Mary Wilson - A Father's Stake

She brushed at her hair, the tendrils that had escaped the high ponytail lifting in the gentle breeze. “I should tell you that he asked me if I was going to sell this place, and if I decided to, to let him know so he could make an offer on it.”

That didn’t surprise him. Willie G. saw the land as the peoples’ land, not possessed by individuals. They were just the caretakers. Since he’d found out about the ranch being lost, he hadn’t spoken to Jack’s dad. But finding a woman who claimed to own it, a stranger, must have set off all sorts of warnings in Willie’s head. “And what did you tell him?”

“That I wasn’t considering selling.” He saw her look around, her gaze taking in the house and outbuildings, then skimming the distant hills. “I don’t think I would ever sell it,” she said in a near whisper.

And it was legally hers. When Maureen had confirmed that Grace Anne Evans was indeed the owner of record, Jack had known right then that his quest had changed course dramatically. She was his target. She was the one he’d have to deal with.

“So, you’re keeping the land?” he finally asked.

“So far, yes, I am,” she said without hesitation.

“But if you find you don’t want to, that this place is too isolated or too hard to handle or not your taste, you’d be selling it, wouldn’t you?”

She turned away from him again to look at the house. “I don’t see any reason for me to sell.”

It couldn’t be sentimentality over her father that was stopping her. The man had never been here as far as Jack knew, and Michaels had only owned it for a month or so. He was surprised she wasn’t put off by the parched earth and obvious neglect. But she seemed pretty determined to stay, and he didn’t know what cards to play to make sure she didn’t.

He’d have a background check run on Grace Evans first thing, to figure out where she stood in life, then go from there. “Where are you from?” he asked.

She didn’t turn back to him, but kept staring at the old adobe house. “L.A.”

He’d been in Los Angeles for college and law school, so he knew most of the areas. “What part?”

When she told him, he frowned. The area she’d named was rough, on the edge of a high crime district. Maybe the ranch looked like Shangri-La to her.

She finally turned when he didn’t speak again. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Is Herbert Carson your father or uncle or something like that?”

“Father,” he said.

“I saw his name on the deed.” She bit her lip. “What I can’t imagine is why your father let this all go.”

“Me, too,” he said in a low voice. “But he did. And your father got the benefit of his stupidity.”

That brought a look of incomprehension to her face. “What stupidity?”

“You don’t think it’s stupid to gamble away a place that’s been in your family for over a century in a poker game?”

She knew all about it. It was there on her face, along with a slight blush. His father had bet the land on a single hand of poker, and her father had won it on a single hand. “You know,” she said, a statement, not a question.

“Yes, and my father was a drunk who fell off the wagon and lost any semblance of control.” He heard the disgust in his voice and didn’t bother trying to pretend it wasn’t there. “Just like that, it’s a done deal.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed with a slight lift of her slender shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t want her sympathy. “Is your father a professional gambler?”

“Professional? I don’t know, but it’s a huge part of who he is.”

“He never wanted the land, did he?”

Her color deepened again. “He never wanted anything that held him down.”

“You wanted it, though?”

“I never knew about it until the attorney contacted me and told me he’d signed it over to me.” Her voice was not quite steady. “So, he gave it to me.” Her eyes lifted to meet his and he was taken aback by the intensity in them. “Actually, he owed it to me,” she said. “We have quite a pair of fathers, don’t we?”

He just stood there. This had gone off in a direction he’d never seen coming, and he knew that he’d hit the end right then. Until he could figure out what to do next. “I guess we do,” he admitted.

Grace motioned to the house. “I have to get my things inside.”

“Do you need help?” he offered.

“No, I don’t,” she said, then headed for the car.

“If you need to know anything about this place, just call me. I’m in the book.”

She had the trunk of the car open but stuck her head around it to look back at him. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

Jack waited a moment while she grabbed a small bag out of the trunk, then closed it. Without a glance at him, she headed for the steps and up onto the porch.

By the time he was back in the Jeep, ready to head down the driveway, he turned and saw Grace in the doorway watching him. She raised a hand in a vague wave, then disappeared inside.

In that moment, a memory flooded over him. His grandfather at that door watching three boys on their horses leaving at the end of a long summer’s day. The lift of one hand in a wave, the call out to them, “Straight home!” before he went inside and shut the door behind him.

Jack’s breath caught in his chest, and he turned from the sight of the empty doorway. His grandfather was gone, but he wouldn’t let his land be gone too. He’d find a way to get it back. He wished he hadn’t spoken to her about the poker game. That look of sadness in her eyes lingered in his mind, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He couldn’t let that stop him from doing what he had to do. And if things worked out, soon Grace could go back to L.A. with enough money to move to a better area of the city, and he’d get a huge chunk of his life back.

CHAPTER FOUR

GRACE STOOD ALONE in the great room of the house, and felt close to tears. She was tired. She hadn’t slept well since Mr. Vaughn’s visit, and now she was here. She’d just never expected someone like Jack Carson to show up. He was upset about the loss of his family’s land. She understood that. Even worse that his father had been drunk and lost it in a poker game.

When she’d first arrived and seen the house, she’d felt like jumping up and down and yelling, “It’s mine, all mine!” Now all she wanted to do was cry. She hugged herself, trying to shake off this sudden depression, and quietly examined the room in front of her, taking in every detail. Heavy beams zigzagging overhead, tile floors well worn with age, rough plaster walls, and a fireplace surrounded by comfortable leather furniture. Everything fit perfectly together. Five minutes later, she’d discovered three decent size bedrooms, one empty, one used as storage for furniture and boxes, and the last containing an old iron double bed along with a sturdy dresser. White sheets and a deep turquoise blanket were folded on the bare mattress, and two pillows were stacked by the linens. The main bathroom had a pedestal sink and a claw-foot tub with a shower over it. The second bathroom was tiny, with just a small shower, sink and toilet.

Heading back to the great room, she crossed instead to the low archway that led to the kitchen. The square room was small but held an old refrigerator and stove. Counters ran along the side wall with a large sink under one of the two windows. A table with four chairs sat beneath a third window on the back wall beside a door to the outside.

She opened the first cupboard and found plates and cups and some well used pots and pans. When she tugged on the back door, her breath caught at the view, a wide swath of bare land between two stands of towering pines. Far in the distance majestic mountains rose, their sheer sides streaked with angular shadows. There were no sounds of traffic, no smell of fumes, and although dusk was close, the sky was overwhelmingly beautiful, without a single cloud in sight. The air had cooled, and she could make out the low hum of insects and the rustle of distant leaves.