Marie Ferrarella - Her Right-Hand Cowboy

“Normal people do,” Ena agreed. “But not my father. He was as set in his ways as any mountain range. To expect that mountain range to suddenly shift would be incredibly foolish.”

“So you’re turning your back on the will?” Cash concluded.

“No.” She saw that her answer surprised him, so, since he’d been the one who had attempted to talk her out of forfeiting her claim, she explained. “Because you were right about one thing. If I just metaphorically toss this back in my father’s very pale face, then he will have won the final battle and I’m not ready to let that happen. So,” she continued, taking in a deep breath, “even though it’s going to turn my whole life upside down, I’m going to stay on the Double E and work it so that I can meet those terms of his. And when I do, I’m going to sell that burdensome old homestead so fast that it’ll make your head spin, Mr. Taylor.”

Cash smiled at her. “I believe that at this point I’m beyond the head-spinning stage. Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “Miss Joan is my step-grandmother. Thanks to her, very little surprises me these days. By the way, she asked me to remind you that if you haven’t yet. She’s waiting for you to drop by to go see her.”

Ena shrugged away the reminder. “I don’t want to bother her. She’s working.”

The expression on the lawyer’s face told her that he saw right through her excuse. “You have met Miss Joan, right?”

Ena stiffened. She had no idea why he would ask her something like that. He had to know the answer was yes. “Yes, of course I have.”

“Then you know that she’s always working,” he reminded her. “I don’t think that the woman knows how not to work.”

If Ena had had any lingering doubts that Cash Taylor was actually related to Miss Joan, that put them all to rest. The man was obviously familiar with the diner owner’s stubborn streak, as well as her way of overriding any and all who opposed her no matter what that opposition was rooted in.

Ena inclined her head, conceding the point. “You’re right. I guess I’ll stop by and see her before I leave town today,” she told him, hoping that was enough to table this part of the discussion.

Nodding, Cash smiled and then extended his hand to her. “Well, welcome home, Ms. O’Rourke. I just wish this could be under better circumstances.”

“So do I, Counselor. So do I,” Ena responded with feeling. “Anything else?”

Cash shook his head. “No, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Gripping the armrests, Ena pushed herself to her feet, ready to take her leave as quickly as possible. “Then I’ll be going now. Thank you for telling me about my father’s will—and for your guidance,” she added.

Although she silently thought that she could have done without his guidance since it made her agree to put up with her father’s terms. She was, in essence, playing the game in her father’s court. Which would make her victory when it came—and it would—that much sweeter.

She just needed to remember that.

On his feet as well, Cash said with genuine feeling, “My pleasure, Ms. O’Rourke. Here, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Ena said, attempting to deflect the offer.

“I don’t know about that. Miss Joan would give me a tongue-lashing if she found out that I’d forgotten my manners. Besides, one of us needs to stretch their legs,” he added with a wink.

The “trip” to the law office’s front door was an exceedingly short one. She was standing before it in a matter of seconds. Cash managed to open it one moment earlier, holding it for her.

“And don’t forget to swing by Miss Joan’s—when you get the chance,” he added politely. “She really would love to see you.”

Ena nodded, although she sincerely doubted that Miss Joan would actually love to see anyone, especially someone who had walked away from Forever ten years ago. She knew for a fact that Miss Joan had little patience with people who felt that they needed to run away from Forever in order to either make something of themselves or, at the very least, find something more meaningful to do with their lives.

Feeling less than triumphant, Ena got into her sports car and drove the short distance to the diner.

She almost wound up driving past the diner. After listening to her father’s will being read, she really was not in the mood to politely listen to someone tell her what was best for her. Miss Joan was not exactly a shy, retiring flower. But she also knew that offending the woman was not exactly the best course of action. So, at the last minute, Ena backed up her vehicle and pulled into the small parking lot.

Because of the hour, the lot wasn’t packed.

Or maybe, Ena mused, business had slacked off. She knew that things like that did happen. She had seen it occur more than a few times during her years living in Dallas. One minute a business seemed to be thriving, even turning people away. The next, that same business was trying to figure out just what had gone wrong and why their patrons had forsaken them and were now frequenting another establishment.

But then those businesses, especially the restaurants, had a great many competitors. It was a toss-up as to which of them could come out on top and lure customers away from the others.

As far back as Ena could remember, Miss Joan had had no competition. There was only one other establishment in Forever. That was Murphy’s, owned and run by three brothers who proudly proclaimed the establishment to be a saloon. The Murphy brothers had a running agreement with Miss Joan. They didn’t serve any food—other than pretzels—in their saloon and Miss Joan didn’t serve any alcoholic beverages in her diner. That made Miss Joan’s diner the only “restaurant” in town.

So if the good citizens of Forever wanted to grab a meal during their workday, they would all need to head out to Miss Joan’s. Ena caught herself wishing that the diner were crowded now. That way, she could just pop in, officially tell Miss Joan that she was back in town, then slip quietly out. If there was any extra time, she might possibly tell the woman that she was debating temporarily sticking around in Forever, at least until such time as she met the conditions of her father’s will and could sell the ranch.

Although she doubted that was necessary. Miss Joan had a way of knowing things before anyone told her. She just intuited them. Some hinted it had something to do with a Cajun ancestor in her family tree, but Ena doubted it. There was just something about the woman that couldn’t really be pinpointed. She was just uniquely Miss Joan.

Getting out of her vehicle, Ena slowly approached the diner. She climbed up the three steps leading to the diner’s door even more slowly.

Staring at the door, Ena decided that this wasn’t one of her better ideas, at least not now. With that, she turned away from the door.

She had made it down all three steps when she heard the diner door behind her opening.

“You waiting for trumpets to herald your entrance to my diner? Or maybe I should be dropping handfuls of rose petals in your path?”

Ena would have known that voice anywhere. Stiffening her shoulders, she turned around and looked up at the small compact woman with deep hazel eyes and hair the color of not quite muted flame. Miss Joan had caught her in the act of escaping. She should have seen this coming.

“I thought you might be too busy for a visit right now,” Ena told her.

Miss Joan continued to stand there, one hand fisted on either side of her small, trim waist as she looked down at the girl she viewed as the newly returned prodigal daughter.