Willa sat back in her chair, her face heating. “I think you have the wrong idea about me.”
“Do I? You know about his other problem then?”
She had a feeling this was the part where she should say it was none of her business and head upstairs for that bath. That she would regret not doing so. “No,” she said.
“This little stipulation our father left in his will. Majority ownership of Winding Creek Farm and all its assets went to Owen upon Dad’s death. The fly in the ointment being that he has to become engaged before his thirty-third birthday. And marry within six months of that. If he doesn’t, then it all goes to me.”
Willa blinked, more than a little taken aback by the revelation. “Why would your father do such a thing?”
“Oh, something about not wanting his son to make the same mistakes he made.”
Willa sat silent for a moment. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Maybe because with you in the picture, it all gets more interesting.”
“And the same provision applies to you?”
“Nope. I guess Dad didn’t think there was much chance I’d turn out to be a playboy.”
The words were issued lightly, but Willa heard pain at their core. “Owen doesn’t seem like the type to let that kind of decision be made for him.”
“He’s not. But then he’s had a few years to pick someone. And time’s running out.”
“So maybe Pamela’s the lucky girl,” she said, trying for a note of indifference.
“That’s what I was thinking.” Half smile. “Until you came along.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Owen walked into the kitchen. “Got any more of that to go around?”
“Fridge is full,” Cline said. He picked up his plate, rolled across the floor and stuck it in the dishwasher, then left the room, Sam trotting off behind him.
Owen washed his hands at the sink. “Was it something I said?”
Willa fiddled with her napkin. “I don’t think so.”
“All right if I join you?”
“Sure.”
He pulled some things from the refrigerator, set them on the table and started making his own sandwich.
“Cline told me about your father’s will.”
Jaw set, Owen said, “Yeah, ridiculous, huh?”
“How could you let this place go?”
He sat down at the table. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. Although when he died, I wasn’t sure I wanted to take it over, as much as I loved it. I had my own life, my own career.”
She leaned forward, put an elbow on the table. “What did you do?”
“I was an attorney for the Sunrise Foundation. It’s an organization in New York City that grants wishes for poverty-stricken children.”
Willa sat back in her chair. “That’s amazing.”
“Every summer, we have a camp here for children who’ve never been on a farm. This will be the third time we’ve had it. The first two were a big hit. We have a few older mares that are really good with the kids and don’t mind being hugged on all day.”
She shook her head. “That’s wonderful, Owen.”
“You’re surprised,” he said.
“A little, I admit.”
“That’s good, I guess. At least surprises are interesting.”
They sat for a moment, silent.
“So, your father,” Willa said. “Why would he put such a provision in his will?”
Owen sighed. “It might take me a while to answer that one.”
She rubbed a thumb across the rim of her plate, distracted by the muscles of his arms, the well-cut ridge between bicep and tricep. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Owen sat back, pushed his plate away. “He was a last-word kind of man. I remember once when I was fifteen or so, he gave me this colt whose sire had won the Derby. Beautiful horse. Fast as lightning. I was crazy about him. Which frustrated Dad to no end. He didn’t believe in getting attached to the horses. To him, they were strictly business tools, and there was no place for emotion when decisions had to be made about them. Anyway, I wanted to hold him back another year, let him get a little stronger.” His voice softened, regretful. “Dad insisted he had to be run as a two-year-old. Fractured his cannon bone in the last stretch.”
“Oh, Owen,” she said.
“Dad’s assessment was that given what happened, he would never have held up. Better to prove it before we had too much invested in him.”
“That seems so—”
“Harsh?”
“Yeah.”
“There wasn’t a lot of gray in my dad’s way of thinking. Everything was pretty much black and white. Including his belief that I should marry and settle down in a way that he never did after he lost my mom.”
“When did she die?”
“I was three,” he said, his voice growing distant. “I don’t think he ever got over it. Kind of spent the rest of his life with a revolving door where women were concerned.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
Willa was quiet for a moment. “What about Cline’s mother?”
“They never married. She was a lot younger and had no interest in being a mother.”
“Does Cline want the farm?”
“He says no, but he’s young.”
“If it goes to him, can’t he just sell it back to you or something?”
Owen shook his head. “My father pretty much closed up all the loopholes.”
“Is the thought of marriage that bad?”
“No. But the thought of being forced to marry is.”
She eyed him for a moment, then said, “And you’ve never met anyone you wanted to marry?”
He shook his head. “Have you?”
“What?”
“Ever wanted to get married?”
The question threw her. She dropped her gaze and said, “I didn’t realize we were talking about me.”
“Artful dodge,” he said.
“What’s so bad about Pamela?” she asked, ignoring the accusation.
“There’s really nothing bad about her.”
“Then what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m wondering about the click thing.”
“The click?”
“Yeah, that feeling you’re supposed to get when you meet the right person.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding. “The click.”
“You believe in it?”
She ran a hand through one side of her hair. “I’m sure it happens for some people. But I’m also sure some good marriages have been built on less.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to sell me on the idea.”
“Hardly.”
“It just seems a little weird for us to be having this conversation.”
“Weird how?”
“A couple reasons, really.”
Something in his eyes made her stomach drop like the snap of a hinge. “Are you going to elaborate on that?”
“Okay, reason number one. I’m sitting here thinking how beautiful you are. And reason number two. I’d really like to kiss you again.”
Willa tried to speak, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. If he had leaned over and followed through, she would have been hard-pressed to recall her own arguments from earlier that afternoon. It was one thing to tell yourself a man like this was trouble when you were alone and had all your walls securely in place. But sitting across from him, the honesty and attraction in his eyes were a powerful pull.
She stood, a little too quickly, her chair teetering before righting itself. She picked up her plate and glass, crossed the kitchen to the sink and put them in the dishwasher.
She turned then, and with distance as a barrier, said, “We already talked about this.”
“That doesn’t make it go away.”
“You’re not playing fair.”
“I’m not playing,” he said.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS DARK WHEN CLINE rolled his c
hair out of the house and down the paved drive to the barn. He’d been up in his room the past couple hours surfing the Internet when it occurred to him that he was sick of going into chat rooms where he only talked to people who had no idea who he really was.
Of course, he never told them he was paralyzed. It was the only place he could go where nobody knew, where he could be a guy who flirted with girls and no one could judge him by anything except the words he offered them. But something about it tonight made him feel like a pretend person. As if he had no idea who he was or who he might ever be.
He slid open one side of the barn’s main entrance, wheeled his chair down the asphalt aisle-way. The barn lights were dim, Jake already having come through for night check.
Cline stopped in front of one of the stall doors. A young filly stuck her head out and nuzzled his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, pressing his face against her soft nose. She nudged him gently, and he inhaled the wonderful horse scent of her.
He would never ride again. He didn’t let himself think about stuff like that often, but sometimes a yearning for something he used to do would hit him so solidly in the chest that he could barely breathe for wanting that ability back.
“What’s with the long face?”
He jerked his head around. Katie stood to his right, arms folded across her chest. He gave her a glare meant to send her running. “What are you doing down here?”
“I asked you first.”
“No long face,” he said.
“Hm. Not what I see from here.”
“Hey, you know, Katie, I’m not in the mood for your tough act tonight.”
“So what’s wrong?” Her voice had softened, and he caught a glimpse of who she might be underneath all that toughness.
He shook his head. “I wasn’t very nice to your sister earlier. Sometimes, I’m a real jerk.”
White teeth worried her bottom lip. “If anybody could justify it, it’s probably you.”
“People have far worse things happen to them than this.”
“Yeah. It still sucks.” She stepped closer, rubbed the filly’s nose, reached in her pocket and pulled out a sugar cube, which promptly disappeared. “Jake said it was all right to give them treats now and then,” she said.
“So you do have a warm and fuzzy side?”
“Don’t get carried away.”
He smiled. “I think I already know better.”
Down the aisle, a horse nickered. Another answered. They said nothing for a bit, and Cline found himself hoping she would stay.
“You have any friends?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m not a complete recluse.”
“No need to get prickly. I was just wondering if there was anything fun to do around here.”
“Let’s see, we’ve got putt-putt. And there’s bingo over at the seniors’ lodge on—”
She laughed a deep belly laugh.
He smiled, thinking what a good sound that was. And at the same time, enjoying the fact that he had given her a reason to do so.
* * *
OWEN WAS UP at dawn.
Sleep had been a wasted effort, anyway. He made a pot of coffee and despite the knots in his shoulders, forced himself to sit down at his desk and respond to some work-related e-mails he’d gotten behind on the past couple of days.
But the same thing that had kept him awake most of the night now prevented him from concentrating on the work in front of him.
What was it about Willa that suddenly had him feeling as if his life were a cage made of iron bars?
Natalie called just before seven, sounding a little more like herself this morning. They spoke for a few minutes. He had just hung up when Willa appeared in the doorway to his office, Sam at her heels. “Good morning,” she said.
He stared at her for a moment. She looked fresh and pretty in a sleeveless pink blouse and white pants. “Morning,” he said. “That was Natalie. She asked if I could come with you today. She said Charles’s sisters would be there and that you might need reinforcement.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’d like to. How about some coffee?”
She nodded, and they went into the kitchen. She held the cups, while he poured, their movements stiff like two people who weren’t exactly sure how to behave with one another.
They sat at the table. Sam stood in front of the glass-pane door, staring with yearning out at the backyard where one of the barn cats was perched on a fence post.
Owen opened the newspaper, offered Willa a section. They read for a couple of minutes, quiet.
“I thought you had to be married forty years before you could sit at a table and not talk to each other,” Willa said.
He looked up and smiled. “You’ve noticed those people?”
“It makes you wonder if they’ve just decided it’s all been said, and there’s no point in repeating it.”
He put down the paper. “If they could have seen that far into the future, do you think they would ever have gotten married?”
“Probably. It would be nice to get to the end of your life and be so certain of having picked the right path that you would be willing to do the same things all over again. Conversation lulls and all.”
“It would,” he agreed, holding her gaze.
Silence, and then she said, “Look, Owen, about—”
“What I said yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“Out of line, right?”
“No, it’s just I’m not good with this kind of thing.” She studied the table. After a few moments, she looked up at him and said, “It’s been a really long time since I wanted anyone to kiss me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to. But I don’t believe in getting in the middle of someone else’s—”
“Mess?” he finished for her.
“Life,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Life.”
* * *
AT NATALIE’S HOUSE, the small group attending the meeting gathered in the library. Natalie had greeted them with a gracious but sad smile, and escorted them into the room where she introduced two unsmiling white-haired women as Charles’s sisters, Margaret and Harriette. They were dressed in nearly matching navy suits, one with gold buttons down the front of the jacket, the other with silver. Diamond earrings the size of well-fertilized peas comprised their only jewelry. Both gave Willa a nod that could be described at best as chilly.
A dark-haired man and woman in their fifties sat beside each other on a small sofa. Their clothes were less extraordinary, he in a modest gray suit, she in a conservative black dress. They both stood and shook Willa’s hand, their smiles genuine. “We’re Manuel and Maria Gonzalez. We worked for your father for twenty-five years.”
Willa tried to smile, her eyes stinging at their warm acknowledgment. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
The older sister, Margaret, silver buttons, stepped forward then and said, “One might wonder at the timing of it all. My goodness, that he would die on the very day you meet him for the first time.”
Willa blinked at the accusation underscoring the words.
Owen put a hand on her back. “I don’t think that could be called anything except a tragedy.”
“Yes, of course,” Margaret said, obviously unconvinced.
Art Travers, the attorney Willa had met the evening before, walked into the room, an enormous briefcase in one hand. “Good afternoon, everyone. Sorry I’m late.”
Natalie brought in a tray with coffee and tea, set it on the round table in the middle of the room. “Please, help yourselves,” she said.
The attorney placed his things on a table that had been positioned at one end of the room. He clasped his hands together, his expression somber. “As you know, we’ll be going over Charles’s last will and testament this afternoon. If you could all take a seat, we’ll get started.”
Willa had a sudden urge to run from the room. Owen put a hand on her arm, squeezed once, as if he knew what she was thin
king.
He led her to a set of club chairs next to the Gonzalezes. Margaret and Harriette sat on either side of Natalie, holding her hands.
The icy looks being sent Willa’s way were enough to make their opinions of her presence here more than clear.
Art pulled an official-looking document from his briefcase, along with a DVD case. He held up both. “Charles made his last wishes known in writing as well as on video. Everything you’re about to see on this DVD is documented here with the appropriate signatures and witnesses.”
He opened the DVD case, pulled out the disk and placed it in the player beside a television. He pushed a button, and Charles appeared on the screen.
“Hello, my dear family,” he said.
Immediately, a soft sob slipped from Natalie’s throat.
Willa’s chest tightened with emotion, tears springing to her eyes. He looked different here than he had in the hospital, giving her a glimpse of the healthy, vibrant man he had once been.
And it struck her then that she had inherited his eyes, their shape, color, even the thickness of his lashes.
“I know this will not be an easy time, so I would like to make it as brief as possible. Natalie, my dear, the bulk of my estate will obviously go to you. The specifics of this are accounted for in my written will. I never deserved you, sweetheart, but I did love you, and I’m sorry for anything I did to hurt you.”
Willa could not bring herself to look at Natalie, but knew the older woman was crying. She could feel the stares of the two women seated beside her.
“To my sisters Margaret and Harriette, I leave the stocks and other investments left to me by our father. I believe it’s right that they should go to you.”
Margaret pressed her lips together. Harriette wiped her eyes.
“To Manuel and Maria, thank you for your many years of faithfulness. I leave to you the cottage on Maple Run Farm and the five acres of land surrounding it. I also leave to you the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars which I hope will express my appreciation of you and everything you did for me.”
Maria gasped, and then began to cry. Manuel put his arms around her, shaking his head in disbelief.
“And to Willa…” Charles broke off there, emotion roughening his voice. Willa’s heart began to thump hard, and it suddenly felt difficult to breathe. Owen reached over, took her hand.
The Lost Daughter of Pigeon Hollow Page 10
