by Tara Ellis
THE HEIRESS OF
COVINGTON RANCH
Samantha Wolf Mysteries
#4
TARA ELLIS
The Heiress of Covington Ranch
Copyright © 2015 Tara Ellis
Cover art design Copyright © Melchelle Designs
http://melchelle.designs.com/
Models: Breanna Dahl, Janae Dahl, Chloe Hoyle
Photographer: Tara Ellis Photography
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Samantha Wolf Mysteries
Book 1. The Mystery of Hollow Inn
Book 2. The Secret of Camp Whispering Pines
Book 3. The Beach House Mystery
Book 4. The Heiress of Covington Ranch
Book 5. The Haunting of Eagle Creek Middle School
Find these and Tara’s other titles on her author page at Amazon!
http://www.amazon.com/author/taraellis
CONTENTS
Samantha Wolf Mysteries
CONTENTS
1
FIRST DAY BLUES
2
MISS COVINGTON
3
HOME IS WHERE THE HOMEWORK IS
4
CASSY
5
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
6
ANSWERS ONLY LEAD TO MORE QUESTIONS
7
COLLABORATION
8
A PAINFUL PAST
9
FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS AND A SLEEPOVER
10
UNCLE PETE
11
COVINGTON RANCH
12
GRAMS
13
RESTORATION
14
TRESSPASSING
15
AUNT CLARA
16
A FAMILY DIVIDED
17
CHANGES
18
ORION LANDING
19
DECEPTIONS
20
BIRTHRIGHT
21
THE WEB WE WEAVE
22
A FAMILY DEFINED
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1
FIRST DAY BLUES
Sam presses her forehead against the school bus window, looking longingly at the landscape rushing by. Hidden in those trees is a trail that leads to the elementary school, the one she’s gone to for practically her whole life. Now, she’s forced to ride the bus for the first time and be carted halfway across the county to the central middle school. Not only is it a long ways from home, but it’s huge! With over six hundred students, she’ll only know a handful of them.
“You sure are quiet.”
Sam turns to look at her best friend, Ally, seated beside her. The two of them have grown up together, and become even closer this past summer. They’re different in a lot of ways, but their personalities seem to balance each other. At only twelve, they’ve tackled some pretty exciting mysteries and gotten themselves into some tight spots. Sam knows Ally is anxious about starting seventh grade, too, but she’s doing a good job of hiding it.
“Are you wearing mascara?” Sam blurts out suddenly, her thoughts of summer interrupted by the realization that her best friend is wearing make-up. For some reason, this really bothers her.
“Yeah! My mom gave it to me. How does it look?” Patting dramatically at her shoulder-length red hair, Ally bats her lashes and poses for her friend, but her smile wavers when she sees Sam’s expression. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”
Sam takes a breath before answering, evaluating her feelings. She notes the stylish outfit Ally is wearing, in comparison to her own plain jeans and faded t-shirt. Not only is Sam’s clothes budget a whole lot leaner than Ally’s, but she also prefers to be comfortable. Now, looking around at the other girls on the bus, she realizes she might have made a mistake by not taking her friends advice when laying out her outfit last night. Already feeling like she doesn’t fit in, her drab clothes and minimal lip gloss are in sharp contrast to even her closest friend. This is going to be harder than she thought.
“No,” Sam forces herself to reply, smiling encouragingly at Ally. “You look great!” Tugging at her ponytail, Sam releases her dark hair and runs her fingers through it, smoothing it out. “Maybe you can help me pick out my clothes tomorrow?” she adds, pulling self-consciously at the leather flaking off her tattered sneakers.
“Sam,” Ally says softly, realizing now how badly she was misreading her friend. Sam is always the strong, confident one. “You know I’ll do whatever you want, but I think you look great the way you are. Not many girls can wear jeans and lip gloss, and still look so pretty.”
Although she’s never heard anyone describe her as pretty, Sam bites back the first response that comes to mind. Looking up at Ally with her unusual green eyes, Sam knows that her friend is trying to make her feel better, so she just smiles instead of disagreeing. Sitting a little straighter on the uncomfortable bench seat, she focuses on being positive. “Well…maybe I’ll make my mom happy and wear the new shirt she bought me. But let’s hold off on the mascara. The world might not be ready for that, yet.”
Laughing, Ally relaxes, glad to see the old Sam. They’re both nervous about starting middle school, and she’s counting on her friend to help get them through it.
Turning back to the window, Sam notes that the passing trees are just as desperate as she is to hold onto the summer. Although it’s early September, the leaves are still a deep green, without any sign of giving up their perch on the branches.
The foliage abruptly disappears, giving way to manicured fields that surround an impressive, two-story building. Over a dozen school buses are lined up, wrapping around the property, releasing hordes of noisy kids.
Her stomach tightening, Sam takes hold of the hand that Ally offers. Once they come to a stop, they quickly join the milling crowd. Looking around anxiously, Sam tries to remember how to get to her locker. She and Ally had been dismayed at Orientation, the week before, to find out they wouldn’t be sharing a locker.
They girls reach the main entrance and hug each other before going their separate ways. Sam feels ridiculous as she fights back tears, reminding herself that she isn’t in kindergarten anymore. I’m sure that I’ll make a bunch of new friends, she tells herself. I just have to try a little harder, that’s all. But looking up at the passing, unfamiliar faces, they’re all just a blur. The hall is so crowded that she has to literally push her way through, becoming desperate to reach her destination.
Rounding a final turn, she sees a strange girl standing in front of her open locker. It must be the girl that didn’t show up last week at orientation, Sam figures, picking up her pace. Trying to remember her name, so she can call out to her to leave it open, Sam fails to reach her in time. The solemn looking teen glares in Sam’s direction before slamming the door and storming off.
Groaning, Sam fumbles with the dial for several minutes before giving up on her memory. Digging into her backpack, she finds the piece of paper with the combination printed out on it. Chewing her lip in concentration, she lines up the numbers in the proper order, and then breathes a sigh of relief when she’s rewarded with a loud click.
Af
ter stowing her jacket and two large textbooks that she won’t need until later, Sam rushes to her first period class, barely making it before the bell sounds. Fortunately, she gets to start her day with what she suspects will be her favorite subject: Art. However, after looking around at what has to be close to thirty other students, she realizes that she doesn’t know anyone. Even worse, most of the seats are taken, leaving her with the awkward task of finding a table to join. It reminds her of being alone on a crowded bus full of strangers, with no one offering a seat.
The room is arranged with six oversized workstations, each consisting of a large butcher-block style table and six tall stools. The back tables are full, so she settles on one in the front with only three other kids. They barely acknowledge her as she slips into a seat, the bell ringing at that exact moment. To Sam, it seems to be a premonition as to how the rest of her day will go.
2
MISS COVINGTON
The day drags on endlessly, without any sign of improvement. Sam knows two other girls in her second period class, English, but they have assigned seating. Of course, she ends up on the other side of the room from them. Third period, Math, is destined to be, well…math.
By the time Sam stumbles into her history class, she’s brain-dead and quite literally starving. There are so many students, that they have to break lunch up into two sessions. Much to her stomach’s dismay, Sam discovered that she is scheduled for the later lunch, which isn’t until after History.
When lunchtime finally rolls around, she’s relieved to be waiting in line for food. She holds the typical, hard-plastic lunch tray tightly against her middle, her knuckles white. Standing on her tiptoes, she desperately searches the sea of faces, failing to spot Ally anywhere.
Sam’s phone is stowed deep in a side-pocket of her backpack, turned off. Her mother gave her strict instructions to follow the school phone policy and not use it until after the final bell rings. If she violates the rules and the phone is taken away, she won’t get any sympathy from her parents. Anyway, it’s likely that Ally has first lunch, and is now seated in a classroom. If Ally’s phone is on, and Sam texts her, it will get them both in trouble.
Defeated, Sam sticks the tray out to receive the bland food, and randomly picks a vacant table to sit at. Trying to ignore the fact that her worst school related fear of having to sit alone at lunch is being fulfilled, she daydreams instead of how she plans to spend her free time this afternoon.
The half hour passes blessedly fast, and Sam is relieved when the bell sounds. Her spirits rising, she eagerly makes her way towards the physical education room. It’s the only class that she and Ally have together. Different from the PE in elementary school, this one is split between class time and playtime.
In spite of her hustle, Sam still barely makes it there on time, since the cafeteria is on the other side of the campus. Thrilled to see the unmistakable red hair of her best friend seated in the back row, she happily plops down in the vacant seat next to her. They turn to greet each other as the final bell marks the beginning of instruction.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you!” Sam gushes, nearly crying. Her built up anxiety from the day threatens to overwhelm her, but she does her best to hold it back.
“What happened?” Ally asks, concerned. It’s obvious that Sam is having a rough time. While Ally was also disappointed not to see her at lunch, it isn’t like her friend to make a big deal out of something like that.
“I guess it’s just a combination of things,” Sam confides. “I hardly know anyone. I’m barely on time to my classes, since they’re spread out all over campus, and I sat by myself at lunch.”
Taking her hand, Ally gives it a squeeze. “I know you, Sam. I’ll bet by the end of the week, you’ll be friends with just about everyone. You’ll also figure out the quickest routes between classes, and your table will be the loudest one in the whole lunchroom!”
Laughing, Sam’s mood improves almost instantly. Ally has a way of saying just what she needs to hear, and she loves her dearly for it.
“Excuse me, girls.”
Looking up quickly, a bit shocked by the scorn in the woman’s voice, Sam is dismayed to find the teacher glaring at them.
“Please, excuse me for interrupting,” the teacher begins, hands on her slim hips. “I’m sure that you’re discussing something terribly important, but I find the behavior rude.”
There are snickers from around the room, causing Sam and Ally to sink even deeper into their seats.
“Let’s see,” the teacher continues, looking at a printout of everyone in the class. Sam saw the sheets in the other classrooms. Pictures that were taken at Orientation line up next to student names. “Samantha Wolf, and Allyson Parker?”
“Sam and Ally,” Sam says, realizing immediately that correcting the teacher is a mistake. “I’m sorry,” she adds quickly. “I was just excited to finally see Ally. We don’t have any other classes together. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Tilting her head slightly, the teacher raises an eyebrow at Sam before turning away. Apparently satisfied with the apology, she begins writing out her name on a dry-erase board with a blue marker.
“My name is Miss Covington,” she announces, just in case someone failed to read it. Turning back to the class, she crosses her arms over her chest. Although she’s barely over five feet tall, she has a presence about her that demands respect. Back straight and shoulders squared, she reminds Sam of a drill sergeant. Her honey-colored hair is meticulously groomed, with a blunt cut at the shoulders, and bangs held back from her face with pins. She’s pretty, in spite of her initial, gruff manner, and doesn’t look any older than twenty-five or so.
Then she smiles.
The transformation is astounding, and Sam’s first impression is destroyed. Uncrossing her arms, the young woman takes a step towards them, and then leans back against her desk.
“The first day is always hard,” she says, looking pointedly at Sam. “But I expect this year will be enjoyable. I have some simple class rules I ask that you follow. I’m going to hand them out, along with a questionnaire so that I can get to know each of you a little bit. These need to be turned back in by tomorrow, and are worth ten points. If you can all handle that homework, then you’ll start off with an ‘A.’”
Among murmurs of relieved, happy chatter, Miss Covington asks for a volunteer to hand out the papers. Another hand shoots up in the air before Sam can respond. When the girl stands and makes her way to the front, Sam recognizes her as her long-lost locker mate.
As the volunteer walks up and down the rows of desks, Sam struggles to remember her name. She knows they went to the same elementary school for several years, but always had different teachers. The girl was shy and kept to herself on the playground. Sam remembers she was picked on by some of the other kids.
Kelly? No….that’s not it, Sam thinks, tapping her pencil. Staring at the girl, trying to jog her memory, she notices how ill-fitting her clothes are. And dirty. Well, maybe not so much dirty, as stained. In fact, it looks like her jeans have been pressed, with a noticeable crease from the iron, but are several inches too short. Her tennis shoes are broken out on the sides, the socks poking through.
“Are you done staring at me? Do I not meet your standards?”
Startled, Sam realizes that the shoes she’s gawking at are directly under her nose. Her cheeks flushing, she meets the eyes of her accuser, and the name suddenly pops into her head.
“Cassy Sanchez!” Sam says, unable to think of anything else to say.
Taken slightly aback, Cassy frowns at her. “Yeah? So you know my name. Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Slamming the papers onto Sam’s desk, Cassy tugs at a strand of hair that’s escaped her ponytail. It’s a motion that looks practiced, and Sam suspects it’s a nervous habit. While Cassy’s clothes are suspect, her long, dark hair is clean and shiny, and compliments her olive complexion.
“I’m sorry,” Sam mutters, picking up the handouts
. “It’s just that we’re assigned to the same locker. I was looking at you because I was trying to remember your name. Honest.”
Sam glances around, hoping no one else is listening to the exchange. Ally seems to be the only other person interested.
“Well, you sure are apologizing a lot today,” Cassy retorts, turning away before Sam can say anything else.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ally whispers, nudging Sam’s side. “She’s always been a bit odd. I tried talking to her last year and she totally ignored me.”
Still feeling bad, Sam decides that she’ll go out of her way to make amends with Cassy. They’re going to be sharing the same locker the whole year, so there’s bound to be plenty of opportunities.
The rest of the day goes much smoother, and Sam even has a few friends in her last two periods: Science and Social Studies.
Feeling better than she did earlier, Sam waits at her open locker for a full ten minutes, hoping she can gloss things over with Cassy. But as the crowds thin out in the hallway, it becomes clear the other girl is already gone.
Finally giving up, Sam slams the door, spins the dial to lock it, and then heads to the driveway where the bus dropped them off that morning. As she gets closer, it dawns on her how empty the halls are, and she starts to run. Pushing through the outside doors, she sees the final bus pulling around the corner, a small plume of smoke in its wake. The long driveway used for school buses is empty. Only parents in their own cars remain. She missed the bus.
Slapping a hand to her forehead, Sam swings her heavy backpack down onto the ground and finds her phone. As soon as she turns it on, it starts to ring, and she answers Ally’s call.
“Where are you?” Ally shouts, her voice barely audible over the noisy kids in the background. “I tried to get the driver to wait, but he wouldn’t!”
