Charlotte Douglas - Shoulda Been A Cowboy

The entire town had been abuzz when Jeff Davidson, the resident bad boy, had returned to Pleasant Valley after a hitch in the military. With four other former Marines, he’d opened his facility for at-risk teenage boys. Not only had Archer Farm proved a success, Jeff had married Jodie and adopted her teenage daughter.

“I doubt I work half as hard as you,” Jodie said. “How’s your mother?”

“In Walhalla with Aunt Mona. And I have an unexpected guest. Please tell me you have muffins so I don’t have to go home and bake.”

“Cranberry-pecan, apple cinnamon, or blueberry-walnut?”

“All of the above. If this guy’s size is any indicator, I’m guessing his appetite is huge.”

“Businessman?” Jodie asked.

Caroline shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s just passing through on a move to Baltimore.”

“You okay there by yourself?” Concern shone in Jodie’s hazel eyes.

“There’s a dead bolt on the door to our private rooms. I’m as safe as anyone is these days. And the police department is only a block away.” She rolled her eyes. “And nosy neighbors even closer.”

Jodie opened the door of a stainless steel freezer, removed three packages of frozen muffins, dropped them into a plastic bag, and placed it on the counter. “I don’t know why you buy these from me. Your baking’s better than mine.”

“Thanks, but yours take the prize. Besides, I have so little time to myself, I hate to spend it in the kitchen.”

The bell on the front door jingled, indicating a new arrival. A tall, good-looking man with dark brown hair and matching eyes closed the door behind him.

“Hi, Rand,” Jodie greeted the newcomer. “What’s up?”

Randall Benedict rented the office suite over Jodie’s café for his law practice. Last October, he’d married Brynn Sawyer, another of Caroline’s lifelong friends, and had made a permanent move from New York to the valley.

“Hi, Jodie. Caroline, I’m glad you’re here. I stopped by your house, but your guest said you’d gone to town.”

Rand’s eyes were troubled, and thin-set lips and a tightened jaw replaced his usual rakish grin.

“Is something wrong?” Caroline’s heart stuttered. Why would the attorney seek her out? Had her mother had an accident and he’d been drafted to break the bad news? “Is it Mama?”

“As far as I know, your mother’s fine,” Rand assured her quickly, “but I have some sad news.”

The skin on the back of her neck tingled, and, in a flash of precognition, Caroline took a deep breath and waited, knowing that what Rand was about to say would change her life forever.

“It’s Eileen Bickerstaff at Blackberry Farm,” he said. “She died last night.”

In Rand’s law office above the café, Caroline fidgeted in the maroon leather chair beside his mahogany desk. The cold from the plastic bag of frozen muffins in her lap seeped through the thin fabric of her dress and chilled her thighs. She shivered with cold and grief. Eileen, despite her age, had seemed healthy and vibrant. Her death came as a shock.

“I don’t understand,” Caroline said. “What’s so urgent that you have to tell me now?”

Rand reached into the top right drawer, withdrew an envelope and slid it across the desk. “Before you open that, there’s something you need to know.”

“Poor Eileen.” Tears prickled the back of her eyelids. The elderly woman had been more than an employer. She’d been a friend and confidante, a source of unconditional acceptance and affection, more loving and maternal than her own mother. Caroline had known that Eileen was ninety-eight, but the old woman had seemed timeless, and Caroline had expected her friend to be around as long as Caroline remained in the valley. She’d never considered the possibility that Eileen would die before Caroline made her break.

“I know this is hard for you,” Rand said. “We’re all shocked by Eileen’s death. Especially Brynn. She’s the one who found her.”

Brynn had resigned as an officer with the police department when she’d married Rand last year and moved to River Walk, the house on Valley Road nearest Blackberry Farm.

“If it’s any consolation,” Rand was saying, “Eileen’s passing was peaceful. She died in her sleep with a smile on her face.”

Caroline glanced at the envelope where her name was scrawled in Eileen’s elegant but spidery script. “What is it I need to know?”

“Eileen left you a bequest.”

Caroline swallowed hard to keep from sobbing. Dear Eileen. She’d probably provided a small contribution to what she’d dubbed Caroline’s Escape Plan.

Rand’s next words took Caroline’s breath away. “She left you Blackberry Farm and all her savings.”

“What?” Caroline reeled with shock. Rand had to be mistaken. “That’s not possible.”

“I drew up the will myself last year, remember? You were there.”

“But I didn’t know its contents. I only witnessed her signature. Why would she leave everything to me?”

“Eileen told me you were like the daughter she never had. She had no living relatives, and she knew you would appreciate Blackberry Farm with its long history in the valley.”

Guilt stung Caroline as deeply as grief. As the reality of Eileen’s bequest had sunk in, her first thought had been to sell the property. The thousand-acre farm, complete with two houses in addition to the main farmhouse, would bring more than enough money to finance Caroline’s move west and buy the ranch she’d always wanted. Eileen, however, had apparently left her the place with the hope that Caroline would remain in the valley. But her friend’s expectation didn’t make sense. Eileen, more than anyone, had known Caroline’s dreams of owning a ranch out west, far away from Pleasant Valley.

“Are there conditions to the bequest?” she asked.

Rand hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly what?”

“The property and bank account are yours, free and clear. But there’s the letter Eileen left you. She must have sensed she was dying, because it’s dated yesterday. She left me a copy.”

Caroline’s gaze fell on the envelope again.

“Read it,” Rand said. “It explains everything.”

With trembling fingers and conflicting emotions, Caroline opened the envelope and withdrew the letter that Eileen must have produced on the printer that sat beside her well-used computer on her living room desk.

My dear Caroline,

If you are reading this, it means that I am gone. Don’t cry for me, child. I’ve had a long and interesting life, and your delightful friendship was one of its high points. I’m happy to leave Blackberry Farm to you. Yes, I know you’re itching to escape the valley, and eventually, if you wish to sell the property and head west, I’ve no objections. But before you go, I have two favors to ask.

I hadn’t expected to make my exit so soon and have other plans in the works that I need you to carry out for me. First is Hannah, Daniel’s little sister.

Caroline glanced from the page to Rand. “Daniel? At Archer Farm?”

The likable teenage boy had been the greatest success of Jeff Davidson’s social experiment. A good kid who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, Daniel had blossomed under the care and guidance of Jeff’s Marines. He’d become a responsible worker in Jodie’s café, made the Dean’s List at Pleasant Valley High and turned his life around. With his juvenile record sealed by the courts, Daniel was well on his way to becoming a productive citizen.

“Daniel came from a single-parent home,” Rand said. “His mother’s recent death left his nine-year-old sister alone.”

With dread settling like bricks in the pit of her stomach, Caroline turned back to Eileen’s letter.