Big-city Bachelor. Ingrid Weaver
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She had expected to be nervous, had every right to be nervous, and yet…
And yet, it was the same sky she had seen every day of her life, the same one that arched over the house on Myrtle Street. Why should she be afraid of it just because she was seeing it from a different viewpoint?
Gradually, her pulse began to steady. There was a confusing mix of emotions churning inside her. Along with the fear was something else, something unfamiliar. It was a stretching, restless kind of itch that she couldn’t identify, as if she were responding to…what? Challenge? Adventure?
Hardly. She was the least adventurous person she knew. She was Auntie Liz, good old Lizzie, always available to baby-sit the kids or whip up ten pies for the church bake sale. Until now, the most adventuresome thing she’d done had been to sneak nine items through the eight-items-or-less line.
Yet here she was on a plane. Not just any plane, but one that was taking her to New York City. Could this really be happening?
She dropped her hands, slowly leaning forward until the tip of her nose touched the glass. The land spread out beneath her like a quilt that had been washed too many times, its colors mellowed, its stitching puckered into hills and valleys. In stately slow motion, it rolled past, indifferent and unaware.
And so very, very far away.
Lizzie felt her stomach roll. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast this morning. Bad move. Considering what she was going to be facing when the plane finally landed, she should have girded herself with a five-course meal. Lord knew she could have afforded it.
She was an honest-to-goodness heiress.
Well, as much of an heiress as Packenham Junction had ever produced. It was still difficult to believe, but the lawyers assured her there’d been no mistake. Her Uncle Roland Hamill, the black sheep of the family, the man whose name hadn’t been spoken above a whisper in all her growing years, had left his entire estate to the niece he had never met.
Poor Uncle Roland. She’d been saddened to learn of his death, but it was a distant sadness, not the heart-wrenching grief she’d felt when her parents had died. She knew almost nothing about him. There hadn’t been any photographs of him in the family album, although there had been some boyhood pictures of her father that had obviously had sections torn off. What had driven him away from his home? Why had her father hated him so much?
And what on earth was she going to do with all the money?
Well, not all that much money. His lawyers had already handled the sale of Uncle Roland’s condominium and his furniture, but most of the proceeds had gone toward paying his debts.
And that was a shame. Lizzie’s stepsister, Jolene, was pregnant again, and with the sporadic nature of Tim’s work, they could use some money. Zack, her youngest stepbrother, was due to start college next fall and Benjamin, the oldest, had confessed that business at the cheese factory had been steadily declining. Despite their circumstances, though, her adoptive siblings, true to the stubborn nature of the entire Pedley clan, had been adamant about not taking any of her inheritance.
“It’s yours, Lizzie,” Jolene had said on the drive to the airport this morning. As usual, the task of family spokesperson had fallen to her. “For once in your life, you have something that’s just for you.”
“But I couldn’t possibly—”
“Yes, you can. Your uncle wanted you to have it.”
“I feel weird about it, though. I mean, why should he pass everything on to me when we didn’t even know each other?”
“Well, who else was there? He never married, never had children of his own, right?”
“Right.”
“So why are you still so hesitant? It’s a wonderful opportunity.”
“I know, but it’s all been so sudden.”
“It’s just like a fairy tale, Auntie Liz,” Marylou said breathlessly, leaning forward to grasp the top of Lizzie’s seat. She blew a pink bubble and popped it noisily against the roof of her mouth. “The good princess, struggling to make ends meet, is suddenly transformed by the wave of a magic wand and is whisked away to an enchanted kingdom.”
“I’m going to New York, not Never-Never-Land,” Lizzie said, shaking her head at the irrepressibly whimsical seven-year-old. “And working at the day care center isn’t exactly sweeping up cinders.”
“But Mom’s your stepsister,” Marylou continued, her eyes sparkling as she expanded the fantasy.
“Mmm. That’s true. Do you think we could call her evil, though?”
“She makes everyone eat broccoli.”
“That’s true, too.” She glanced at Jolene. “You evil thing, you.”
“I knew all those bedtime stories you read my kids would warp their minds,” Jolene muttered under her breath as she fought to steer the old station wagon around a bend in the road. “But getting back to our topic, we were talking about your inheritance.”
Lizzie sighed. “I still don’t know what I’ll do with it if I don’t share it with the rest of you.”
“We’ll survive just fine. It’s you we’re concerned about,” Jolene said. “After all the years you’ve devoted to taking care of other people, it’s about time you had a chance to focus on yourself.”
“Maybe you could go shopping,” Marylou said helpfully. “There’s this really cool green dress with sparkles on it that’s in the window of McBride’s.”
Lizzie smiled wryly. “I know the one. Thanks for the suggestion, but I’m not sure how well sequins would stand up to a roomful of three-year-olds with finger paints.”
“There won’t be any three-year-olds or finger paints where you’re going,” Jolene said. “And I think it would be a great idea to do some shopping while you’re away.”
“This is a business trip, remember?”
“Sure, but it’s your business you’re going to visit.”
“I don’t think that part has quite sunk in yet, either. What on earth am I going to do with fifty percent of Whitmore and Hamill?”
“Run the company, of course.”
At Jolene’s deadpan comment, Lizzie burst into laughter. “Oh, now that’s almost as good as working at the day care in sequins,” she said when she caught her breath. “Me? A business tycoon?”
Jolene didn’t join in her laughter. “Why not? You’re smart enough to do whatever you put your mind to.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, but—”
“You know it’s true. You started up your own business already, didn’t you?”
“That’s different. The day care is just organized babysitting.”
“It’s a business,” Jolene insisted. “And who has been helping Ben with his books for the past six years?”
“I always helped him with his math homework. It’s just a hobby.”
“Hah. You managed to run Dad’s farm when you were only nineteen. Why, if you hadn’t turned down that scholarship so you could stay and take care of us—”
“That’s ancient history, Jolene. The family needed me, and I don’t have any regrets. I’m perfectly happy just as I am.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Are you?”
“Of course,” she said quickly. Automatically. Because she already knew from experience how useless regrets could be. One of the most painful phrases ever spoken was if only. So she didn’t speak it.
“Do you really own a company, Auntie Liz?”
“Well,