Ladd Springs (Ladd Springs, Book #1)

by Venetta, Dianne

  Her mother stilled. “What was Clem doing there?”

  Working to smooth out the final bumps in her pulse, Felicity replied, “I don’t know. He said something about a meeting.”

  “A meeting?” She paused. “What does he have to meet with Ernie about?”

  Felicity relayed the conversation and her mother frowned. “You stay away from him, you hear me?”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Felicity nodded. There would be no argument on that point.

  Chapter Four

  Delaney rose early the next morning, intent on searching the spot where she had seen the men the day before. She could hear Felicity’s blow-dryer running and knew she’d be out for breakfast soon. Grabbing bread from the cabinet, she pulled out two slices and plopped them into the toaster. The poached eggs and grits were almost ready. It was a simple meal, but simple usually meant smart. At least in her neck of the woods, it did. Besides, it was the only breakfast she could get her daughter to eat anymore, so it would have to do.

  Checking her watch, Delaney mentally sketched out her day. First she had to see to the horses, make sure Sadie had enough feed for the day. The two Appaloosas and Felicity’s mare were pigs when it came to sweet hay, and they’d starve Sadie if Delaney let them. At some point she’d have to make a trip downtown to see a client, hit the post office and office supply store. She had a few customers who insisted on paper statements as a backup to her computer records, despite the fact she emailed them a copy to download on their own computer. They were the holdouts, resisting the digital age, though she suspected Mrs. Meyers requested the copies so she could prove it was Delaney cooking her books, should the need ever arise. She shook her head and turned at the toaster ding. That woman barely scratched the surface of her checkbook, let alone a deposit slip! But people were people and they came in all forms.

  If Mrs. Meyers wanted paper copies, then paper copies she’d get. Delaney’s personal service was her hallmark, garnering her two more clients this week. Which reminded her—she needed to send “thank you” notes for the referrals. Word of mouth was critical to her success, especially in a small town where lips flapped at high speed. When people talked about Delaney Wilkins, she wanted it to be positive.

  Draining the water from the pan, she rinsed the eggs in cold tap water, then quickly cracked them open into a bowl, tossing the shells into the sink. Ashley would want those for the garden.

  Felicity, dressed in T-shirt and jeans, her waves of strawberry blonde shiny and clean as they flowed about her shoulders, strolled into the kitchen just as the toast popped up in the toaster. “What timing!”

  “They call me ‘the clock.’”

  Felicity screwed her face. “Nobody calls you ‘the clock.’”

  “Well, they could.” Delaney smiled. “Time management is my middle name.”

  Felicity rolled her eyes, strolled over and plucked the bread free, her freckles brighter after the hot morning shower.

  “Here you go,” Delaney said and slid the bowl across the counter. “Two perfectly poached eggs and grits.”

  Next to her, Felicity poked one with her finger. “They’re hot.”

  “Would you rather they were cold?” Instead of waiting for an answer, Delaney shook her head and mumbled, “Tough crowd, tough crowd...”

  As Felicity salted her breakfast, Delaney retreated to her bedroom in search of her cell phone and wallet. Single bed, single dresser, a framed mirror hanging above, it was all the furniture she could fit in the tiny space and still have room for her personal items. Which were few—jeans, boots, tops, underwear, nightshirts. She didn’t need much. Hairbrush and mascara were in the bathroom, along with her favorite hoop earrings but nothing more. When she left Jack Foster, she took her daughter and a suitcase and got the hell out. He could have everything else, but he couldn’t have her and Felicity. Not after what he did. There were no second chances in her book. Strike one, you’re out. Period, exclamation point.

  In the beginning, it had been an easier transition. Felicity had been eight and the move held more adventure than sacrifice. But as she grew older, the cramped living arrangement became more noticeable, more trying. Once Felicity hit twelve, the sparks began to fly until Delaney let it slip why they were here. From then on, the girl had been a perfect angel.

  Which hurt. Felicity was young when they left and Delaney didn’t want her only memory of her father to be an ugly one, but that was his choosing, not hers. If his daughter meant anything to Jack, he would have stayed in town. Stayed in touch, at least. But Jack was a drinker and drink ruled his life.

  “Mom, I’m leaving!” Felicity called out from the living room.

  Emerging from her bedroom, Delaney was right behind her. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Felicity drove herself to school these days but still had to make the hike down to her car.

  “You’re gonna be late!” Ernie hollered from down below.

  Speak of the devil. Scrambling down the porch steps, Delaney spied the old man through the trees. He was standing by the creek.

  “I’m okay, Uncle Ernie!” Felicity called back to him. “It’s Wednesday and I don’t start class until nine-thirty.”

  Hands dug into his front pockets, he watched them through the trees as they made their way down the trail. Good grief, Delaney thought, was he looking for something to complain about?

  As if he had any clue what the high school schedule entailed. The man barely grazed his senior year before he signed on to work at the mill. Only reason he had a diploma was because his sister encouraged him. Grandma and Grandpa Ladd hadn’t been real worried about education. Just wasn’t something that seemed to concern them.

  When Delaney and Felicity made it down to the open patch of grass by the creek, he confronted them. Big eyes glared at Delaney through smudged lens. “What kind of mother are you, allowin’ her to be late to school? Don’t you know she needs a degree if she’s gonna escape your heavy eye?”

  “She’s fine,” Delaney said, suddenly glad he was here. She wanted a word with him about Clem.

  “I don’t have any classes first period,” Felicity told him, traipsing over to his side of the bridge. “It’s okay.”

  Delaney’s boots pounded over the uneven slats of wood, drowning out the gurgle of creek below. The man didn’t know a period from a comma. Which was neither here nor there at the moment. She wanted information. “Ernie, what was Clem doing here last night?”

  He glowered at her. “None of your business.”

  “It is when it involves my daughter.”

  Ernie turned a kind eye toward Felicity. “About that. I wanted to apologize for that hillbilly’s poor manners. I’m sorry he disturbed your music last night.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” he said. “That ruffian should’ve known better than to barge in like that! If he hears pretty music, he should know it doesn’t concern him.”

  Felicity giggled which drew the light of a smile into his dull gray eyes. “You’ll come back again tonight, won’t you?”

  “I will.” She pecked his cheek with a kiss, then her mother’s. “See you later!”

  Delaney watched her daughter trot off to her car, the used Honda it took three years of savings to buy and a neighbor friend to fix. Ernie didn’t help. When Delaney suggested it would make a nice eighteenth birthday present, he’d refused. She don’t need no car. I never had a car at her age. Delaney had wanted to shout, “Probably because the car wasn’t invented yet!” Ernie could have afforded to buy Felicity a new car. He could help pay for her college education. He chose to do neither.

  “I’m waiting,” Delaney reminded him.

  “For what?”

  “What business does Clem have with you?”

  “That ain’t none of your affair!” he cried, and took off for the house.

  Delaney followed him. Something was going on. It was the way Clem had been staring at Ernie on the porch yesterday that kept coming back to her. “You�
�re not sharing any private information with him, are you?”

  “I don’t report to you.” Marching as hard and fast as two scrawny legs would let him, Ernie continued his escape.

  Now she had a bad feeling. No denial wasn’t a good sign when it came to Ernie Ladd. Denial was his answer to everything he didn’t refuse flat-out. Hurrying after him, she demanded, “What have you done?”

  He stopped and turned on her. “I ain’t done nothin’ but if I do”—his pasty skin flushed crimson—“it’s my business and not yours.”

  “Clem would like nothing more than to sink his claws into you even more than he has. You already pay him too much to mow the fields. What else are you giving him?”

  Delaney leaned forward. She could hear the rasp of Ernie’s breath, see the tiny veins etched in his skin. “Clem is the only one who helps me around here,” he smacked back. “He’s the only one who does a damn thing for me. He deserves this property.”

  Alarms went off. Her pulse exploded in her chest. “What?”

  “You heard me. You can't even keep a man! Why should I trust this property to you?”

  “To Felicity. You promised mom you were leaving it to Felicity.”

  Ernie stabbed a finger toward her face. “Don’t you bring her name up to me.” Gray eyes turned dark with rage and his voice shook, “Clem should have it. He’s the only one who knows how to look after it. You girls would let it rot!”

  “You are not giving this property to Clem.” Delaney suddenly understood Clem’s presence on the porch yesterday, at the house last evening. He was digging in for the kill. He was manipulating her uncle against them with his professed duty and devotion. “He has no right to this land.”

  “If I give it to him, he does.” Ernie stomped off, leaving her dumbfounded. The soft swash of the creek came back to life, the misty chill of morning penetrated her lightweight jersey top.

  Could Ernie be serious? Clem Sweeney was a loser. His own family had recognized the fact and kicked him out! Now he lived down the street, holed up in a broken-down trailer on the side of the road, on land bordering the Sweeney-Ladd property line. It was an open wound between the two families. Ernie allowed him to stay, Clem’s father wanted him to go. But in the end Clem wasn’t worth fighting over, so there he squatted.

  Delaney headed for the stables and was at once swallowed up by trees and shade and the dense scent of wet pine. As she arrived at the old horse barn, her mood dipped further. Practically falling apart, it was the original structure, built back in the early forties. Back in the day, these stables housed more than a dozen horses, both work horses and pleasure ponies. The Ladd family had been avid horsemen, but now the tin roof was rusting, the panels bent and caving in at points. The walls, no longer brown, were gray and rotten. Iron posts, propped up on either end of the entrance, had been rigged to keep the roof from falling in. Weeds climbed up the corners. The sad sight brought Ernie’s admonition home to roost. You girls would let it rot.

  Delaney prided herself on being independent and self-reliant, but fixing this old barn was out of her realm. Nails she could hammer and floors she could sweep—and had done so often enough—but these stables needed complete overhaul. The worst part was knowing the decline meant dangerous conditions for her horses, but it was all she had. “Sadie!” she called out, brushing the negative thoughts from her mind. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now.

  The Palomino came running from behind the barn.

  Delaney rubbed the spot between Sadie’s eyes and looked around for sign of the other horses. “How ya doing? Hungry?”

  The horse made a low nicker, a rumbling sound deep within her throat.

  Through the back window, Delaney saw the Appaloosa but none of the others. “Are the boys out for a stroll?” she asked Sadie, breathing in the scent of her. Which, combined with the smell of sweet feed and damp earth and the faint aroma of manure, made up one of her favorite scents in the whole world. If she could bottle them up and take them with her, she would. Met by a gentle bump from her mare’s nose, Delaney said, “Time for feed, but not for you. I’ll mix yours when we get back.”

  Filling the bins with food, Delaney pushed back against a more forceful nudge from her mare. Sadie wasn’t giving her any room, probably wondering why she wasn’t getting hers. “Sorry, babe,” Delaney said and unhooked bridle from its spot by the open entryway. “You and I are going for a ride first.”

  The horse shook her mane, giving no resistance as the bit was slipped into her mouth. Delaney patted the mare’s wide, flat forehead, then shooed a fly from her lashes. Rustling the coarse, white mane, Delaney scratched behind one ear, then the other. Sadie’s favorite spots. The mare responded with a hearty push from her muzzle. “Good girl,” Delaney cooed with a soft laugh, then grabbing the base of Sadie’s mane, hoisted herself up and over, settling in for the trip.

  Not one for saddles, Delaney preferred to ride bare back, making her feel one with her animal. Totally in tune, she and Sadie ran free, swaying together as they galloped through fields, slowed over the trails and creeks, swam across rivers. Saddles made her feel separated, disconnected—neither of which appealed to her. With a click from her mouth, Delaney gave a rapid tug on the reins and the two were off. Today she would find out what those two men found so interesting on her property.

  When the trail opened to the field, she cantered across the soft meadow grass, her eye on the trailhead. She never saw Nick Harris pulling into the drive.

  Slowing his vehicle, he watched her go. Where was she off to in such a hurry? Keeping the books wasn’t accomplished on horseback, and according to the cashier at the diner, Delaney was due in town today. He glanced at the digital clock on his dashboard. Mid-morning workout?

  Unsettled by the sight of her riding off on her own, Nick pulled farther into the gravelly drive, parking just shy of Ernie Ladd’s home. It was time to up the offer. Easing free from the vehicle, he reached for the envelope and tossed the door closed. In the bright sunshine, the dilapidated structure looked all the worse for wear. What a shame. In its day this little cabin was probably quite the showplace. The materials used were solid, the craftsmanship evident. But even the finest built homes needed upkeep through the years.

  Nick surveyed the surrounding area, the dense line of trees behind the cabin, the wildflowers poking up here and there between tufts of grass. There was a crudely constructed wishing well, very basic, the wood rotting like everything else. He wondered if it was functional, if it ever had been, or merely there for aesthetics. This was the land of natural springs, after all. Walking toward Ernie’s cabin, he could hear the creek, see that it wound around behind the house, snaking along the line of forest that closed into full-wooded wilderness. Farther back, he saw the narrow opening for a trail. Briefly, he wondered where it led. The stables? Another cabin?

  There was plenty of room here to locate his gate house. Flat, level, he’d house the office and reservations staff here, then create a winding road back to the main hotel. From the images he’d studied, there was another clearing north of here, about four acres worth, giving him plenty of space for his project. Add the river and he had himself a wonderful al fresco dining spot. Thus far he had not been offered a tour of the property. What he did know, he’d learned from satellite images and topography maps. And word of mouth. Nick smiled to himself. One thing he’d say about small towns, they were full of helpful people doling out helpful information.

  “Hullo.” Nick swung around toward the voice. A large pear-shaped man stood on the porch peering down at him, his body covered by blue jean overalls and dingy white T-shirt. Stringy black hair hung from around a bald spot, while the shadow of a beard colored his jaw. Another friend of the family? “Can I hep ya?” the man asked politely.

  Nick cleared his throat. “I’m here to see Ernie Ladd.”

  “What are you doing back here?” Ernie stepped out the door but held the frame firmly in his hand. It wasn’t the stance of a man happy to see him
.

  “I’ve come to make you another offer.” Nick scaled the four steps effortlessly and stood face to face with Ernie and the other fellow. If you could call it that. Slightly hunched, Ernie Ladd was the size of most women, not men, and his friend was three bodies wider, but not much taller. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Ladd. But I respect that in a man. I’m here to up my offer to seven hundred and fifty thousand.” He held up the envelope.

  Ernie Ladd didn’t blink an eye. “No sale.”

  Nick didn’t even discern the slightest hesitation. “You might want to think about it a while.”

  “There’s nothin’ to think about.”

  Nick glanced at the man by Ladd’s side. Mute, he wordlessly ambled over to a rocker and gingerly lowered his heavy-set frame to the seat.

  “I ain’t sellin’ to the likes of you.”

  What did he have against him? People in town called the man ornery, but this was ornery, obstinate and unreasonable. “Do you have a better offer?”

  Ernie blinked.

  Maybe he was getting somewhere... “I’ll beat it. Whatever it is, I’ll beat it.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed and filled with venom. “I don’t need your money, fancy man.” He moved inside. “Now go on and don’t come back,” he said through the dusty screen door. Nick watched him disappear into a back room in a haze of shadow.

  Nick ran a hand through his hair, wanting to pull thick chunks of it out. The man was beginning to grate on him. He had investors breathing down his neck. He’d already been in town for a week. There were other tracts he could use, other locations that would suffice, but none of them were near as sweet as this one. Ladd Springs had a reputation for exactly that—springs. The land was said to be loaded with them and they were the perfect accent to his brand of hotels.

  Harris Hotels were noted for their exceptional settings, built into the heart of the natural surroundings, making guests feel at one with their environment. His first success had been a rustic gem in his hometown of Montana. Set against the Rocky Mountains, it was peaceful, rugged, and partially built into the stone wall of a mountainside, a natural waterfall cascading yards away into an open air rock pool. He offered spa services, exercise and yoga, the finest in local dining and personalized attention, down to his guided tours into the heart of the countryside. From there his vision had taken him to the Caribbean, Australia and South America.