No Cowboy Required (Biggest Little Love)

by Sky, JoAnn

  Nessie’s cheeks drooped, and for a moment Grace saw a glimpse of the old Nessie, her best friend, beneath the pound of makeup. The girl who’d wanted to go away, far away, to college and be a chiropractor. The girl who’d memorized bus schedules out of this place. The Incident had turned Nessie into a monster. Grace had never understood why.

  Sure, Nessie had always been jealous of the status that Grace’s cheerleading outfit and top grades gave her—and of her naturally blond highlights. But their friendship had been stronger than that, formed from the mutual dislike of Todd Groner, the kindergarten playground bully they’d pummeled one afternoon under the monkey bars when they were six years old. But when The Incident happened at the end of junior year, instead of support, Grace got ostracized. And Nessie had led the charge.

  At first Grace had thought the kids at school were simply embarrassed for her and didn’t know what to say. But once her father went off the deep end and started acting wacko, like when he’d tried to set the romance-novel section of the library on fire, kids and adults had avoided her on purpose. Noah had been the only one who’d stood by Grace.

  “How are things back at the ranch? How’s my JJ doing? Does he miss his Aunt Vana?”

  Grace’s shoulders stiffened. Push through it, Grace. This woman did not have a relationship with her stepbrother. “No, I can’t say that he’s mentioned a Vana or a Nessie.”

  Nessie gave a grating fake laugh. “Even you know my famous pineapple upside down cake is unforgettable. Why, I made it for the boys just the other night.” She cocked her head. “Though I think they might’ve liked my devil’s food pudding the week before even better.”

  Nessie was lying, she had to be. But the lilt in her voice was too triumphant. It shouldn’t have mattered whether it was true. Grace shouldn’t care, but she did. Maybe because she didn’t want Nessie anywhere near her or her ranch or her stepbrother. Heat crept up her neck and into Grace’s cheeks. The other woman’s eyes glinted “gotcha.”

  No, Grace wouldn’t let it get to her. She’d come too far and wouldn’t let some painted backwoods bully drag her down. Just like in senior year, she wouldn’t let Nessie see her cry.

  Grace rearranged the napkin on her lap. “Well, it’s nice you’ve been helping out since…since the accident.” Calm and steady, Grace. Keep your cool.

  “What a shame that was.” Nessie’s voice actually sounded sincere. “Sheila was a doll. So loving, so faithful, so caring to JJ.” Her voice turned sweeter, sickly sweet. “Have you heard from your mama lately?”

  Grace gritted her teeth. “It’s really none of your b—”

  “You’re right. But you know what is? You’re gonna break both of those boys’ hearts when you take JJ to New York.”

  Adrenaline surged through Grace’s veins and pooled in her chest. She wanted to throw Nessie a good insult, or maybe a good punch. But Nessie was right—JJ and Noah would be devastated with the situation. Not that this was any of the other woman’s business, either.

  “That’s okay.” Nessie leaned into the table, close enough to show off the clumps of mascara in her lashes. Her five-dollar perfume assaulted Grace’s nostrils. “Concentrate on JJ. Take care of your family. This time, get it right. I’ll continue taking care of Noah. We both know you were never woman enough for him.”

  A whoosh of hot air hollowed out Grace’s chest. The fuzziness of what her and Nessie’s friendship had become finally crystalized. It hadn’t been the cheerleading or Grace’s grades that Nessie had been jealous of.

  It was Noah.

  …

  Grace sat in Mr. Lincoln’s reception area, tapping her toe on the stamped concrete floor. She couldn’t get the thought out of her mind—Nessie and Noah, Nessie and Noah, Nessie and Noah.

  No. Way.

  Not that Grace cared. Noah could see whomever he wanted, no matter how superficial and moronic and utterly wrong the she-monster was for him. They deserved each other. Both gutless and unwilling to leave this little town. Both too scared to follow their dreams.

  “Mr. Lincoln will see you now.” The receptionist’s perky voice popped Grace out of her inner turmoil, and Grace walked through the open door into his office. Orange-scented pipe tobacco permeated the air, the furniture, the walls—just like at Grandpa’s house years ago. Her shoulders relaxed.

  Joe Lincoln, dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt, gray cardigan vest, and gray pants, came around his mahogany desk to meet her. His salt-and-pepper beard from seven years ago had turned pure silver to match his hair. His shoulders hunched a little more than she remembered.

  “My, my, Grace. You’re all grown up. It’s good to see you again. I wish it was under different circumstances.” He gave her a half hug, patting her back as if to comfort a small child.

  It didn’t offend her. Mr. Lincoln had been taking care of her family, and half the town, for over forty years. He was as much a permanent fixture as the wild horses.

  He motioned for her to sit, then hobbled around to the other side of his desk and retrieved his reading glasses. “There are several things we need to discuss. Let me see where I’ve put your file.” He went to the credenza under the window and shuffled piles of papers. “How are things at the ranch?”

  “Everything needs something. The barn needs a new roof, the fences need mending.” Grace sighed. “The place needs a miracle.”

  “The law of home ownership—the bigger the place, the bigger the headaches.” He chuckled. “And JJ, how is he doing?” He re-shuffled the piles. It was unusual for Mr. Lincoln to be unprepared. Perhaps it was age.

  “JJ’s okay, getting through it.”

  “I keep meaning to stop by and check on him. He’s such a nice boy. But I know he’s in good hands with you and Noah.” He stopped and looked at her, hope gleaming in his eyes.

  A seventy-year-old Cupid; just what she needed. Now she understood why he’d “forgotten” to mention that Noah had been watching over JJ and the ranch. How was he the only one in town who didn’t know Noah had dumped her at their high school graduation party?

  “Did you have a say in the caretaker for JJ until I arrived?” Grace asked.

  “Why, aren’t you and Noah getting along okay?”

  Her stomach twisted. “We, uh…” She didn’t want to talk about her and Noah. After this morning, that meant thinking about him and Nessie. But now was Grace’s chance to get answers. “Could you tell me, I mean, do you know why Noah’s taken such an interest in”—my family, JJ— “the ranch?”

  “You know that boy’s always wanted to be a farmer. He wanted real sheep, not a congregation like his father.”

  True, Noah’s heart had always been in the land. Maybe it was his preacher father’s teachings—salt of the earth and all that.

  Mr. Lincoln picked up a file and riffled through it. “Has Noah told you about his father?”

  “Nothing specific. Is he okay?”

  “As best as can be expected. It was touch and go for a while after his stroke.”

  Grace’s ears pricked up as the words slipped in. His stroke? Pastor Bob had been fine when she left. Better than fine, he was in tip-top shape, full of energy. Full of life. “What? When?” Why hadn’t Noah told her?

  Mr. Lincoln stopped shuffling and looked up, brows furrowed. “Just over two years ago. That’s when Noah put him in Hillside. The nursing facility was his only choice.” He shook his head. “About that time, Noah started helping out at your ranch. Got to be too much for your father, given his health issues. But you know all about that.”

  Grace watched Mr. Lincoln’s mouth as he continued to talk, but his words muffled, caught up in the blood whooshing in her ears. Her father’s health issues. A politically correct way of saying her father had been sucked into the deep, dark realm of depression. Again.

  She knew, deep down, that clinical depression was real and severe. She’d read her fill of the science journals years ago. But she also knew everything she’d tried had failed, until she couldn’t take it anymo
re and left. Then came Sheila.

  Grace thought Sheila had pulled him out, for good. Her father had said as much when he’d left Grace that message almost four years ago telling her he was getting married again. Either he’d lied, or he’d slipped backward after the wedding. Had JJ lived through the same horrors as Grace? The photos in the living room looked so happy, so calm. She and her father hadn’t taken pictures, not one, after Mom left.

  “After that,” Mr. Lincoln said, returning to search his file stacks, “I guess the ranch and JJ grew on Noah. I’m no psychologist, but I think maybe it gives him a purpose. Seems to me, Noah is a man who likes to take control. And he can’t do much for his own father. Ah, here it is.” He sat down and perused the file’s contents. “There’s a bit to discuss. We were rushed for time when we last spoke.”

  Mr. Lincoln had called smack in the middle of the photo shoot from Hell. Neither the weather nor the models were cooperating. Though Grace had snagged her first Versace out of it. The agency had slipped up and sent a size five, which, of course, was as big as a tent on all the models. Grace hadn’t given the attorney her full attention on the call until she’d strung together three of his words—accident; death; guardianship—and then she’d been too shocked to speak.

  “With respect to inheritance,” Mr. Lincoln said, “the list is short. Your father and Sheila didn’t have much in the way of savings. JJ does qualify for monthly social security survivor benefits as well as for his disability. My office can help you fill out the necessary paperwork. His benefit amount will be eighteen thousand per year.”

  “Eighteen?” That was great—more than great—considering she hadn’t been expecting anything. It still wouldn’t cover base tuition at the boarding school. Plus, there were uniforms and other fees, like the school’s food plan. The kid had to eat. Selling the ranch as soon as possible was still her only option.

  “The ranch,” Mr. Lincoln continued, “is the only significant asset. Like I mentioned, it was in your father’s name, and he willed it to both you and JJ equally. Of course, once your temporary guardianship paperwork is submitted, you’ll have full control.”

  “Temporary?” That was a word Grace had missed the first time around.

  “It’s nothing to worry about. Just continue working with Destiny on that. She worked miracles in terms of getting Noah set up in record time.”

  “But, then, it’s not permanent yet, my guardianship?”

  He glanced up. “You haven’t spoken with Destiny?”

  Grace shook her head.

  “You’ll need to, as soon as possible. But, no, this is just the first necessary step. Permanent guardianship takes longer and requires a judge, of course. I overnighted all the paperwork to you the day we spoke, for both temporary and permanent guardianship. Have you had time to fill any of it out?”

  Grace’s mind spun. She hadn’t received a package. Or maybe she had. What did it look like? What had she done with it? “Uh, no, not yet.”

  Mr. Lincoln took a breath. “Don’t worry. I can help you. In fact, we can do it now, and then I can send the paperwork over to Destiny’s office so she’ll have it when you two meet.”

  Grace’s throat dried. She tried to swallow and coughed instead. “The paperwork is to apply for temporary and permanent guardianship?”

  “Yes. I’ll walk you through it. It won’t take us very long.”

  “What…what happens”—she licked her desert-dry lips—“if I don’t, you know, apply?”

  Mr. Lincoln looked over his reading glasses at her. “If a permanent guardian isn’t identified, JJ would become a ward of the state and sent to a foster home. Others could apply, of course, though you’re his only living relative, as far as I can tell.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat and cut off her oxygen. Her vision blurred. She blinked, trying to focus. Of course she would apply. She had a boarding school, she had a plan, and she had no choice. But the act of accepting felt so noose-like. It was a daunting responsibility. What if she failed?

  Mr. Lincoln’s hard brown eyes contrasted his sagging pale cheeks and drilled into her with a piercing don’t-let-me-down look. She swallowed, forcing her heart back into her chest.

  “Of…of course. I…I just need a few days,” she said tightly. “It’s all so much.”

  “I understand.” He reached across his wide, wooden desk and gave her a pat on the hand, the kind reserved for people who were doing the right thing. “How about this: on your way out, I’ll have my secretary call over to the Washoe County Public Guardian’s Office and help you set up a time next week to meet with Destiny. Though she’ll probably call you to check in before that. That’ll give us time to meet again and you a few days to settle in and get to know JJ before meeting with her.”

  She nodded.

  He flipped through a few pages in the file. “In terms of the property, if you want to transfer it to you and JJ, you’ll need the bank’s approval, given the situation with back taxes and the mortgage.”

  “What do you mean, back taxes?”

  Mr. Lincoln stopped flipping the pages. “I assume you’ve spoken to Sam about things.”

  “Sam?”

  “Sam Barker, the bank manager. I believe he went to school with you and Noah.” Again, Mr. Lincoln peered at her over his reading glasses. “I gave you his number when we spoke.”

  Grace didn’t remember that part of their earlier conversation, either. But the only Sam Barker she knew had been a little weasel in high school. A guy who looked for trouble and never had a problem dragging others along for the ride. Figures he’d be in the middle of her mortgage mayhem. “I didn’t get in touch with him.”

  Mr. Lincoln arched one brow and waited for her explanation.

  “I’m not planning on keeping the ranch. I was hoping to put it up for sale.” She felt smaller than a centipede admitting her plans to Mr. Lincoln. “JJ’s portion of the money will be used for his schooling and then put in a trust, of course.” That part helped her straighten her back a bit. “And Noah even mentioned that he might be interested in buying.”

  Mr. Lincoln frowned. “I don’t doubt that he is. Everybody knows he loves that place.”

  She leaned in. “Does he know about the back taxes?”

  “No.” Mr. Lincoln took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You need to speak with Sam. My understanding is your father was significantly behind on his mortgage payments.” He looked at Grace. “Last I heard, tens of thousands of dollars, plus back taxes.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not possible. It should be paid off by now, or close to it.” Though if her father had succumbed to the dark side, there was no telling what he could’ve done with his money. She squirmed in her seat. “Doesn’t matter. Even more reason to sell it.”

  “I don’t think you can sell the ranch, dear.” Mr. Lincoln gave her a look like he was trying to explain two plus two to a petulant child. “It’s about to go into foreclosure.”

  Chapter Seven

  Grace stormed past Sam Barker’s receptionist and the plastic No Guns Allowed sign on the counter. Sam probably had a lot of good reasons to post that sign.

  “You can’t go in there, miss,” squeaked a voice behind her.

  Grace ignored the pretty, young receptionist and barged into the office.

  “What the heck, Sam. You’re foreclosing on my property?”

  A small man with slicked-back hair and a shiny suit looked up from his desk. Recognition flickered through his beady snake eyes; eyes that inched from Grace’s face to her jade blouse and stuck there until Grace crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Grace Harper.” A thin smile spread over his lips. “Please, have a seat.” He stood, all five foot two of him, suddenly looking even smaller behind his behemoth desk. He stretched his hand out, indicating the two wooden chairs in front of his desk. “I thought you were in New York,” he said innocently. “When did you get in?”

  Grace rolled her eyes. Innocent didn’t wo
rk on Sam Barker. “We both know you shop at the Stop-n-Gas.” And everyone who grew up in their little town of Washoe City came there for the gossip, not the groceries.

  He chuckled. “Yes, well, who doesn’t?” He puckered his lips into a pout. “Please, sit.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on. The ranch is mine now, and I want to sell it. Apparently”—she tilted her head—“that’s not possible in its current status.”

  Sam sat neatly in his fake-leather chair. “Your father was behind on his payments, Grace.”

  “How far behind?” She tapped her foot, hoping Mr. Lincoln had gotten the figure wrong. “I’ll catch it up. I can write a check for five thousand dollars right now.” It’d drain her super-emergency fund, but she’d replenish it once the ranch sold. “And if you give me time, I can get more.” But how? Maybe a temporary loan from Spencer—very temporary. No, she couldn’t do that. She didn’t want to be dependent on him or anyone.

  Whatever. She’d figure it out later.

  “You have a month.”

  Her foot froze mid tap.

  “We’ve already given time, Grace. Almost a year’s worth.”

  A prickly feeling spidered up her leg, her spine, her neck. She eased herself down into the chair. “A year?”

  “Your father was twenty-six thousand dollars behind on his mortgage payments. I know he was having hard times, some medical issues, and we tried to work with him, but I could only do so much. I’m sorry.” The sentiment stopped before it reached his eyes.

  She blinked, several times, but still couldn’t see anything but red. Twenty-six thousand dollars. Could she borrow against JJ’s social security benefits? Unlikely. And it wouldn’t be enough, anyway. Her stomach twisted and cramped. “Tell me, Sam, even if I could catch up on the payments and then sell the ranch, would there be any equity? Would I get anything back?”

  Sam slithered around his desk and sat in the seat next to her. He reeked of hair gel and cheap cologne. “Enough to pay off the back taxes.”