Her Right-Hand Cowboy. Marie Ferrarella
Читать онлайн книгу.
said the ranch was hers on the sole condition that she stay here and run things for six months.”
It sounded good, but it was clear that Wade had his doubts the headstrong girl he’d watched grow up would adhere to the will.
“What if she decides not to listen to that—what do you call it? A clause?” Wade asked, searching for the right term.
Mitch nodded. “A clause,” he confirmed. “If she doesn’t, then the ranch gets turned over to some charitable foundation Mr. O’Rourke was partial to.”
The furrows on Wade’s forehead were back with a vengeance. “Does that mean we’re all out of a job? ’Cause I’m too old to go looking for work with my hat in my hand.”
Mitch shook his head and laughed at the picture the other man was attempting to paint. “Too old? Hell, Wade, you’re not even fifty.”
Wade wasn’t convinced. “I’d have to pull up stakes and try to find some kind of work somewhere else, and I’m comfortable where I am.” The ranch hand’s frown deepened. “Like I said, too old.”
“Well, don’t go packing up your saddlebags just yet,” Mitch told the man he regarded as his right-hand man. “Even if the ranch does get sold down the line, whatever organization takes over is doubtlessly going to want the ranch to keep on turning a profit. But don’t worry,” Mitch assured the other man. “The old man was banking on the idea that once his daughter gets back to her roots, she’s not going to want to let this place go.”
Wade, however, wasn’t convinced—with good reason, he felt. “You weren’t here when she left. To be honest, I’m surprised the old man’s daughter came back at all.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mitch said, thinking back to his own childhood and adolescence. It had taken him time to make peace with who he was and where he had come from. Now he was proud of it, but it hadn’t always been that way. “Our past has a greater hold on us than we’d like to believe.”
But Wade was still far from swayed. And other problems occurred to him. “Even if she does wind up keeping it, she’s bound to make changes in the way the ranch is run.”
Mitch was used to Wade’s pessimism. It hadn’t been all that long ago that he had been just like Wade, seeing the world in shades of black. But then Bruce had taken him under his wing and everything had changed from that day forward.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mitch advised. “Let’s just see how her visit with the old man’s lawyer goes.”
Wade took in a deep breath, centering himself. “Okay, you’re the boss, Mitch.”
Mitch grinned. “That’s right. I am. At least for now,” he allowed, deliberately playing on the other man’s natural penchant for gloom and doom.
For Wade’s sake, as well as for the sake of all the other men who worked under him at the Double E Ranch, Mitch maintained a positive attitude. The old man had taught him that there was nothing to be gained by wallowing in negative thoughts, saying that he himself had learned that the hard way. If things went well, then being negative was just a waste. And if things didn’t go well, there was no point in hurrying things along. They’d catch up to him soon enough.
Besides, who knew? Mitch thought. Maybe coming back here would help heal whatever was broken within Ena’s soul.
“C’mon,” Mitch urged, turning toward Wade. “We’ve still got work to do.”
Forever had built up since she’d been here last, Ena thought as she drove down the town’s long Main Street. The last time she’d been here, the town’s medical clinic had been boarded up, the way it had been for close to thirty years. From what she could see by the vehicles jammed in the small parking lot, the clinic was open and doing a healthy business.
She smiled to herself at her unintentional pun.
And that was new, Ena noted as she continued to travel along Forever’s Main Street. Slowing her vehicle, she took a closer look at what appeared to be—a hotel?
Surprised, she slowed down even more as she passed a small welcoming three-story building. Yes, it was a hotel all right.
Was there actually an influx of tourists to Forever these days? Enough to warrant building and running a hotel? Was it even profitable?
Ena looked over her shoulder again as she passed the new building. She had never thought that progress would actually ever come to Forever. Obviously she had thought wrong.
The law firm where she was supposed to go to see her father’s lawyer was new, as well—as was the concept of her father actually having a will formally drafted and written up. If her father had actually wanted to put down any final instructions to be followed after his demise, she would have expected him to write them down himself by hand on the inside of some old brown paper grocery bag, its insides most likely stained and making the writing illegible.
To see a lawyer would have taken thought on his part, a process that she had a hard time crediting her father with. Anyway, to draw up a will would have been an admission of mortality, and from the bottom of her heart, she was certain that her father had honestly believed he was going to live forever.
He’d certainly conducted himself that way while she lived here.
Ena realized that she was driving past the diner. She caught herself wondering if that, too, had changed. Was Miss Joan still running the place? She couldn’t bring herself to imagine that not being the case. Miss Joan had been a fixture in Forever for as long as she could remember.
When she’d been a young girl, Ena could remember that she’d been afraid of the sharp-tongued woman. It was only as she got older that she began to appreciate the fact that everyone turned to Miss Joan for advice or support, even though, at least on the surface, Miss Joan was a no-nonsense, opinionated, blustery woman who could cut to the heart of any matter faster than anyone she’d ever met.
Ena made a mental note to stop by the diner when she finished with her father’s lawyer. She wanted to see for herself if Miss Joan was still running the place.
And, while she was at it, she wanted to ask Miss Joan why she at least hadn’t gotten in contact with her to tell her that her father was dying of cancer. Never mind that she hadn’t given the woman her address or phone number and had maintained her own silence for ten years. Miss Joan had her ways of getting in contact with people. She always had.
After pulling up in front of the neat, hospitable, small freshly painted building with its sign proclaiming Law Offices, Ena carefully parked her sports car.
As she emerged out of the vehicle, she saw a couple of vaguely familiar-looking people passing by. They were looking in her direction as they walked. By the expressions on their faces, they appeared to be trying to place her, as well.
Getting this uncomfortable bit of business over and done with was the only thing on her mind at the moment. She looked away from the duo and went up to the law office’s front door.
Ena had barely rung the bell when the door swung open. She found herself making eye contact with a tall, good-looking, blond-haired man she didn’t recognize. The man had a friendly, authoritative air about him despite his age, which she judged to be somewhere around his late thirties.
Ena dived right in. “Hello, I have an appointment with Cash Taylor,” she told the man.
Warm, friendly eyes crinkled at her as he smiled. “Yes, I know. I’m Cash—and you’re right on time,” he told her. “That isn’t as usual as you might think.” Cash opened the door all the way. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you,” Ena murmured, making her way into the small homey lobby. And then she turned toward Cash, waiting.
“My office is on the right,”