Mary Anne Wilson - A Father's Stake

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.