Judy Duarte - A Royal Fortune

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Jensen Fortune Chesterfield.” Then he turned to her companion.

The short, elderly man with a gray buzz cut reached out a weathered hand and gave Jensen a firm handshake. “Elmer Murdock, United States Marine Corps, retired.”

Jensen glanced at Amber, who didn’t look too pleased with the newcomer’s arrival.

“You Jeanne Marie and Deke’s nephew?” Mr. Murdock asked him.

“Yes. I’m in town staying with my sister, Amelia.”

The man’s clear blue eyes traveled up and down, studying Jensen hard, but not in a threatening manner. “Those are some pretty fancy riding breeches.”

“Thank you.”

“Where’d you find them? Might get me a pair like that.”

“Actually, I purchased them at a shop in Windsor.”

“Humph. That figures. You being one of them Fortunes from England and all.” Mr. Murdock crossed his arms, gave a little nod, then rocked back and forth. “You got any relatives that fought in the RAF?”

“Yes, sir. My father was a pilot in the RAF.”

“You don’t say.” Mr. Murdock stroked his chin. “He see any action in the war?”

“Which war?”

“Any of ’em. Personally, I was too young to fight the Germans. I had to earn my stripes over in Korea. But my older brother Chester went over early and helped get you boys out of that pickle in dubya dubya two.”

Clearly, Elmer Murdock was quite the spitfire, but Jensen was used to the bravado of elderly soldiers when it came to World War II and their role in it. “Then I thank both you and your brother for your service.”

“You’re welcome. The US of A has no match on the battlefield, which some of your kin found out for themselves back during the Revolutionary War.”

“Jensen,” Mrs. Rogers said, before the men lapsed into a patriotic rivalry, “I was just about to fix lunch. I hope you’ll join us.”

Jensen glanced at Amber, who still held Mr. Murdock’s music device in her hand. A frown marred her pretty face, but he didn’t think it was because he’d been invited to stay. Instead, he had a feeling it was because her grandmother had included Mr. Murdock.

And while Jensen probably ought to gracefully decline, he remembered hearing the ingredients of the franks and tots casserole Amelia planned to make for lunch, doubling the recipe so she could freeze the leftovers. Suspecting his odds for a tasty meal would be much better here on the Broken R, he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Rogers. I’d like that.”

Besides, he’d enjoyed his tour of the ranch and had found Amber even more intriguing. The cowgirl had been so animated when she’d explained their operation, and when she’d talked about animal husbandry, it had sounded as if she had an advanced degree. He couldn’t help wanting to spend more time with her.

“I’m so happy you’ll be joining us.” Mrs. Rogers flashed a smile at her friend, then hurried into the house.

Amber walked around the front of the early model Dodge Charger, assessing the vehicle that had delivered her grandmother home from Vicker’s Corners. “Is this your car, Mr. Murdock?”

“Sure is. I’m getting this beauty ready for the classic car show me and some of the boys down at the VFW are planning to put on next fall. We’re calling it Cruisin’ Vicker’s. All the cars have to be built in 1975 or earlier.”

While Jensen didn’t think this old heap would win any competitions, he kept his opinion to himself.

“The cars don’t have to be American made,” Murdock added with a sly nod at Jensen. “So if you want to ship one of your fancy MGs or Jaguars this way, you can.”

“That’s kind of you to invite me,” Jensen said, “but I’ll be in town only for a short duration.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll stick around for a few more weeks.” The old man patted the hood of the car. “I should have the new paint job done by then, and Rod down at R and J Auto Body promised he’d order a passenger-side door, too, since I can’t get the fool thing to open.”

“Rod Rogers?” Jensen asked, letting the old man know that he was picking up on a few names and business owners in the area.

“Yup. That’s him.”

“I don’t suppose he’s any relation to Roy Rogers,” Jensen said, more to tease Amber than anything.

“Shoot, no,” Murdock said. “But he might be related to Amber and Helen.”

Jensen turned back to the cowgirl he’d likened to Dale Evans, the one who’d told him she wasn’t related to either man, and winked.

“No,” she said. “I’m not related to Rod Rogers, the car mechanic, or to the singing cowboy.”

“Well, I’d rather be related to Rod any day over that mansy pansy Roy Rogers,” Mr. Murdock said.

“Really?” Jensen asked, “What’s wrong with Roy? I like the Western films he made.”

“Westerns?” Murdock humphed. “If you wanna watch an authentic Western, you go see something by John Wayne. Now there’s a real actor. ’Course, I like him in The Green Berets on account of that’s a good war movie, and I’m a military man myself.”

Amber rolled her eyes just as her grandmother stepped onto the porch. “Elmer, can you come help me with the sweet tea?”

“’Scuse me, you two. I gotta go help sweeten Helen up.” He raised his weathered hands in a sign of surrender. “What can I say? The woman sure does love my sweet tea.”

Mr. Murdock lumbered toward the house and Amber shook her head.

When he was out of earshot, Jensen said, “I take it you’re not a fan of Mr. Murdock.”

“I like him just fine. I’ve known him all my life. He’s a funny old codger, and I usually get a kick out of being around him. But now that he’s been spending more time with Gram, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not that I don’t want my grandmother to be happy. I do. But it’s going to take a special man to take my pop’s place. And I just don’t think there’s one out there who won’t disappoint her.”

Or perhaps disappoint Amber?

In all honesty, Jensen knew just how she felt. His mother had lost her true love and soul mate when his father passed away, and he doubted she’d ever find another man to take his place.

“Besides,” Amber said, “those two are so different from each other. They have nothing in common and are complete opposites. It would never work out.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jensen asked. “I know Mr. Murdock seems a little...”

“Rough around the edges?” Amber said.

“Perhaps a bit. He’s certainly colorful.”

“Yes, and Gram is a quiet sort. She likes to stay home and bake and sew. Her idea of excitement is going to church or to an occasional movie in Vicker’s Corners. But then in walks Elmer Murdock—or should I say, ‘in charges Elmer.’ And now she’s doing all kinds of wild and crazy things.”

“Like what?”

“Going on hikes with backpacks—and just because he’d made a bet with some buddy that he could get Helen Rogers to agree to go with them.”

“And Mr. Murdock was able to talk her into it?” If that was so, then maybe the old girl had more feelings for him than Amber realized.

“Elmer told her that it was a charity event with all the proceeds going to the Wounded Warrior Project.”

“He lied to her?”

“Elmer Murdock may be a lot of things,” Amber said. “Eccentric and even annoying at times. But you’ll never meet a man more patriotic and more supportive of our troops and military. He’d never make light of something like that. The event was sponsored by the Moose Lodge. He won the bet and even turned over the five dollars to the charity, as well.”

“I’m not sure I—”

Amber slapped her hands on her hips. “My gram is seventy-five years old, Jensen. She shouldn’t be carrying backpacks and going on hikes with a bunch of military veterans as if they were picnics in the park.”