What she’d dubbed modern office professional.
But Michaela no longer worked in an office, nor did she plan to in the foreseeable future.
I should wait until after my meeting with the lawyer.
That would probably be wise. She wanted to stay, more than she’d thought she would when she left Austin and came home. But could she?
She had an appointment in an hour with Jake Kendall, her father’s attorney, and wasn’t it just weird that the man was one she’d met first on the phone and then come to know through working as a server at Angel’s Roadhouse?
Jake Kendall, she’d heard, didn’t take on a whole lot of clients outside the family. When it came to Kendalls, Benedicts, and Jessops, there sure were a lot of them hereabouts. More, certainly, than there’d been when she’d left six years before for college in Austin at the ripe old age of eighteen.
She’d pursued a degree in graphic design and had worked for a time for a company there. Of course, when she found out her dad had been sick—and that had been thanks to a call from Jake—she’d quit her job in Austin and come home.
She’d taken the position at Angel’s to earn money, and she’d been surprised by just how good the tips were. Eventually, she’d look for another graphic design position, one she could do from home. Or maybe she’d even start her own company. That was a prospect she’d thought about off and on for the last several months.
Leaving the porch, she took this time—with the sun still fairly low in the sky it wasn’t too hot yet this second week of June—and walked around the house. She’d laid her father to rest the day before, between her mother and her brother. While she’d done her best to be an attentive, caring daughter as she’d helped him these last several months, she’d had to show him an air of confidence and deference that she didn’t necessarily feel.
Today was a new day and, as that old cliché went, the first day of the rest of her life. So as she walked around the house proper, her eye became critical as she took in every detail. Her father hadn’t seen to the upkeep of much in the last few years since her mother had passed. Hell, he hadn’t done much more than the bare minimum since her only sibling, Daniel, had died in Afghanistan ten years before.
The house definitely needed painting, and a couple of windows should be replaced. There was that one step leading to the porch that needed to be fixed, and several on the porch floor needed to be replaced, too. She hated the look of the propane tank. Her grandfather had installed the so-called modern convenience, and she had to admit using the fuel for the furnace was better than using wood stoves for those few cold days. So she’d make a note and check out switching to electric heat.
All in all, it was more house than she would need until that nebulous day in the future when she married—if she married—and had a family. The barn probably needed work too, and the fields had been left fallow for a good long while.
Do as I tell you. When I’m gone, sell and get yourself back to the city. You’re only a useless girl. You can’t stay here. You wouldn’t be able to handle it. You’d only destroy my heritage.
Michaela pushed away the words her father had spoken before he’d fallen into that final coma. She didn’t doubt he’d meant them. He’d had a habit of dismissing her for as far back as she could remember, but especially after Daniel died. But her father was gone now, and she believed that it had been his fear—he knew he was dying—that had prompted those hateful words.
Yes, it would take a lot of work, no doubt about it. But this farm had been home for all of her life. It was her heritage, too. She was really hoping it could continue to be so, that this place was where she’d make her mark in life and that it would turn out to be her legacy.
Thinking that particular word drew her attention to the back of the property, where, in the distance but very visible, that beautiful old live oak grew hale and hardy. Her father said his dad had named it the Legacy Tree. She’d asked him why, but he’d had no answer. Not about that, nor about much of anything else, either.
“I don’t have any answers about anything. But maybe Jake has some for me.”
She turned on her heel and headed back into the house. She needed to shower, dress, and grab a quick breakfast. And then she’d go and see Jake.
Less than an hour later, she arrived at Jake’s office. She hadn’t been there before, nor had she seriously spent much time in Lusty, itself. She liked the look of the place. From what she she’d seen so far, neat and tidy and vibrant were the best adjectives she could think of to describe this small town.
Weird I haven’t been here much, considering I know so many of the people. Of course, she had been very busy over the last several months. Between working and taking care of her father, she hadn’t had much spare time.
But this was the first day of the rest of her life. Michaela made a vow then and there that she’d change that. She could go for breakfast some days to the restaurant, Lusty Appetites, and goodness knew she could use a good spa day now and again.
And then there was that museum she’d heard so much about. She’d visit that, too, as well as the library.
Jake came out of an inner office the moment she walked in and closed the front door. There was a receptionist’s desk there, but it looked as if no one sat there. It was neat as a pin.
“Bridget is off today.” He indicated the empty desk. He shook his head. “She’s worked with me a couple of months now, and I swear she gets more done than you could believe, but her desk is always just like that every night. Everything in its place.”
Michaela had met Jake’s new assistant shortly after he’d hired her. Everything in its place would describe Bridget Carmichael’s appearance, too.
“Come into my office, where things are not nearly as neat, nor as organized—well, not to the untrained eye, anyway.”
Michaela had the sense she’d stepped into an old-time lawyer’s office. Jake’s desk was big and, she’d bet, an antique. There were bookshelves, and it was the scent of wood polish and leather that loosened the tension that had snuck up on her. She didn’t know how or why, but there was something innately comforting in the scent of wood polish and leather.
Jake saw her seated. “I’ve tea that Ginny makes for me every day. Would you care for some?”
“Yes, please.”
Jake grinned as he served her from the jug in his small office fridge—she’d bet he was thinking about their momentarily reversed roles—and then took his own chair across from her.
“How are you doing, Michaela?”
“I’m okay, thanks, Jake. Yesterday was hard—I guess mostly because it was so final. Thank you again for coming. And thank your family for me, too.” It had surprised her that so many folks had come to her father’s internment. She hadn’t thought he’d made that many friends, especially during the last few years of his life.
“You’re welcome.” Jake tilted his head slightly as he looked at her. “They came as much for you as for your father. Harold had become a bit of a…curmudgeon these last few years.”
“I don’t think either he, or Mom, ever got over losing Daniel.” Michaela struggled, determined not to shed any more tears.
“I think it must be the hardest thing in the world, to lose a child. I thank God every day that I don’t know what that’s like. I’ve spoken to some who have and do, and I can tell you it’s a loss they never fully recover from. There’s always that hole in their hearts and that sense of someone missing. But it’s also a loss one can find solace for by focusing on a child who remains.” He took a moment and sipped from his glass.
“I’ll only say this once. Your father made a mistake not appreciating that he still had a child—a daughter—who needed him. Your coming home when I called? That gratified me, that despite his treatment of you, you upended your life for him. And I think, deep down, Harold was glad you came.”
“He was my dad.” Jake hadn’t said anything she hadn’t thought over the last few days, weeks, and months. “I know he wasn’t perf
ect, but then I’m not, either. I hope now, at least, he’s at peace.”
“I’m certain that he is.”
He reached for a folder and opened it. “I could read his will aloud, word for word, or I can just give you the high points and the bottom line.”
Michaela braced herself. She wanted the bottom line but, at the same time, was really afraid of what that would be.
“High points and bottom line, please.”
“All right, here it is. Your father left you everything. The farm—which does not have a mortgage—and all of his cash and possessions. I can tell you there’s about a thousand in his bank account, but that’s it. The land taxes have been paid for this year. I have a folder for you with the paid receipts and the tax bills and the electric bills, along with the rest that he had me take care of for him. There’s an insurance policy, one that appears to have been paid up when Daniel died. The value of that is around twenty-five thousand dollars. I’ve begun the claim process, on your behalf.
“I’ve also included a business card from a real estate agent by the name of Terry Gowan. He came by to see me just after your father passed. He seemed very interested in buying the place.” Jake frowned. “I think I saw him yesterday at the funeral, but when I went to find him…well, maybe I was mistaken.”
Michaela wondered. “Was he about five seven, short brown hair, with a face that looked like it could use a good smile?”
“So you saw him, too? He told me that he’d had a verbal agreement with Harold, but one thing I can say for your dad. He was a very careful man when it came to dollars and cents. If he’d been seriously interested in selling, I’d have known about it. And he’d have asked me to vet the agent and maybe look for another so he could play the two off against each other.”
Something in the way Jake said that caught her attention. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re vetting the man, regardless?”
Jake grinned at her. “Because you’re a smart woman. Are you interested in selling? Because if you are, I may know of someone who’d give you a good price, someone for whom you will not need the dubious services of Mr. Gowan.”
“There are many who would tell me that selling the place would be the smart thing to do. Even Dad thought so.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to eschew the so-called smart thing?”
“Probably because you’re a smart man.” Michaela sighed. “My dad considered himself the last of the Powell line, but I’m not going to accept that. I’m still here, and I’m a Powell. That farm or ranch or whatever he thought of it as, though it’s seen better days, has been in the Powell family since great-great-grandfather Jonas bought the land and built the first homestead back in the 1870s.” Michaela had never really had a dream in life. For a short time, a few years before, she’d thought she might get married and give her father the new son he yearned for and then, maybe even one day, a grandson. But that hadn’t worked out all that well. The young man she’d gotten engaged to had had his own reasons for asking for her hand. Fortunately, they both realized that they didn’t have the right reasons to get married. They’d parted amicably. After that near miss, she’d spent the next couple of years focusing on her education and her job. And then she’d come home to take care of her dad.
Now, in the course of the last few days, she’d discovered a new dream, a real dream that was all hers, for her. She was a Powell, and she damn well could be enough, all on her own, to steward the legacy she’d inherited.
“Family heritage can be a strong force,” Jake said. “I’m living on land that my great-greats carved out as their own, at about the same time as Jonas Powell was building his homestead east of here.”
“So maybe you can understand. I’m not willing to let my heritage go. The place needs work, I’ll give you that. But I’m strong, and I’m smart. I’m earning an income, and with the money I’m saving on rent, I can pay the taxes and the rest of it, and I can pay for repairs. And I’m not in any hurry.”
“Well, then. I happen to know a lot of people will be very happy to know that you’re not going anywhere.”
Michaela returned Jake’s smile. For the first time in—hell, it felt like forever—she felt good about the future. “Do you know what, Jake? I’m pretty damn happy about that, too.”
Chapter Two
July 2019
Michaela had her back to the dining room and was in the process of brewing a fresh pot of coffee. The lunch rush was nearly done, but there were still several diners wanting their java before going back to their busy lives.
Her shoulders ached, and her right hand was developing a blister, thanks to using a hammer. She’d noticed something today as she’d served her customers their lunch. It’s a clue I should have picked up on before now. A lot of the men—especially the regulars—who worked farms or ranches, all had gloves stuffed into their back pockets.
Clue received, Michaela decided she’d head to Darryl’s Duds in Lusty first thing tomorrow and pick up a pair or two of work gloves. Bet they could stop a hand from forming a blister by hammering. Of course, developing that blister had encouraged her to get a nail gun, complete with a small compressor and a few quick lessons from the salesman at Lowe’s on how to operate it. So there was that.
Michaela stopped at a table holding two people, one of them her newest girlfriend. Tammy Wright had arrived in Lusty at the end of April, one half of the newly hired pair of paramedics employed by the town. Today she was having lunch with her partner, Charlie Archer. They’d come back from a farm call and decided to take their lunch at the roadhouse. This was one of the few days in the week when they and the Jessops were both on duty.
Tammy and Charlie got along so well it was almost hard to believe they’d only met when they’d been hired by the town. Tammy had come from California. She’d wanted to get away from a relationship gone bad, and a firefighter she’d met while training—Trace Langley—had reached out to her. So she’d come and applied for the job, Tammy had told her, and then had fallen in love with the town of Lusty.
“How’s the food?” Michaela asked. She filled Charlie’s coffee cup for him.
“Always great. Between here and Lusty Appetites, I’m in food heaven,” Charlie said. Then he nodded to Tammy. “Tell Michaela what you found out today.”
Tammy grinned. “Apparently, I’m not the first female EMT hired by the Town Trust. About the time that Warren and Edward were getting up the gumption to court their Carol, the town hired another pair of paramedics. And also apparently, the woman on the team was more interested in snagging herself a pair of men than she was in doing the job. She’d set her sights on Warren and Ed, and that, as they say, was her fatal mistake.” Tammy shook her head, chuckling. “With that as a part of their history, it’s a wonder the fire department hired me.”
“Naw, you were always safe,” Michaela said. “That’s one thing I’ve learned about Lusty. No one cares if you were wrapped in a pink blanket or a blue one. If you can do the work, you’re hired. So, the other female EMT obviously left. What about her partner? Was it a guy? What happened to him?”
“He went home to Abilene and made up with an old girlfriend and decided to stay there,” Charlie said. Then he shrugged and looked down at what little was left of his tacos. “Lucky for me.”
Tammy was attending the party that Jenny Collins Benedict was hosting on Friday, and the two of them made plans to get together earlier on that day.
Michaela headed to another table to clear it. Then she dropped off the dishes and started another pot of coffee.
A strange shiver went down her spine, but that had nothing to do with the hard hours she’d been putting in fixing up her ranch. No, that was a shiver that she’d been feeling off and on for almost a month, now.
Ever since Lewis and Randy Benedict arrived in Lusty from Montana and made their first appearance here. Those two cowboys had just come into the roadhouse. Using her peripheral vision, she checked. Sure enough, there they went, two way too sexy a
nd mouth-watering for her own good cowboys, accompanied by Dale and Parker and Trace and Logan. Benedicts all, originally from the great state of Montana, the six men made themselves comfy in the area in the back that everyone at the roadhouse referred to as Benedict Central.
This bright and hot July afternoon, BC was in her assigned area.
The coffee was finished brewing, so she scooped the pot, grabbed a stack of menus, and then poured her way from the front of her area—down the left side to the back—until she arrived at the newly occupied table for six.
“Hey, guys.”
“Michaela.” Parker Benedict nodded to her. “How’re you doing? How’s the work coming on the homestead?”
She certainly appreciated everyone’s interest in her rehab of the farmhouse and property she’d inherited the month before. “Slowly, but that’s okay. I’ve got nothing but time. It is a learning experience. I’ve replaced a few boards on the front porch, and I can say I now understand why all y’all have gloves in your pockets. I’ve switched to using a nail gun, which is a bit easier. Took a while to get the hang of it, but the guy at Lowe’s said it was perfect for the work I was doing.”
“Gloves are a must in ranch, farming, and construction work,” Trace said. “Even using power tools, like your nail gun. They help your grip when it’s hot out.”
“Y’all look hot. What can I get you to drink?”
“I’m developing a fondness for your sweet tea,” Lewis said. “I’ll have some of that, with ice.”
She wasn’t surprised the rest of the men followed suit. They’d have beer when their workday was done, and then only one or two—usually on nights when their wives were working and they came in late to escort them home at the end of their shifts.
Of course, Lewis and Randy weren’t married. Which was why they gave her an itch between her shoulder blades. Stop thinking of them, girl. Now.
Love Under Two Mavericks Page 2
