Having grown up in Smithville, Alex knew that Hershel owned a huge chunk of property, probably most of what he could see now, plus some up the mountain behind the house.
What will Becky do with all this?
He lifted his bottle for another long drink. Had Hershel ever mentioned what he intended to do with his land when he died? Alex couldn’t remember him saying a word about it. The old man hadn’t been one to talk about himself.
His beer was empty, so he reached for the one on the rail. “I’ll help you out, old friend,” he muttered, lifting it in a toast before taking a drink.
Hershel had been a charmer for sure. He had a special gift of drawing people out and making them feel as if they could tell him anything. He’d be sorely missed.
Alex had never admitted to anyone, not even Hershel, how he’d felt about Katie or how hard it had been to leave. He’d never told a soul that her face had haunted him at night while he lay on the freezing cold ground halfway around the world. And he’d never fully recovered from her stricken expression the day he walked away.
Birdsong echoed across the stretch of grass and leafless tree branches rustled in the breeze. The sounds of spring.
He was glad to see winter end. It had been a long cold spell since he got home, and the low temperatures had given him a good excuse to sequester himself. He’d endured enough cold; it had been nice to finally be warm. Most people thought Afghanistan was hot, being a desert and all, but it had been quite the opposite.
Banishing the thought of both the woman and the war, he collected the now-empty beer bottles and headed back across the yard. Hiking a few clicks down the road in the fresh air, would do him good, so he dropped the empties in the bed of his truck as he passed and kept walking.
* * *
Becky shrugged her oversized bag higher onto her shoulder, pressing the phone to her ear so she could unlock the door of the boutique. “I’m completely serious, Hershel left all his land to Katie and me.” The door swung open, and Becky backed into the shop, pushing the door with her ample hinny. “Yes, all of it.” She turned toward the shop, and the door banged closed. “Tara, what am I going to do with a house and a hundred acres of property?”
A voice on the other end of the line hummed as Becky plopped her bag on the counter by the cash register. “I don’t know if she’ll take it, she was in shock. I don’t think she expected Hershel to leave her anything.”
She flipped on the lights, and the boutique came to life.
“Well, I hope Katie accepts the land and moves here. She has plenty of incentive now,” Becky continued.
Bells over the door jangled as a group of women entered the shop.
Becky motioned to them. “Come on in. I’ll be right there!” Then with her voice lowered, she went on. “Tara, honey, I’ve got to go, I’ll call you later. Okay, bye-bye.” She pushed aside her necklaces, tucked her cell phone into her generous cleavage, and reached up to smooth her floppy bun with her pinky in the air.
“How can I help you ladies today?” she asked, rounding the counter.
Chapter Two
“How was the funeral?” Katherine’s coworker, Michelle, asked the next day as they sorted books from the return bin onto a rolling cart.
Lost in thought, Katherine didn’t hear the question.
“Hey, Kate,” the girl tried again, waving her hand in front of Katherine’s face.
Yanked from her thoughts, Katherine frowned. “Please, call me Katherine.”
Michelle flushed at the comment and pushed her bangs back from her face. “Okay, Katherine,” she tried again. “I know you went to a funeral -- is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Katherine rushed to say, but her demeanor said otherwise.
Michelle tipped her head to one side, and her bangs fell back across her forehead. “I don’t mean to pry, but were you close to your uncle?” she asked, brushing her hair back out of her face.
Katherine considered the girl. Why didn’t she just cut her bangs; they must drive her crazy, hanging in her eyes like that. On the other hand, she did have pretty little hands. They weren’t red and chapped like hers. And her fingers were long and thin, like a pianist. Katherine glanced down at her own hands. “He was my great uncle actually, but no, we weren’t particularly close.”
“Oh,” the girl looked confused. “I’m surprised that you’d travel so far if you weren’t—”
“I inherited a huge chunk of land and a big wad of money.”
Michelle’s mouth fell open in surprise, and Katherine was right there with her. What had possessed her to blurt out details of her private life? She looked behind her to see if anyone else had heard the outburst, but thankfully, the room was deserted.
Michelle offered a hesitant smile. “Was— were you expecting to inherit?” she asked carefully.
In the five years she’d worked with Michelle, Katherine had never offered so much as a scrap of information about herself. “No,” she said, pursing her lips.
Michelle returned her attention to sort books. Katherine joined her, and they worked in silence, both casting nervous glances toward the other. Finally, Michelle tried again. “Do you want to talk about it? The land and the— you know—”
“No,” Katherine stated, her voice firm. “But I can’t tell you how shocked I was! I didn’t even know Hershel had land or money. The attorney just handed me a letter that Hershel wrote before he died, and when I read the amount of money, well— I was blindsided, I—” She fell silent, finally noticing the fascinated horror on her co-worker’s face. “So— anyway, I’m fine,” she added, picking up a book to continue the sort.
Michelle stared at Katherine as if she’d lost her mind, then cleared her throat and picked up another book, watching Katherine from behind her bangs. The clock over the book bin ticked off the seconds, and a truck horn blared outside the front doors of the library, causing them both to jump.
“Sorry,” Katherine apologized, collecting a stack of books. Then she turned and hurried away.
Once she was out of sight behind the periodical rack, she let out a huge breath, feeling as if she’d collapse. What on earth? She must be keeping things too pent up. Why else would she blurt out her thoughts like that? Highly uncharacteristic. She adjusted the books in her arms for a better grip. “Poor Michelle…”
Truth be told, Katherine had always been jealous of the younger woman. Nothing seemed to ruin Michelle’s cheerful mood. She had a kind word for everyone and was more than willing to share her latest adventure or discuss the book she’d just finished. The pretty little thing was the complete opposite of Katherine, and the realization hurt. Had she ever been bright-eyed, youthful, and open?
Distracted, she bumped into a bookshelf, knocking her funny bone in the process. She winced and adjusted her grip on the books, then pushed the stack onto a nearby shelf.
She twisted her arm in front of her to look at her elbow. Frowning, she glanced back toward the front of the library, rubbing the red mark on her arm and arched her brow at her own behavior. Her thoughts spun at the utter madness that was now her future.
I own property. For her entire life, she and her mother, then she alone had rented a little place to live. Now, thanks to Hershel, she had a chunk of land for herself -- a place to call her own. It just didn’t fit.
She scowled down at the hardbound book in her hands. Nothing back in that town felt as if it belonged to her, no matter what some piece of paper said.
Placing the book on the shelf, she stared unseeing at the title. Maybe she should have postponed her trip home and stayed in Smithville to sort out the turn of events. Becky had certainly been stunned by the revelations in the attorney’s office. Could her cousin be feeling the same way?
Lifting another book to check the author’s name on the binding, she chuckled at the thought of rescheduling her flight. She’d spent a chunk of her hard-earned savings to buy that plane ticket, and it would never have occurred to her to waste a penny rescheduling her trip
home. Her savings were far too valuable to squander. Besides, she hadn’t missed a day of work in nearly seven years.
But now the few thousand dollars she’d managed to carefully tuck away was nothing compared to what she had coming from Hershel.
Her life didn’t make sense anymore. Years of hard work and vigilant planning were trivial; her modest paycheck, her savings, her apartment, all the things she had been confident of, secure in, maybe even proud of, were small and insignificant.
She could have changed her flights 20 times over and not noticed, considering the amount of money that was now hers.
Still, she couldn’t imagine herself being wasteful. She wasn’t one to throw around money without a thought. She liked being prudent and thrifty. What did that make her now that money wasn’t a concern? People with money were not frugal, they were penny pinchers or… stingy.
She tucked the book into its place on the shelf with a thump. Stingy fits, she thought miserably. Being stingy went perfectly with the self-imposed, dowdy-spinster label that she wore like a badge.
She surveyed the row of hardbound books on the shelf. Up to now, she’d felt as if she knew her place in life and was carefully inserted into her spot, like that book. There was an order and a system, and she knew where she belonged.
Now, she was an unknown entity, and the thought was disturbing. Where did a book belong if not on its shelf?
She wasn’t a book, of course, but she did consider herself solid and simple, ordinary and defined, unfashionable and unattractive, like the old, blue, cloth-bound book.
Was it possible for a person to up and leave the city? Simply give her landlord and her boss notice, pack up her things, and go? Just like that? For someone like herself, someone who carefully planned each and every move and then worried over every decision, leaving her home and job seemed impossible.
* * *
Alex gasped, now awake and soaked in sweat. Thankfully, he didn’t remember the dream he’d been wrenched from, but if the pounding of his heart was any indication, it was the same nightmare that had been plaguing him for months. Rarely did he make it through the night without ending up back in the Middle East.
With a groan he threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his bad leg to work out the kinks. Rubbing the jagged scar running the length of his thigh, he sucked air in through his nose, then blew it out through pursed lips. Finally, he stood and stretched his arms over his head.
What time was it? Should he just stay up?
He tossed his pillow to one side, looking for his phone. O-three-hundred he noted, turning away from the bed. It wasn’t exactly morning but close enough.
He hobbled across the dark, cluttered room, struggling to wake up his battered body. This place isn’t much of a home, he thought for the millionth time, but it was cheap. He was lucky his dad saw fit to let him stay in the tiny apartment over the garage for free. The room had been his dad’s man cave, but he’d sacrificed it to give Alex some space. He’d known his son would need a place of his own to heal.
Alex flipped on the light and blinked as his eyes adjusted. It was a squeeze of a room, but he had a bed under one eave and a little kitchen with a fridge, coffee maker, and a microwave. A tiny bathroom fit under the other eave. Compared to some of his camps, this place was luxurious. Still, he should get his act together and find a life of his own.
As the coffee perked, he rubbed the puckered scar on his leg, mostly out of habit, not necessarily because it ached. The long, jagged, red line extended from the bottom of his boxers nearly to his knee. The misshapen muscle loss around the wound was a constant reminder of the IED that had ended his buddy’s life and nearly cost him his. He’d been lucky to keep his leg.
He pulled a coffee mug from the shelf above the fridge. He had what he needed here, but he could do better.
His work as an Army Field Engineer had given him skills he could use in the civilian world, and he’d worked with his dad, Mac, on a few jobs since he’d been feeling better. His dad was an electrician who also did plumbing work, and Alex knew it wouldn’t take much for him to get his civilian certification to be an electrician. He just needed the motivation to get started. But motivation wasn’t easy to come by these days.
He could blame lack of sleep, or the pain, or a number of things, but looking for something to blame wasn’t getting him anywhere.
* * *
Winnie set the plate of finger sandwiches on the bar of her handsomely restored kitchen and pursed her lips, giving Tara the evil eye.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tara complained, shifting on her stool as she reached for a sandwich. “I’m just saying, I feel like we should call Katie.”
Isabelle banged on the high chair tray. “Cookie!” she hollered.
Winnie handed the baby a peanut butter sandwich. “Grandma will give you a cookie after you eat your lunch.”
Happy with the sandwich, the baby tucked into her lunch, smearing peanut butter across both cheeks. Tara sighed, knowing Isabelle would need a bath by the time she finished.
“I said we should leave her be, and I meant it,” Winnie said returning her attention to the baby’s mother. “Poor Katie was heartbroken when she left town. I don’t think she’ll come back. I’m surprised she came for the funeral, frankly.”
Tara pulled a piece of onion from her sandwich, then took a bite. “I don’t know,” she said around her mouthful. “I still say the land is a big draw.”
“Mind your manners; don’t pick at your food,” Winnie scolded, settling onto a stool and taking a sandwich for herself. “Katie may not know what to do with the land. Did you think of that?”
“Yes, but she has history here,” Tara refuted.
The old woman stared down at her sandwich. “She may decide to stay where she is and not disrupt her entire life. Having land isn’t everything.”
“No, it’s not,” Tara countered, “but it sure is something when you don’t have any.”
“Well, you’ve got me there.” Winnie sighed. “I just hope she comes back. She’s such a sweet girl, and we need more people like her around here.”
“I hope so too,” Tara agreed.
Chapter Three
Katherine glanced up from her book shocked to see that, according to the clock on the wall, it was nearly midnight. She pushed back from her tiny kitchen table, stood, and rubbed the small of her back as she scanned what was left of her once neat and orderly apartment. The place looked as if a tornado had swept through it. Boxes lay half packed, and stacks of assorted personal items lay in piles amongst mountains of books, dishes, and paperwork.
The sofa bed hadn’t been folded up for days, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a shower.
As soon as she’d given her notice at the library, she’d promptly ordered every book she could find about inheritance taxes, property taxes, real-estate investments, and income property. She’d pored over the books as if her life depended on it. She had a lot to learn.
Hershel had given her his land with only two stipulations. First, she must not sell any part of it for a minimum of ten years, and second, she must live on it. She supposed he didn’t want his home to fall into ruin or be subdivided. She could understand that, but it still gave her heartburn to think of living in Smithville. It was what it was, though, and if she didn’t want to abide by his terms, she could simply say “No, thank you” and the land would go to Becky.
After much deliberation and a few sleepless nights, she’d decided to accept Hershel’s unexpected gift and invest the generous amount of money he’d left her, back into the property. She didn’t want to blow through the funds, then be left broke in a few years with nothing to show for it.
Not that she knew how to blow through funds, she’d never had any to blow, but the thought was incomprehensible.
With a long, heartfelt sigh, she picked up her dirty plate and walked to the sink to stack it on the already teetering pile of dishes.
Hershel�
�s affairs had been in order, and it had been easy to obtain the property and the funds he’d left her. Fax and email had made it all a breeze. With the money in the bank and nothing but time, she’d made a pact with herself not to lose momentum. As long as she kept making progress toward a new life, she would not give up, no matter how scary it felt. She was not a quitter.
Then again, she had not wanted a new life. It had all been thrust upon her.
She could have said no, but…
She sighed, unable to refute the mess surrounding her. She’d fought an epic battle with herself, and she’d lost. She’d been so thrown by quitting her job and starting over, that at some point, she’d completely lost track of everything.
She stared gloomily at the disaster. Here she was, only a week into the process of being her own boss, and it was already necessary to have a strongly worded conversation with herself about time management.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel though. A few days back she’d landed upon an idea of what to do with Hershel’s property and money, and it was a big idea too. In the course of her research, she had read about how to build an RV park, and that idea had morphed into the far more glamorous vision of creating a vintage RV glamping park.
Oh, she’d had her doubts about the whole thing, including where on earth to even start, but once she’d found more books and YouTube videos on the topic, and of course Pinterest boards, the planning process had been intriguing and maybe even fun.
It had been frightening too, though, probably because she was overtired and hadn’t eaten, which she struggled with now that she had no set schedule.
Granted, she knew nothing about vintage camp trailers or building and running an RV park, but a puzzle was something she could appreciate. And it wouldn’t leave a heavy footprint on Hershel’s land, relieving her fears of ruining the property through her ignorance.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 99
