“You need to let it go, Lynn Hawkins, if you are ever going to make the most of this fresh start.”
As she finished her sentence, the sun broke through the clouds and shone down on her. It’s a sign, she thought, and smiled, a proper, true smile. “Here’s to a fresh start,” she yelled out of the window at the sun, and the trees, and to whatever else might be out there in this place she was determined to call home.
Her good mood lasted all the way to the house she was going to call home. It was a wreck.
“Don’t overreact,” she told herself. Lynn had developed quite the habit of talking to herself.
The large house and surrounding land had been left to her by her mom’s uncle, Frederick Hawkins. Not that they were close: in fact, Lynn hadn’t seen or spoken to the man she used to affectionately call Uncle Freddy for over fifteen years, not since he had fallen out with her parents. Lynn was ashamed to say that somewhere in amongst her teenage years, she’d completely forgotten about coming to Black Bear Ford during her long childhood summers. But then that was before her parents went into the hotel business and Lynn’s home became a small suite of rooms on the top floor, while her parents built up their empire.
An awful lot of Lynn’s childhood had changed the day her parents sold the family home and ended up with a mortgage so large they had no choice but to work all the hours they could. Lynn tried not to feel bitter about her lost childhood, or her lost parents. Oh, they’d been around, but never there.
School concerts, sports, you name, it, they never came to watch. The hotels were their life. A life they expected Lynn to pick up and carry on with. And she had, for the last ten years. Now a change had been offered her, and she had grabbed it with both hands. She had her own ideas for a business, one that did not involve other people living in her house.
Now here she was, standing outside an old house, with a few hazy memories of what it had been like when she was younger, and the house had been cared for. It appeared that as Uncle Freddy had grown old, the house had grown old with him. Now he was gone.
“I can put it back together.” However, as she took in the enormous amount of work needed to get the house habitable, she was beginning to think her parents might have been right when they advised her to sell. Was she simply being pigheaded? Going against their wishes for the sake of it, in some way trying to make them pay for what she felt was lacking from her life?
Yet this was her dream, to farm alpacas and make wool from their fleeces. She’d made a business plan, and she knew it would work. It was time to give herself a chance. To believe in herself, and let her dreams unfurl and grow, like a small seed planted in the spring, which, given the right nurturing, could blossom into a beautiful flower. There was something inspiring about the surrounding hills, and trees, which had stood and endured time, and weather. She needed to absorb some of that endurance, and take one small step after another until her dream was real.
Standing in the courtyard, and looking around, she shook off her worries and felt a small surge of inspiration, way down in the pit of her stomach. This was the right thing to do; she had made the right decision to take the house on, despite the more than generous offer she had received to sell. It had been a good offer, and her parents had begged her to take it and invest the cash in something certain, like their business. She could buy in, have a share of the business, and be a sure-fire success.
“This is a sure-fire success. I just have to work at it.” Lynn stood up straight, and breathed in the warm, heavy late afternoon air. This was her fresh start, and no one, not even herself, was going to take it away from her. This was the first time she had stepped out of her parents’ shadow, and it felt good, real good.
Free.
Lynn closed her eyes and immersed herself in that feeling. Relishing the word on her tongue. “Free.”
She opened her arms wide, turning around and around, lifting her face to the last rays of sun before it sank below the hills.
“Free,” she yelled at the top of her voice.
A smile spread across her face, one that she couldn’t rid herself of if she tried. This was a new sensation. Excitement, anticipation, and a need to prove to herself she could put the past behind her, and move on.
Going back to her car, she grabbed the box of groceries off the back seat, and walked across the courtyard—her courtyard—and balancing the box on one knee, she dug in her pocket for the front door key, and pushed it into the lock. Turning it, she opened the door, with some difficulty: its dilapidated state meant moisture had gotten in and swelled the wood, a good sand-down and a new coat of paint would make it as good as new. She shoved it hard and the door scraped along the floor, but it felt somehow ceremonious, as if she was opening the door into her new life, and her new home.
Inside was about what she expected. The agent who dealt with the transfer of the house into her name had come and inspected the property, and sent her photographs. He, along with her parents, had encouraged Lynn to sell. What does a woman like her want with living out in the sticks like this?
What her parents meant was, how would she cope, she wasn’t strong enough. They expected her to be back home within the month. More like wanted her home. They had pinned their hopes on their only daughter taking over the business. Afraid to let them down, Lynn had gone along with it, until Uncle Freddy died, and gave her the nudge to stand on her own two feet, and stand up for what she wanted, what she knew would make her happy.
“I am going to be happy here,” she said to the empty house. Standing in the hallway, it was as if the house was listening to her, waiting for her to make the first move. Waiting to be brought back to life.
Lynn stood in the hallway, assessing what needed to be done first. The whole house would need rewiring; the agent had put that in his report. When she had read the report, Lynn wondered if he had been exaggerating. He hadn’t, even to Lynn’s untrained eye, she could see the appalling state of the wiring. She’d hoped it might have been safe to use until she got the work done, but an exposed wire next to the light switch in the hall told her it wasn’t worth the risk. Not unless she wanted the insurance money after the place had burned down to the ground from an electrical fire.
Tomorrow she would call in a couple of electricians for quotes. Until then, she would make do with the solar-powered lantern she had brought with her to give her light. There was nothing else she needed electricity for in the short term. The agent listed a wood-fueled stove in his report, and that would have to do for cooking and heating until she had the renovations completed. Luckily, it was summer; she could eat cold food for a couple of weeks if she had to.
The worst thing was the lack of a fridge, but the house had a cool pantry, from what she remembered. Uncle Freddy used to pull a pitcher of lemonade from it on hot summer days, and it always amazed Lynn how cold the drink was. She used to think he could perform magic. How could a room stay so cool, when outside the flowers were wilting in the heat?
Walking along the hallway, the layout of the house came back to her; it had been a long time since she had visited the house. Opening the dining room door, she saw a single bed pushed against the wall. This was where Uncle Freddy must have slept when he was too ill to get up the stairs. A pang of guilt hit her. Was it right for her to inherit the ranch, when she hadn’t been here when he needed care?
The old man hadn’t contacted Lynn’s mom when he was ill, so he’d died here alone. There were no other living relatives. Uncle Freddy had no wife, no living siblings, only a niece who never spoke to him.
“Too late now,” she said, and vowed to hold on to the house, to keep it in the family, just as he had wished in the letter he’d left with his will. The letter that was the reason she hadn’t followed the good advice of her parents, and the agent, the reason she hadn’t taken the generous offer from Mr. Williams, the rancher who owned the next farm over.
Lynn closed the door on her guilt, and walked along the hallway to the next door. Opening it revealed a sitting room
. It was spacious, with good light, but in need of stripping and redecorating. Lynn was certain that was going to be true for every room. However, she was going to have to be patient a little longer before she began any work.
“You have to get some contractors in first. Strip it all back before you put in the new.” She’d reached the kitchen and reached for the faucet that hung over the old sink, at a peculiar angle. Carefully, afraid it would come off in her hand, she turned the faucet, grateful she had brought bottled water with her, although the agent had assured her the water was clean, fed from an underground spring.
After a lot of spluttering, and gurgling, in which Lynn found herself taking one, and then two steps back, anticipating that a jet of water was about to erupt like a geyser and flood the kitchen, the water settled down into a hard jet.
“That is some water pressure,” she said, and made a mental note to find the shut-off for the water before she went to bed. “Always be prepared.”
Placing her box of groceries on the wooden countertop, which appeared to be solid, she took the brand-new kettle out, and placed it on the old stove. It looked so out of place, just like Lynn, but soon they would settle in and look as if they belonged. The house would be cleaner, and updated, and Lynn and the kettle would look more worn, as if they earned their place here. She couldn’t wait.
“Tea,” she announced. “To celebrate.”
Fetching some wood from the pile outside the door, Lynn lit the stove, and stood, leaning back on the counter, arms folded, making a mental list of where she would start.
By the time the tea was made, there was a notepad out on the counter, with a long list of what she had to buy, and contractors she had to call. Then she explored the house, making more lists, a sense of accomplishment washing over her. The house would be wonderful when it was finished; it awakened a creative side in her that her parents’ business had quashed.
Now it was alive, with color wheels circling her head, and mingling with textures, and fabrics, until as she walked, she could picture each room, totally renovated and filled with color and fresh air. The faded wallpaper, peeling paint, and sense of neglect would be chased away. The house would have a new life.
So, too, would Lynn Hawkins. They would both be reborn. Not quite a phoenix from the ashes, but that didn’t matter.
Chapter Two – Adam
“I saw a car parked outside the old Hawkins place,” Jon said, as he came into the study where Adam Williams and his father were poring over the accounts and checking the price of beef at the last cattle auction. It was part of everyday life at the Williams Homestead.
OK, so it was all of Adam’s life. He shook his head. He was becoming more like his father every day. Married to the ranch, when he wanted to be married to a smart, curvy woman who could warm up his bed, and converse in a language other than ranch.
“You need to get over there,” Adam’s father, Russell, said immediately, taking his glasses off, and placing them down on his desk. The hard stare that followed contained just enough guilt to make Adam feel personally responsible for them not securing the Hawkins Ranch when the old man died. His father seemed to forget, it had never come up for sale; that the ranch and the surrounding land his father wanted hadn’t slipped through their fingers, because it had never been in their hands.
It was in the hands of Frederick Hawkins’ great-niece, and to Adam’s traitorous mind, that was where it belonged. Despite the fact she’d not been up to see the old man for several years, as far as he could recall. Not that he recalled much about her at all. He’d seen her once or twice, from a distance, when she was around thirteen or fourteen, but she’d seemed kind of aloof, a city girl, and he had no time for city girls when his heart lay here in the lush grasslands of Black Bear Ford, on the fringes of the Mistletoe Mountains.
“Dad, let her settle in before you begin hounding her,” Adam said.
“Hounding her? That parcel of land around Hawkins Ranch should be part of the Williams Homestead. You know that. I know that. And that city slicker should know that.”
“Dad, that is an old grudge your father had with old man Hawkins. Let it go,” Jon said, always the voice of calm and reason, while Adam had a somewhat fiery relationship with his father.
Maybe it had to do with being sandwiched between three brothers. As one of the middle children, Adam always figured he lived in a kind of no-man’s land, neither the baby of the family nor saddled with the responsibility of being heir to the ranch. At least, not until his older brother Jordan had joined the army, leaving the family ranch in the hands of Adam, Samuel, and Jon.
It was always assumed Jordan would come back one day and take up running of the ranch; it was what he’d been groomed for. Fate, however, had stepped in, and a helicopter accident had left Jordan unable to walk. Thinking he was doing the right thing, because in his words, what use was he to the ranch when he would never sit astride a horse again, he’d told his father it was best if Adam was the new heir.
Now, Adam wasn’t worried about the responsibility, but he sure did feel guilty at being boosted to the front of the inheritance line. His guilt at being the new heir wasn’t aimed directly toward Jordan, who had made a choice to give up his stake in the Williams Homestead. No, the guilt was aimed elsewhere, because Adam figured that since his two younger brothers, Jon and Samuel, had put just as much work into the ranch, as Adam, they should be equal partners too. Their father would never see it that way, because he had lived by the same tradition of the eldest son inheriting.
The thing was, Russell Williams had also inherited by default. The farm had belonged to his father, who had left it to Russell’s older brother, Michael. Together they had worked the farm, until Russell found his mate over in Bear Bluff. They had met by chance, while Russell was delivering some cattle that way. It had, of course, been love at first sight, and Russell had moved in with his mate.
He’d raised a family there, four strong sons, and they’d had a good life. But the hills and rich pasture of Black Bear Ford had called to him. That was when fated played one more hand. Michael died, thrown from the back of a young colt he was trying to break. With no mate, and no cubs of his own, the Williams Homestead had passed to Russell. The family moved back here: the boys were old enough to help run the ranch, and they had all taken to it. All except Jordan, the eldest of Russell’s’ sons and the sole heir, according to family tradition.
Had fate played one more trick on the Williams family when Jordan decided the army was the life for him?
Adam thought that one over, turning it around and looking at it from all sides. If he was a superstitious man, he would say that fate did not agree with the family tradition of the land passing to one sole heir. That was the reason the Hawkins Ranch meant so much to his dad. In his eyes, the ranch belonged to the family; it was a missing piece, a constant reminder of a supposed blemish on the family name.
Their father huffed, and Adam prepared for the usual speech about it being a matter of Williams’ family pride. That their grandfather had been cheated in a deal with Frederick Hawkins, and the land should be theirs. That after the Williams family had rallied around him as he become weak and frail, taking him food, tending the ranch as best they could, he should have sold the farm to them and let them join the fractured land back together.
Adam got up, not needing to hear it again. “I’ll go over and say hello.” He turned to fix his father with a stare of his own. “But only to say hello. And only because it’s the neighborly thing to do.”
“Neighbor? Should be in jail, cheating, stealing family.”
One day, Adam figured his dad would wake up and listen to himself long enough to realize he sounded just like his own father. That the grudge was in their minds. Adam and his brothers had talked it over when confronted with the facts, and decided the land had been claimed, fair and square, by Frederick Hawkins. It had been a poker game; both their grandfather and Frederick Hawkins had stakes they didn’t want to lose. Luck had fallen on Fred, a
nd the matter should have been dropped there and then.
“Dad, one day you are going to have to let it go,” Jon said, then to Adam, he added, “Want company? You know, in case she tries to rob you of your inheritance.” Jon said it as a joke aimed at his father, but Adam winced, almost imperceptibly. His brother saw it and shrugged. “Really, I’ll come if you want.”
“No. I’ll make sure I keep my wallet tucked firmly in my pocket, and my truck keys in my hand. Just in case she tries to steal them.” He laid the sarcasm on a little strong, but this was turning into one of those days he would rather forget. It wasn’t just about having to go over and meet their new neighbor. It went a lot deeper than that.
Jon might have been ribbing him about his inheritance, but it hit him in a tender spot, right in the pool of guilt he felt since Jordan’s announcement. Although, the way their father behaved, Adam would likely be an old man himself by the time it passed to him.
Adam might stand to inherit the ranch when his father died, or became too frail to run it; however, that would have to be frail of mind, not body. Adam was sure his father would find some way of getting around the acreage—even if he lost all arms and legs, he wasn’t going to do the sensible thing, like Jordan had. The man held on to the ranch as if it were his last breath. He’d lost it once to his brother, and now that it was in his hands, he was keeping it.
“Hi there, Adam. Why do you look as if a storm is brewing in that head of yours?” a voice called.
“Mom, I’m OK. No storm, I promise you,” Adam answered. His mom had a sixth sense for whatever her boys were thinking.
“Come on, I know that look. You’re not upset about Jordan visiting, are you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she did when she was observing her sons. Sometimes that tilt was joined by a smile, and sometimes raised eyebrows, depending on what exactly her boys were up to. Right now, it was joined by a look of understanding. “You know he wants you to have the farm.”
Hero Bear: Paranormal Romance (Return to Bear Creek Book 13) Page 13
