When he was done with his ride around the pasture, he returned to find the lumber truck had arrived. Perfect timing.
They’d unload the truck, and he could get to work.
He organized the lumber boards into neat piles. Noticing the time, he decided to eat lunch before getting out the power tools. Heath surveyed the area of land he’d build on. The natural beauty would make a perfect backdrop for a wedding. Instead of imagining Grace standing next to Tyler in the gazebo, he pictured Grace waiting for him in the middle of the field, surrounded by wildflowers and wearing a simple wedding dress. She would be draped in white, a symbol of purity. Could he reach out his hand to take hers without soiling it?
Who was he kidding? What type of husband would he make? The answer left him chilled. Grace deserved so much better than what he could provide.
As he walked to the bunkhouse, he noticed Grace’s car was gone. Wonder where she went? Probably running errands for the wedding. Heath kicked a stone, sending it bouncing along the dry ground. He had to keep stop thinking about her wedding. If he kept busy, his mind was less likely to wander onto subjects better left alone.
The gazebo project would take up a lot of his time. This project would be a labor of love for the woman he couldn’t have.
Chapter Fifteen
As Grace pulled her car into the senior apartment complex parking lot, she noticed three elderly women enjoying a morning stroll. Her great-grandmother had been a resident here for the past ten years. At ninety, Evelyn Murray was still energetic, always ready for a fieldtrip to the casino. Grace hoped that if she lived to be as old as her granny, she’d have half as much spunk. “Good morning,” she said to a silver-haired gentleman sitting by the entrance doors.
The man looked up from his position on a park bench and gave her a friendly smile. “Good morning, dear. Who are you visiting today?”
“Evelyn Murray. I’m her great-granddaughter, Grace.”
“Evie and I are card buddies.” His long, age-spotted hands clapped together. “We play Gin Rummy after dinner every night. She’ll be so happy you came. Her hip’s been bothering her lately. I’m Ed, by the way.”
She tucked the box under her arm and moved the paper bag to her left hand. Reaching over, she shook his hand. “Very nice to meet you. Have a good day.” Grace gave him one last smile. The automatic doors swished open, and she stepped inside.
The lobby was spacious and comfortable, with a large grouping of upholstered seating in floral fabrics. Four tall palm trees along with various plants helped bring the outdoors inside. Grace walked past the dining hall.
Inside the craft room, a group of ladies sat around a large table, working on a colorful quilt.
Down the carpeted hall was the door to her granny’s apartment. She rang the doorbell and waited.
“I’ll be right there,” Granny said from the other side.
The sound of shuffling feet drew closer, and her barely five-foot-tall granny opened the door.
“My Grace,” she said, taking her hand. “Come in. I’m so happy to see you.”
Grace bent over to give the older woman a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning.” She presented a brown paper bag. “I’ve brought two of Mom’s blueberry muffins.”
A smile brightened Granny’s already cheery face. “Yum. I told your mom a long time ago she should open a bakery.”
Grace followed her into the pint-sized kitchen. She grabbed two plates from the upper cabinet and opened the bag containing the muffins. The delicious smell of warm, sugary goodness filled the air. “I hear your hip is bothering you.”
“Oh, just a few aches and pains.” Granny poured two cups of coffee with a tremor in her hands. The carafe clinked against the ceramic mugs. More than a few drops landed on the counter. “Just part of getting old.”
Grace wiped up the spills before grabbing the coffee mugs. “I’ll take these into the living room.”
“I’ll carry the muffins.” Granny moved to the living room. She placed the muffins along with two plates on the coffee table then got seated in her recliner.
Grace sat on the sofa and filled in her granny on the latest wedding details. As they talked, Grace noticed her granny’s yellow dress blended in with the yellow floral fabric on her recliner. The plate in her hand was decorated with painted yellow roses. She made a mental note to order a yellow corsage for Granny to wear at the wedding. Grace talked about cake options, DJ services, renting tents and chairs, flowers, and dresses.
As she listened, Granny bobbed her head. “Seems like a lot of work. In my day, we didn’t have so much fuss. Your great-grandfather and I had two people in attendance. We went to the church then had a nice dinner. Everything now is too complicated.” She wagged her finger.
“You’re right.” Grace sighed. How could she explain the heavy apprehension growing in her heart? “But these days everyone expects a big show. Tyler’s parents are inviting a lot of their friends, so Mom’s worried about impressing them.”
Granny waved her hand and quietly grunted. “Who cares what those hoity-toities think? It’s your day. I say do whatever makes you happy.”
Smiling behind her mug, she took a drink of coffee. Probably time to change the subject. Granny was old-school and down to earth, and might not approve of her mother’s grand wedding plans. She lifted the old Bible lying at her side. “I found this family Bible the last time I was in the dugout on the ranch.” She extended the worn, leather book.
The old woman’s wrinkled hands ran over the leather, and then opened the front cover. The stiff spine crackled. “Ezra Burchfield.” Granny’s finger traced over the inscription. She picked up her reading glasses and put them on. “Burchfield is my maiden name. Ezra was my pa’s granddad and Kamama was his grandma. They lived in the dugout for the first year, while Ezra built the log cabin.”
“We found the Bible and some copper bracelets locked in a metal box. Why do you think they left them after they moved?” Grace asked. The story of her ancestors was growing more and more intriguing.
“For safekeeping. If there was a fire in the log cabin, everything inside would’ve been destroyed. I’m sure they kept important things stored in the dugout. As a young girl, I used to play in that dugout. I’m surprised it isn’t in ruins by now.” Her brown eyes sparkled. Silently, Granny read the words Ezra had written in the Bible.
Amazing that even with a sixty-plus year age difference, she and Grace looked so much alike. Granny’s long hair was now silver, but back in her youth it had been the same shade of black as Grace’s. Remove the wear of time, and Grace saw her own dark brown eyes. The pictures on the wall showed a young Evelyn, many included her husband. In their wedding picture, they both looked young and in love. The grainy black-and-white photo did not do justice to Evelyn’s beauty.
“Ezra wrote about a journey,” Grace said when her Granny finished. “Do you know where they came from? Kamama was a full-blooded Cherokee, and Ezra was white. At that time, how would their paths have crossed?”
“If I remember right, they moved here from Oklahoma. The Cherokee tribes often traded with the whites. Ezra could’ve met her that way.” Granny gripped the arm of the chair and gradually stood. “I remember my dad telling us stories about them. They had a rough start, starting both a family and a ranch. Those were hard times.” Granny disappeared down the hall, followed by the sounds of drawers opening and closing. Finally, she returned, carrying an old file folder. After placing it on Grace’s lap, she returned to her recliner. “Those are some old family pictures, plus a few letters and such.”
Grace opened the folder and slid out a stack of black-and-white photographs. “Since I’ve found that Bible, I want to learn more about our family’s history, especially the Cherokee portion.”
“Knowing where you come from is important.” Granny tapped over her heart. “If you start to get serious, you could visit the Cherokee History Center in Oklahoma.”
Grace looked at the pictures in her hand. Old images that chro
nicled a hundred years of her family’s past. Two images stood out. First was one of Granny as a young girl. She stood under the arch for True Horizon ranch. That little girl was a mirror image of Grace as a young child.
The second was of a beautiful, older woman in a simple dress. The photograph was faded with time. She sat stiffly in a Victorian chair, unsmiling, and her long hair hung in two thick braids.
“Is this Kamama?” Grace whispered. She couldn’t stop staring at the woman who was no doubt her ancestor. They shared the same high cheekbones, eye shape, and wide mouth. The image provided her with a strong connection to the past.
“Yes, this is Kamama.” Granny’s age-worn face softened. “My dad said it was taken about a year before she died. She’d already lost her husband. The man who took this image was a traveling photographer who’d come to town. Gave her a copy as payment for sitting for a portrait.”
After paging through the stack of pictures, Grace gently slid them into the folder. “Would you mind if I took these home and scanned them into my computer?”
“I don’t know what you mean by scan,” Granny said with a laugh, “but they’re yours to do with what you want. My gift to you.” She took an embroidered handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose. “Did you know Kamama means butterfly in Cherokee?”
“That’s what Dad calls me.” Grace smiled at the coincidence. Or maybe it wasn’t. “I should be going. I have a work project that needs my attention today. Thanks for the information, and the pictures.”
Granny walked Grace to the door. “Say hello to that handsome man of yours. I got my dress for the wedding.”
“Is it yellow?” Grace gave her a gentle hug, hiding her smile.
“How did you know?” Her eyes widened, allowing the surrounding creases to momentarily smooth.
“Lucky guess.” Grace felt incredibly blest to still have her great-grandmother in her life. With her growing uncertainty about the upcoming wedding, she needed to stay close to the people who loved her and would support her, no matter what.
****
Heath sat at the worn, rickety table in his tiny kitchen, reading over his sloppily written notes one more time. Seven million dollars—an unbelievable sum of money for someone who, until now, had his life savings stuffed in a cereal box. He’d just gotten off the phone with his deceased grandparents’ lawyers and scribbled down words like benefactor, trust, probate, and estate tax. His grandparents hadn’t tried to contact him in over twenty years, so the fact they’d willed their entire net worth to him was a shock, to say the least.
His mom’s parents never approved of their only child running off with a troubled loser—the man who’d eventually become his father. They’d finally cut her off when Heath was four years old. His father was serving a life sentence in federal prison, and his mother had become addicted to first painkillers, and finally heroin. That was a dark time in Heath’s young life. He didn’t remember much, only the feeling of being alone and unloved. Then his mother lost her battle with drug addiction, and her parents avoided her funeral.
After her death, Heath went to stay with his dad’s sister, Linda. He’d only seen his mother’s parents a few times. They were practically strangers to him. Last year, when he’d found out they’d died in an accident, Heath had felt no reaction or loss.
Come to find out his grandparents had actually cared, a little. They’d just had a funny way of showing it. Along with the will, they’d left a letter. The lawyer indicated once Heath retained a lawyer of his own, he would fax over all the paperwork, and they could get the ball rolling. Heath had no idea where to find a lawyer in Liberty Ridge.
Thankfully, he’d waited to learn about the will until his life was somewhat stable. The peace of the ranch would help him make the right decision about the money. Maybe, he could use it for good. But in the end, all the money in the world wouldn’t atone for the blood on his hands.
Bruce might recommend a good lawyer, though Heath wouldn’t share the details of why. No one, except for the lawyers, would know he was a multimillionaire. While the ghosts of war still chased him, a simple and uncomplicated life was best.
Stepping outside into the heat, he smoothed back his hair and put on his baseball cap. His scratchy beard was growing too long and bushy, even by his standards. What had started out as an act of rebellion and toughness was now hot and annoying. But shaving it totally off, that idea sent panic through his veins. Maybe give it a little trim. One step at a time.
He saw Bruce standing by the horse paddock and went over to say hello. The high-noon sun beat down unmercifully. As he walked past the door to the horse stable, he turned his head to look inside. What he saw shot a lightning bolt to the chest. For several seconds, he stopped breathing.
There stood Grace, leaning against a manure fork, looking dirty and incredibly sexy. Gone were the expensive clothes. They’d been replaced by a black tank top and faded denim overalls. Scuffed work boots covered her feet. She wore the small version of a Stetson—her dark hair pulled in one long, glorious braid. Grace must have sensed he was standing there, because she looked over and gave him a small smile.
“You’re lucky I still fit into my barn clothes,” she called, waving at him. “I haven’t worn these since high school.”
Bruce approached with heavy steps. “I can’t believe my eyes.” He wiped his forehead with a red handkerchief, and then pushed it into his back pocket. “My fancy daughter is cleaning the stable. You must have lost a bet, girl.”
“I did.” Grace sighed. “And Heath has no mercy. I forgot how horrible a warm barn can smell.”
“Well, bust my gut.” The sound of Bruce’s laughter echoed through the barn, disturbing a pair of doves nesting overhead. They cooed and flew out the door.
Heath was too busy catching his breath to say anything coherent. He stared wide-eyed and muttered something that didn’t even make sense to his own ears. Taking a step backward, he tripped on a rake lying across the ground and landed flat on his rear.
Grace dropped the pitchfork and walked over to him, while he sat like a fool on the ground.
“Are you all right?” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t have heat stroke, do you?” She reached out and grabbed his outstretched hand, pulling him up.
“Ah…no.” He refused to meet her gaze. “Wait, what did you ask?” What’s the matter with me?
Laughing, Bruce shook his head. “Heath, you mind giving me a hand with the feed delivery? I’ll give you a minute to pull yourself together. Meet me behind the white barn.”
“Sure.” Heath mentally kicked himself for losing his cool. Especially in front of Bruce. Seeing Grace dirty and sweaty had done things to his mind, and his body. He gathered the nerve to look at her again. And got hit with another jolt of attraction. “Good job in there.” He cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need any help.”
She stared, her gaze scanning up and down. “I won’t need your help, but thanks. See you around.” With a laugh, she turned and went back to work in the stable.
Heath kicked a clod of dry dirt and started toward the white barn. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a woman before. He remembered returning stateside after a long deployment in the Middle East to the sight of Western women. His reaction to Grace had been one thousand times more intense.
She belonged here, maybe not cleaning out a barn, but at the ranch. Why had she chosen to live in a big city, away from a lifestyle she clearly loved?
Heath went to give Bruce a hand with the feed, which was the least he could do after he’d literally fallen for his daughter.
The large man grabbed a bag and only carried it a few feet before it slipped from his grasp. “Darn it,” Bruce muttered.
Heath bent to pick up the bag and noticed Bruce shaking his hand and flexing his fingers. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Only a little bit of tingling in my hands every once in awhile. Nothin’ to worry about.”
As they loaded the feed bags onto the bed of
the truck, Heath kept an eye on Bruce to make sure he was really all right. “I’ve just learned I’ve been left a small inheritance by my grandparents. I need a lawyer to help with the details. Would you have a recommendation? Someone from Liberty Ridge.”
Bruce tossed the last bag into the truck. “Well, the town’s got a couple good lawyers. Mine is Milton Prescott. His partner, James Garza, is a nice guy, too. I’ll get you their office phone number later.” He motioned Heath to get into the truck.
The two men drove into the east pasture.
“An inheritance, huh.” Bruce gripped the steering wheel with one hand. His other fist rested on his lap. “That will give you a bit more freedom to decide what you want to do.”
“Yes, it will.” Heath knew the money was the key to his freedom.
“Whatever you decide, I have faith you’ll choose the right path. Sometimes, it’s unclear and may take some time to figure out. You know, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”
“Thanks, sir. I appreciate the offer.” Heath looked out the window, his gaze scanning the horizon. “For years, I didn’t believe I had a future. A life outside the Army was hard to imagine.” His heart constricted with memories of days filled with hard work and camaraderie. “At times, I thought I’d never make it back alive.”
“And now, you build a life in honor of those who didn’t.” Bruce came to a stop and got out of the truck.
Heath stepped out, and then leaned on the hood of the truck. A sharp pain spread across his chest, stealing his breath. “I lost my best friend in Afghanistan. Most days, I feel I don’t deserve to be here, alive…living my life as if nothing happened. Like I didn’t lose everything that ever meant anything.”
Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. “My ancestors had a purpose when they named this ranch True Horizon. It’s a nautical term—a true horizon is the line between heaven and earth when you take out all obstacles, like if you were on a boat, staring across the ocean.”
True Horizon Page 14
