Rocky Mountain Marriage. Debra Lee Brown
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take after my mother’s side.”
“Well, well. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a visitor’s chair in front of his very tidy desk. Business didn’t appear to be too brisk. “You, too, Chance.”
“Oh, but…” She wasn’t about to talk about her father’s affairs with him in the room.
Grimmer read her reaction. “Oh, I apologize. I thought you two were together.”
“We are,” Chance said.
“We most certainly are not.” She refused to sit down until he left Mr. Grimmer’s office. Once that was made clear, and after he had, she got down to business.
“Now, about your father’s will…” Grimmer produced the will, and together they reviewed it. It confirmed what he’d written in his telegram to her last month, that out of her father’s original thirty thousand acres, only six thousand remained. He’d sold the rest to finance the construction of the house and set himself up in business.
During their conversation she was aware of Chance standing outside on the boardwalk, leaning up against the side of the building, pretending not to watch them. She knew better. The nerve of the man!
“Well, that’s that, then.” Grimmer handed her his bill. It was sizable. He appeared to be waiting for her to pay him. She suspected he needed the cash to pay off the gambling debt he owed Chance Wellesley.
“There was nothing in particular described in my father’s will besides the property?”
“That’s right,” Grimmer said. “And all the contents, of course, the livestock, the horses, et cetera. The transfer papers are all complete.” He produced them, and after reviewing them she signed them.
“Yes, but I had thought he might have left me something more. Something…”
The lawyer clasped his hands together on top of his desk and leaned forward in anticipation. His paternal smile faded. For a moment he reminded her chillingly of the greedy mole in a popular children’s book she read to her younger students.
“Never mind,” she said, and shook off the odd feeling.
His smile returned.
She took a moment to collect her thoughts, then rose. “Thank you, Mr. Grimmer. You’ve been most helpful.” They shook hands, and when it became apparent to him that she wasn’t going to pay him his fee, she said, “As soon as I’m done at the bank, I’ll see to it you get your payment.”
His smile broadened. “Have a fine day, Miss Fitzpatrick.”
“Goodbye.”
Chance was waiting for her outside, casually twirling the watch fob hanging from his belt, trying to appear indifferent. He didn’t fool her for a second.
“You’re still here,” she said as she breezed past him, continuing down the boardwalk toward the bank. She paused to read a handbill warning the public about a rash of counterfeit currency in circulation right here in Park County.
Chance beat her to the door of the bank and held it open for her as she entered. There were several customers in line waiting to speak with a clerk who was carefully inspecting each bill of a customer’s cash deposit.
A tall, impeccably dressed gentleman who was likely the bank’s manager appeared from an office in the back to offer help. He was fair-haired and clean-shaven, rather dashing, Dora thought.
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.” Chance removed his hat and stepped into line behind her.
She promptly turned her back on him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Wellesley.”
The portly woman in front of her reeked of lavender water and struggled to keep her noisy little dog under control. Any moment Dora was going to sneeze. She opened her reticule and fished around for her handkerchief, retrieving it just in time.
“What I mean, Miss Fitzpatrick—”
The banker looked up at the mention of her name. He had the most captivating blue eyes.
“—is that Wild Bill didn’t think much of banks. So if you’re expecting to find—”
She sneezed so violently she dropped her open reticule. Its contents spilled out across the floor.
The banker rushed out from behind the counter, scooted the woman and her dog aside, then knelt to collect her things. Chance had the same idea at the same moment. The two men butted heads in their frenzy.
“Oh, my key!” The small brass key that had accompanied her father’s letter lay at her feet.
“Allow me.” The banker snatched it up a split second before Chance could get his hands on it. He secured everything else inside her reticule, then stood. It was clear from the first that Chance Wellesley didn’t like him, which was reason enough to commend him to her.
“Your things, Miss Fitzpatrick.” He offered her the reticule and smiled. His expression darkened as he nodded at Chance. “Hello, Wellesley. Here for another loan?”
Chance glared at him, then turned his attention to the key, which the banker had not yet returned to her.
“John Gardner, at your service, miss.” He gave her a little bow, which she thought charming.
Chance muttered something rude under his breath.
Dora ignored him. “I’m glad to know you, Mr. Gardner.”
“You’re William Fitzpatrick’s daughter?”
“That’s correct.” It was so nice to hear her father called something other than Wild Bill.
“Although the bank does hold the mortgage on his property—your property now, as I understand from Mr. Grimmer—I’m very sorry to tell you that your father didn’t keep an account here.”
“Oh.” She knew her disappointment showed.
“Told you so,” Chance said.
She and Mr. Gardner moved closer, effectively shutting him out of their conversation.
“I didn’t know there was a mortgage. Is it sizable?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
Her hopes sunk.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your father had a number of creditors, and was behind on his interest payments to the bank when he died.”
“I see.” He’d mentioned none of this in his letters to her. Perhaps her mother had been right about his character after all.
“However, this is the key to his safety deposit box.” He dropped the small brass key into her gloved hand.
A safety deposit box! Of course! That explained the strange marking on the key. Each bank had a unique identifier.
“Perhaps what’s inside will solve all your problems.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Chance looked over her shoulder at the key. He was so close, she felt his warm breath on her neck and detected the faint scent of his shaving soap. It was sandalwood and rather pleasant, unlike the man himself.
“I suppose you’d like to open it right away.”
“Yes, I would,” she said, turning her attention back to the matter at hand. “I’d also like to discuss the sale of my father’s property, if you have the time.”
“I’ll make the time.” He dismissed Chance with a glower. “I’ll deal with you later, Wellesley.”
Chance ignored him and followed them into the office in the back.
She whirled on him. “What is it now?” Her irritation was not lost on Mr. Gardner.
“Would you like me to intervene?”