty cowboy boots and a chambray shirt open at the neck made him look all cowboy, except for the dark baseball cap. Jet-black hair was straight and long enough to touch the collar of the shirt. The shadow of a new beard darkened a strong jaw.
Before she could make a move, he was at the window again, bending down. This time she got a better look at him. Midnight dark eyes were deep set, studying her intently. Rough features and high cheekbones gave him a handsome look in her opinion. Then he smiled at her, flashing a single deep dimple to the right of his mouth. Something in her relaxed.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said in a deep, slightly roughened voice. “I was just waiting for you to get here.”
He had to be a worker, waiting for her arrival. She reached for the door handle and the man stepped back to let her get out. “I was told you would be here,” she started to say, then glanced toward the barn, stunned to silence. A red Jeep was parked by the big doors. The same Jeep that had sped past her on the highway.
“That was you on the road, wasn’t it?” she managed to get out, spinning around to confront him. “You could have killed us both!”
* * *
JACK WAS STUNNED as he faced the tiny blonde in beige shorts that revealed remarkably long legs for someone who barely topped five feet.
“You could have killed us both!”
She was right. He could have killed them. He’d been acting crazy. But the accusation tore at him, and he felt cold in his soul. Robyn’s accident had made no sense, and the only explanation had been that she was going too fast. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to get control. The shaking was there, deep inside, but he held it at bay and concentrated on the woman in front of him.
Willie G. had called him maybe fifteen minutes ago at the office. “Heads up, boy, there’s a lady coming your way, name’s Grace, a little, cute blonde, and she claims she owns your Grandpa’s ranch. She just left here.”
Jack had run out of the office, calling to his assistant, Maureen, “Check on the records for the land as quickly as you can!” She would understand immediately that “the land” was the Wolf Ranch.
Jack really didn’t remember most of the drive to the old ranch, except for the car that he’d impatiently gunned past. Just before he’d driven through the gate, Maureen had called to tell him the property had changed hands in August, deeded from Charles Michaels to a Grace Anne Evans. She couldn’t find any money trail.
Now he was looking at Grace Anne Evans, and when he could finally speak around the tightness in his throat, he said, “I was in a hurry.” And he’d been stupid and totally taken off balance, he should have added. All these weeks he’d planned to deal with a man, someone he’d researched and knew very well on paper. Now he was facing a stranger, maybe midtwenties, with a few freckles dusted across her small, straight nose. And those eyes. He actually wondered if that violet color came from her DNA or tinted contacts.
She lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the slowly sinking sun behind him. “How long have you been here?” she asked.”
“Just a few minutes before you drove up.”
“No, I mean, here, on the ranch?”
He shook his head. “When?”
Now she was looking confused. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be getting everything ready for me, aren’t you?”
“Sorry, no.” Why did he keep telling her he was sorry?
“Then why are you here?” she asked, trying to stand taller, but failing.
“I told you, waiting for you, as long as you’re Grace Evans.”
She shook her head, as if nothing was making sense to her at that moment. “I don’t have a clue who you are, if you’re not a handyman or a caretaker.”
“Sorry,” he said, inwardly cringing at that word again. “Neither. I’m Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. I need to know what this is about, or I’m going inside and I hope, for your sake and the other drivers on the road, that you’ll drive slower on your way back to wherever you came from.”
He was a bit surprised at how such a tiny woman had no problem standing her ground. She’d had an edge from that first moment he’d approached her. He understood being careful with strangers, but she seemed to have an added toughness, despite her delicate appearance.
“I was told that someone named Grace Evans was coming here.” He paused a moment. “And I’m pretty sure you’re Grace Evans.”
“You spoke to Mr. Vaughn?” she asked.
In this whole mess he’d never come across anyone named Vaughn. “No, I didn’t.”
“I don’t get it, then,” she said, cocking her head to one side. He’d run out of time. He was an attorney who could figure out a million ways around a legal case, and yet he was losing this woman. She was ready to kick him off the ranch, so he gave up any sort of attempt at finesse and simply spoke the blunt truth.
“I came to meet you and find out how you got this land and what you intend to do with it.” That was simple enough, he thought, and actually felt a bit relieved to get it out there.
* * *
GRACE DIDN’T ANSWER his question. She stared up at him, then took a step back. “I don’t know who you are, or why you think I’d share my personal business with you, but one thing I learned growing up was not to talk to strangers.”
She knew she was bordering on rudeness, but she didn’t even know his last name. And she was edgy, and tired from sleepless nights, then the flight out and the drive to the ranch. And she still hadn’t eaten much more than a few French fries. And she felt a bit light-headed.
“I’m Jack Carson,” he said without preamble and held out his hand to her.
Carson. He had to be a relative of the man who had owned this land before her father got it. Okay, she could deal with this. She met his grip, which was warm and firm. “Grace Evans. Not that you don’t already know that.” She drew her hand back. “And this is my land. I own it.”
“You purchased it from Charles Michaels?” he asked, tucking the tips of his fingers in the pockets of his Levis.
“He’s my father.” She saw a flash of something like surprise cross his face, then it was gone. “And I didn’t buy it from him.”
“You’re not the legal owner?”
“Yes, I am. He signed it over to me.”
“Why?”
“He’s my father, I told you that. He gave it to me. He said he didn’t have any use for it, so I should have it.”
“Where is he now?”
That seemed an odd question, but she didn’t mind answering it truthfully. “I don’t know. All of the land business was done through an attorney in Los Angeles, Mr. Vaughn.” And that was all she was going to say. She would never tell anyone that her father hadn’t even wanted to see her or Lilly.
“And he has no legal interest in this land anymore?”
He has no interest in anything, period, except what he wants to do, she thought. Bitterness didn’t sit well with her, but she couldn’t seem to get beyond it. And she sure wasn’t going to tell this man about her father. “No, no interest at all.”
“That’s it? He just gave it you?”
“Yes,” she said.
* * *
SHOCKED WAS THE only way to describe how Jack felt. Michaels hadn’t wanted this ranch, so he gave it to his daughter? Just like that. Still, there had been something in her expression when she spoke about her father. Maybe sadness. Jack wished he understood her just a bit. He had to make her see it his way about the land. He had to know Grace Evans and what made her tick.
All he really understood was that Grace Anne Evans was the one with the prize. Charles Michaels was out of the picture. His daughter stood between Jack and what Jack wanted. And if he’d thought to recheck the deeding of the land before he came, he wouldn’t be standing here figuring out things on the fly.
“I’ve got a question for you,” Grace said, crossing her arms and shifting slightly to use his shadow to block the sun from her eyes.
“What’s that?”
“You said you were told I was coming here. So, who told you?”
That was a simple question and he didn’t hesitate. “Willie G. at the diner let me know.”
“You’re kidding me!” she said. “He told you about me?”
“Absolutely. He’s an old friend, and he thought I’d like to know someone was claiming to own this place. He’s very protective of this land and his people. Just ask him about the new entertainment center.”
She brushed at her hair, the tendrils that had escaped the high ponytail lifting in the gentle breeze. “I should tell you that he asked me if I was going to sell this place, and if I decided to, to let him know so he could make an offer on it.”
That didn’t surprise him. Willie G. saw the land as the peoples’ land, not possessed by individuals. They were just the caretakers. Since he’d found out about the ranch being lost, he hadn’t spoken to Jack’s dad. But finding a woman who claimed to own it, a stranger, must have set off all sorts of warnings in Willie’s head. “And what did you tell him?”
“That I wasn’t considering selling.” He saw her look around, her gaze taking in the house and outbuildings, then skimming the distant hills. “I don’t think I would ever sell it,” she said in a near whisper.
And it was legally hers. When Maureen had confirmed that Grace Anne Evans was indeed the owner of record, Jack had known right then that his quest had changed course dramatically. She was his target. She was the one he’d have to deal with.
“So, you’re keeping the land?” he finally asked.
“So far, yes, I am,” she said without hesitation.
“But if you find you don’t want to, that this place is too isolated or too hard to handle or not your taste, you’d be selling it, wouldn’t you?”
She turned away from him again to look at the house. “I don’t see any reason for me to sell.”
It couldn’t be sentimentality over her father that was stopping her. The man had never been here as far as Jack knew, and Michaels had only owned it for a month or so. He was surprised she wasn’t put off by the parched earth and obvious neglect. But she seemed pretty determined to stay, and he didn’t know what cards to play to make sure she didn’t.
He’d have a background check run on Grace Evans first thing, to figure out where she stood in life, then go from there. “Where are you from?” he asked.
She didn’t turn back to him, but kept staring at the old adobe house. “L.A.”
He’d been in Los Angeles for college and law school, so he knew most of the areas. “What part?”
When she told him, he frowned. The area she’d named was rough, on the edge of a high crime district. Maybe the ranch looked like Shangri-La to her.
She finally turned when he didn’t speak again. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Is Herbert Carson your father or uncle or something like that?”
“Father,” he said.
“I saw his name on the deed.” She bit her lip. “What I can’t imagine is why your father let this all go.”
“Me, too,” he said in a low voice. “But he did. And your father got the benefit of his stupidity.”
That brought a look of incomprehension to her face. “What stupidity?”
“You don’t think it’s stupid to gamble away a place that’s been in your family for over a century in a poker game?”
She knew all about it. It was there on her face, along with a slight blush. His father had bet the land on a single hand of poker, and her father had won it on a single hand. “You know,” she said, a statement, not a question.
“Yes, and my father was a drunk who fell off the wagon and lost any semblance of control.” He heard the disgust in his voice and didn’t bother trying to pretend it wasn’t there. “Just like that, it’s a done deal.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed with a slight lift of her slender shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t want her sympathy. “Is your father a professional gambler?”
“Professional? I don’t know, but it’s a huge part of who he is.”
“He never wanted the land, did he?”
Her color deepened again. “He never wanted anything that held him down.”
“You wanted it, though?”
“I never knew about it until the attorney contacted me and told me he’d signed it over to me.” Her voice was not quite steady. “So, he gave it to me.” Her eyes lifted to meet his and he was taken aback by the intensity in them. “Actually, he owed it to me,” she said. “We have quite a pair of fathers, don’t we?”
He just stood there. This had gone off in a direction he’d never seen coming, and he knew that he’d hit the end right then. Until he could figure out what to do next. “I guess we do,” he admitted.
Grace motioned to the house. “I have to get my things inside.”
“Do you need help?” he offered.
“No, I don’t,” she said, then headed for the car.
“If you need to know anything about this place, just call me. I’m in the book.”
She had the trunk of the car open but stuck her head around it to look back at him. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
Jack waited a moment while she grabbed a small bag out of the trunk, then closed it. Without a glance at him, she headed for the steps and up onto the porch.
By the time he was back in the Jeep, ready to head down the driveway, he turned and saw Grace in the doorway watching him. She raised a hand in a vague wave, then disappeared inside.
In that moment, a memory flooded over him. His grandfather at that door watching three boys on their horses leaving at the end of a long summer’s day. The lift of one hand in a wave, the call out to them, “Straight home!” before he went inside and shut the door behind him.
Jack’s breath caught in his chest, and he turned from the sight of the empty doorway. His grandfather was gone, but he wouldn’t let his land be gone too. He’d find a way to get it back. He wished he hadn’t spoken to her about the poker game. That look of sadness in her eyes lingered in his mind, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He couldn’t let that stop him from doing what he had to do. And if things worked out, soon Grace could go back to L.A. with enough money to move to a better area of the city, and he’d get a huge chunk of his life back.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_cec99985-fec1-5677-948e-a53e81c000d2)
GRACE STOOD ALONE in the great room of the house, and felt close to tears. She was tired. She hadn’t slept well since Mr. Vaughn’s visit, and now she was here. She’d just never expected someone like Jack Carson to show up. He was upset about the loss of his family’s land. She understood that. Even worse that his father had been drunk and lost it in a poker game.
When she’d first arrived and seen the house, she’d felt like jumping up and down and yelling, “It’s mine, all mine!” Now all she wanted to do was cry. She hugged herself, trying to shake off this sudden depression, and quietly examined the room in front of her, taking in every detail. Heavy beams zigzagging overhead, tile floors well worn with age, rough plaster walls, and a fireplace surrounded by comfortable leather furniture. Everything fit perfectly together. Five minutes later, she’d discovered three decent size bedrooms, one empty, one used as storage for furniture and boxes, and the last containing an old iron double bed along with a sturdy dresser. White sheets and a deep turquoise blanket were folded on the bare mattress, and two pillows were stacked by the linens. The main bathroom had a pedestal sink and a claw-foot tub with a shower over it. The second bathroom was tiny, with just a small shower, sink and toilet.
Heading back to the great room, she crossed instead to the low archway that led to the kitchen. The square room was small but held an old refrigerator and stove. Counters ran along the side wall with a large sink under one of the two windows. A table with four chairs sat beneath a third window on the back wall beside a door to the outside.
She opened the first cupboard and found plates and cups and some well used pots and pans. When she tugged on the back door, her breath caught at the view, a wide swath of bare land between two stands of towering pines. Far in the distance majestic mountains rose, their sheer sides streaked with angular shadows. There were no sounds of traffic, no smell of fumes, and although dusk was close, the sky was overwhelmingly beautiful, without a single cloud in sight. The air had cooled, and she could make out the low hum of insects and the rustle of distant leaves.
This was incredible, like a dream that had somehow become real. The land, the house, the sky, the air—she felt that peace again, just as she had before Jack showed up, along with a sense of belonging. As she stood there staring at the beauty of the land, a huge weight slipped off her shoulders. She felt as if she could breathe easily for the first time in a very long while. She was sorry for the way her father had obtained this ranch, but she was going to make it something special.
She went back through the house to the front porch and sank down on the stone step. Taking out her cell phone, she tapped out her mother’s number, got her voice mail, and almost blurted, “Get out here as soon as you can. We’ve got a home and I need you and Lilly here with me!” But she stopped herself.
No, she’d wait until she could talk to her mother directly. And until then, she’d absorb as much as she could of this place. She looked up and was surprised to see someone by the stables. The man turned, and with a wave, came up the drive toward her. Raw-boned, gray-haired, with narrowed eyes in a deeply tanned face, he stopped a couple of feet away from her. Pale amber eyes remained narrowed on her, but he held out his hand.
“I’m assuming you’d be Grace Evans. The name’s Parrish. I was hired on as cleaner and caretaker, at least for now, and I apologize for not being here when you arrived.”
When she shook his hand, she could feel the calluses and the sureness in his grip. “That’s okay,” she said as she drew back.
She spotted an old pickup truck parked right where Jack’s Jeep had been sitting before. It was oxidized, maybe a green or blue, she couldn’t tell, but it almost blended in with the barn. “You got any luggage you need inside?” he asked.
“There’s one more bag in the trunk,” she said, and before she finished speaking, he was heading for the car. He popped the trunk and took out her last suitcase while she hurried to collect her purse from the car seat. “So, where are you from?” she asked as they got to the door.
With the toe of his lug-soled work boots, Parrish pushed the door open and went in before her, setting her luggage inside to the left of the door. “All over, but right now I’m bunking down in the stables,” he said, turning toward her. “If you need anything, come on down and get me.”
“I thought you might be from the town or close by.”
“No, Ma’am, just lucky enough to get paying work for a while.”
“Mr. Vaughn hired you?”
He looked confused. “No, Ma’am, a property management company over in Santa Fe. I came out yesterday early to check things out and put new locks on the doors, although, from what I’ve heard, around here locks are pretty much optional.”
She liked hearing that. “It’s safe?”
“Like I said, from what I heard.” He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at her. “I’m heading back to town to get the rest of my supplies. Anything you need me to get for you?”
She had the sandwich from Willie G.s’ till in the car, and she couldn’t even begin to think what she might need beyond that. She’d wait until tomorrow and go into town herself. “Not right now,” she said, “but thanks for asking.” Her last words were spoken to his back as he ambled off toward the stables.
Grace watched him slide back one of the doors and disappear inside. Right then, her cell phone rang in her pocket. She took it out, looked at the LCD screen and smiled. She hit the green button and put the phone to her ear as she walked back into the house. “Hello, Mom,” she said, excitement returning in a rush. “You won’t believe what’s here.”
* * *
JACK WAS UP late that night, his mind going over and over his unplanned meeting with Grace Evans. He had a feeling he’d only get one good chance to get her to agree to sell, and he didn’t want to blow it. But he needed information, and he hadn’t gotten the call with it yet.
He glanced at his bedside clock. Midnight. He reached for his cell phone and lay back in the big poster bed. After punching in a number, he stared up at the shadowy ceiling as he listened to the rings. On the fourth one, the Chief of Police answered. Jack knew John had the night shift, but he thought he’d be out driving around or sleeping in the back room. “Hey, John, it’s Jack.”
“Hey, bro, what can I do for you?”
“Did you get the information I asked for about Grace Evans?”
“I actually just got through running it. We had another demonstration out by the site of the new casino and I didn’t get back until a half hour ago. People are just crazy when they get in a group like that.”
Gage’s construction contract to build an entertainment center halfway between the main highway and town still had people upset, although they were gradually coming around. “What did you find out?” he asked, sitting up and moving to push back against the headboard.
“I’ve got it right here.” Jack heard rustling. “Okay, here goes. Grace Anne Michaels Evans is twenty-six, no college although she applied to an art school in the area, but didn’t finish the enrollment process. She got married to a Jerald Evans, had a daughter, Lilly Joy, six months after the marriage dissolved. Jerald Evans is now in Maine, remarried and some sort of big rig operator. Grace works at a diner in L.A., not a good place, and seems to have taken a temporary leave while she comes out here.
“She lives in a small rental apartment with her mother, Gabriella Michaels, and her daughter, and two weeks ago, her bank account went up to almost fifty thousand dollars thanks to one deposit. Most of it is still there.
“Never been arrested, has just a couple of traffic tickets, and, oh, I forgot, she was born in L.A., and seems to have stuck pretty close to that area most of her life.” He exhaled. “A real city girl, it looks like. Not one you’d think would be coming out here to set up camp.”
Fifty thousand dollars. Another gift from her father? A born and bred SoCal girl, and she was going to live out here.
“Hey, you still there?” John asked.
“Yeah, just thinking about what you said, about the city girl thing.” A germ of an idea was forming. “Why would she want the hard work of ranch life? No malls, no drive-thru on every corner.”
“Maybe she thinks it’ll be good for the child?”
“Yes, that could be what she’s thinking about.”
“So, what are you going to do now Michaels is out of the picture?”
“I figure Grace Evans might need a guide to show her around the land, so she can see how large it is, how much work and money it would take to keep it up, and maybe, if she’s offered enough to go back to L.A., she just might accept and leave.”
He heard John’s low chuckle over the line. “I’m thinking that your thinking might be spot on.”
“It’s all I’ve got right now,” he admitted.
“Okay, count me in if I can help.”
“Thanks,” he said and hung up.
He looked around the shadowy loft, thinking again how convenient it was to live above his law offices, then got up and crossed to the window. The town was “rolling up its streets” for the night, few people in sight, only the odd car making its way slowly down Main Street. In his opinion, there was no better place to grow up and live out your life than in Wolf Lake. He’d have to make sure he didn’t give voice to that opinion when he was around Grace Evans.
* * *
GRACE BARELY SLEPT. It was due, in part, to all the excitement after her long conversation with her mother, and in part, concern, since Parrish was sleeping in the stables. He seemed nice, but she’d locked the doors, anyway, just to be safe. After finally eating the turkey sandwich from Willie G’s, she’d soaked in the claw-foot tub, staying in the comforting water for so long, she almost fell asleep. But when she actually got to bed, she was wide awake. Her mind played and replayed the day’s events. The part with Jack Carson made her uncomfortable, so she thought instead of the first glimpse she’d had of the house. The fresh air. The clear skies and sprawling land.
By the time she felt the tug of sleep it was midnight, and she gave in to it willingly. Dreams wove in and out of her mind. So many memories. Her father, a giant in her three-year-old eyes, hugging her, rolling a ball back and forth with her, his smiles, and then he was gone. Her mother tired from working two jobs, yet having time for her, always.
The day an envelope had come with her name on it, then opening it to find it was just a flier from a kid’s store, not a letter from her father. Then high school, meeting Jerry, knowing almost from the first weeks of their marriage that she’d made a mistake, trying to make it work until he found out she was pregnant and walked out. Her first glimpse of Lilly as the nurse laid the baby in her arms, and the instant love she had felt.
So many things, both good and bad, mingling, then coming here, seeing the house, feeling that peace for a few seconds, that sense of home, and meeting Jack. Sadness touched the dream. He wanted the land. She knew that, but he couldn’t have it. She wanted it. She had to have it. He’d never realize how desperate she was. She would make a home here, a place Lilly could always come back to, always.
A noise sounded, a strange cry, and Grace woke instantly, bolting upright in the dark room. The iron bed creaked and groaned as she shifted to listen. Then she heard it again. A coyote howling. It made her shiver and she lay back down, pulling the covers up high to her chin. She stayed like that until dawn, then knew she wouldn’t sleep again. She got up, padded barefoot to the kitchen and looked through the rest of the cupboards.
Apparently Parrish had stocked some staples, even a small jar of instant coffee. She got out a mug, heated water in a saucepan and made herself a cup, then headed back to get dressed. Between sips of coffee, she dressed in khaki shorts, a loose blue shirt and her sandals, then headed for the front porch.
The air had a coolness to it, despite the heat from the day before, and she could hear the sound of birds off in the distance. The sun was inching up from the east, washing the land in cool light, and she stayed where she was for a long time, just looking and listening and making plans.
Finally she stood, took her mug into the kitchen and grabbed her camera. She needed photos to show her mother and Lilly. Going back down the step to the drive, she took several shots of the stables. Then she headed down the drive to photograph the stone pillars at the entry with the ranch name. The ground was rough, and she felt it through her sandals. Next time she’d wear running shoes.
At the road, she touched the rough letters of the sign with her fingertips. Would they keep the same name? Or would they think up one all of their own. She kind of liked that idea. A sound caught her attention, a cry, no, it wasn’t a cry. It was the soft whinny of a horse. She turned but didn’t see anything at first. Then around a curve in the road, a rider appeared on a huge, butterscotch horse. The rider, a big man with a dark Stetson on, nudged the horse into a brisk pace when he saw her.
She thought of heading back up the driveway until she realized she knew the man. Jack. He waved to her and called out, “Good morning!”
She watched him dismount and take the reins in one easy motion. The horse was massive, all muscles, and towered over her. Nervously, she kept her distance. “Good morning,” she said to Jack.
He took off the Stetson, and hooked it on the saddle horn before turning to her, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re up early.”
She raised the camera. “Taking pictures of the place.”
“I’m actually glad to meet up like this. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Please, not the land,” she thought, but just nodded. “About what?”
“Do you ride?” he asked.
“Some.”
“I was wondering if anyone was going to show you around the land, the boundaries, that sort of thing?”
She hadn’t thought about doing anything other than walking. “Not yet.”
He shrugged, the shoulders of his white shirt straining under the action. “I understand that this is your place now, and since I’ve lived on this land all my life, I thought I could take you around and answer the questions you must have.”
His offer made a great deal of sense. She knew she’d never see it all if she went on foot. “I don’t want to take you away from your work,” she said.
“No problem. It’s slow for me now, so I have time on my hands.”
“Then, I would appreciate it, but I don’t have a horse.”
“Okay, but do you have time now to take a short hike, just enough to get your bearings?”
“Sure, that sounds fine.”
He looked down at her feet. “Do you have anything more substantial than sandals?”
“Of course,” she said. “Let me go and get changed.”
They walked together up the driveway, the horse following docilely. As Parrish came out of the stables, Grace ran up to the house. She dug out her barely used white and purple running shoes and went back outside.
Jack had tied his horse to the stone pillar, which was apparently a hitching post, and put a bucket of water in front of the animal. Parrish was nowhere in sight. Jack looked up as she came toward him, the Stetson back in place, shadowing his face. She motioned to her shoes. “How are these?”
He eyed them. “They’ll do.” He looked toward the house. “Let’s go ’round back and head out that way? It’s not too rough.”
She got his meaning. “I’m used to walking,” she said, “so don’t worry about it being too rough.”
“Good to know,” he said, but she didn’t miss his slight suggestion of a smile.
She fell in step with him, skipping a bit to keep up as they went around the house. “Is your horse okay back there?”
“Gizmo? Sure, he’s a patient sort,” he said, giving her a look with his dark eyes.
Grace almost missed her step, but managed to keep up with Jack as they headed toward the massive pines. As they got closer, she noticed a worn path that cut through the stand.
Jack motioned to it. “This way,” he said.
She hurried after him into the dim light of the woods, the silence broken only by the muffled sound of their feet stepping on the spongy layers of fallen pine needles. The scent of earth and pine was pleasant as they made their way without speaking. Then the light began to get brighter through the lacing branches, and they headed up a rise that Jack took easily. At the highest point, she realized they’d changed direction somewhere along the line. They were facing directly west, she thought, the sun behind them, and she got a good idea of the way the mountains almost circled the lowlands.
She motioned to the rolling brown land slightly below them, the trees much more sparse here. “What is this?”
“A small part of the...of your ranch and some of the best grazing land this area ever saw.”
There was no trace of anything in the brown earth an animal could graze on. “But, it’s dead.”
He exhaled harshly. “Looks that way.” She thought for a moment the cryptic comment was all he was going to say. “This was the way my grandfather found it when he came down from the Rez to make a home here,” Jack said at last. “Dead. Nothing growing. But he worked all this land, building it from nothing, until it was able to support sheep and cattle and his family, all seven kids. He was known for his breeding stock, and this grazing land was the best in the area.”
His eyes never met hers, but stayed on the land sprawling out ahead of them. “What happened?” she asked.
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Mary Wilson
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The ranch should have been his… To struggling single mom and L.A. waitress Grace Evans, a ranch was a place for horses and cowboys–not a place for her and her daughter to live. Now, thanks to a shocking windfall from her estranged father, she owns one! It′s a crazy notion, but Wolf Lake could be her shot at a whole new life in New Mexico. The only question is: Can she handle it?Obviously Jack Carson, the handsome and haunted rightful heir to Wolf Lake, doesn′t think so. And he isn′t about to hand over the reins without a fight. But the more he tries to scare her off, the more intrigued she′s becoming….