He turned on the radio. A quartet sang “Rock of Ages”
a cappella
. “This okay with you?”
“Yes. Comforting, even.”
Sondra’s thoughts wandered aimlessly, and Dylan seemed equally content with the silence. The hymn ended and another began.
I should ask him to tell me more about Miller. Hearing about Miller would—
“How long did you know Miller?”
“Just about two years.” She smiled at the memory. “The first time we met, I thought he looked like the man on the Luden’s cough drop box.”
Dylan chuckled. They spent the next fifteen minutes remembering their friend. Dylan pulled to the curb and announced, “Here we are.”
“Thanks for the ride. Sharing memories like that has helped me.”
“Me, too.”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why I’m here.”
“Miller was a generous man. He may have left you a bit of money so you could keep taking the baby chicks to the kids.”
“It’d be great. They really make a difference.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll bet they do. Tell you what—I don’t have a coop, but if Miller didn’t arrange for you to keep getting chicks, I’ll put one in, and you’re welcome to come pick them up just like you did before.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Wow. Thanks!” As he shut his door, she took a couple of deep breaths, then whispered, “Lord, I could really use Your help here. You know—courage and strength. . .” As soon as she unlocked her door, Dylan helped her out.
Geoffrey Cheviot personally met them at the door for the building. “If you’ll follow me. . .” He led them to the law offices and into a sizable corner meeting room. Plush, camel-colored carpeting muffled their steps, and the oppressive gray from the sky filtered through the wall-to-wall plate glass windows. Several chairs sat in a semicircle facing an oak wall unit. Gesturing toward a pair of chairs closest to the door, he invited, “Please be seated.”
Sondra lowered herself into one of them and tucked her purse on the floor. Mr. Cheviot returned with the family members, and she shifted in her seat.
I don’t belong here with the friends and family.
The staid-looking attorney waited until everyone settled into the seats, then opened the center doors of the wall unit to reveal a large television screen. He pulled a CD from a nearby shelf. “Miller Quintain has a written testament. You will all receive copies, but he also recorded it. He wanted to express his wishes to you directly. I’ll play it for you now.”
The sight of Miller’s sunbaked, laugh-wrinkled face made Sondra suck in a quick breath. Dylan must have heard that soft gasp, because he slid his big, rough hand over and gently patted her arm.
Miller stared into the camera and spoke as he always had—straight, to the point, and with a minimum of fuss. “Well, folks, this is it. My will is absolutely airtight. Settle for what I give you, or challenge my wishes and receive a single dollar for your gall. That being said, let me make it clear I just came from the doctor, and he’s certified me as being completely of sound mind. This is what I want done with all that I’ve amassed.”
“The old coot never did have any class,” one relative muttered.
Miller rattled off the names of seven relatives, then drawled, “You never much bothered with me while I was alive, so I’m not feeling it necessary to fret much over your welfare, either. Getting here for the funeral set you back a tad, so I’m leaving each of you three thousand dollars to cover expenses. Consider yourselves lucky to get that much out of me. It’s a better return on those annual Christmas cards than you deserve.”
The room erupted. Angry shouts, cries, and growls filled the air. “Silence, please!” Mr. Cheviot demanded.
Miller continued on, “Edwin, as my brother, you never did have it in you to completely forget me. I know my money interested you far more than my companionship, but I want you to have one last go at something, so I’m bequeathing you fifty grand.”
“Fifty grand! Is that all?”
The image on the monitor spoke on. “Then I come to Dylan Ward. Dylan. . .” Miller paused. A kind smile creased his weather-beaten face, making him look just the way Sondra remembered him. It was eerie to see the fondness and compassionate quality looming there when they’d just buried him. His lips moved, “Dylan, I think of you as being the son I never had.”
Dylan’s hand slid away from her arm. For some inexplicable reason, she had an almost overwhelming urge to snatch it back.
“The antique gun collection is yours. My horse and saddle—you’ve admired them, and I want them to go to you. Oh—and the gray enamel coffeepot? You know where to find it. It’s yours, Dylan.
“I hope you’ll understand.” Miller chuckled roughly. “Come to think of it, you probably won’t understand for a while, but I trust you will someday. I’m not going along with my original plan.
“I’m leaving you the easternmost two hundred acres and thirty percent of the value of my livestock, all to be granted to you one year from today—under one condition: the Curly Q must achieve the same annual profit margin for this fiscal year as it has averaged in the past five. Mr. Cheviot has the parameters in a file for your reference.”
Sondra couldn’t tear her gaze from Miller’s image. She heard the rough sound of Dylan clearing his throat. She didn’t care what Miller and he had worked out. It wasn’t any of her business. Miller had a right to do what he wanted, but she sensed something about this arrangement came as a huge blow.
“That brings me to Sondra Thankful.”
Two
Everyone in the room turned and stared at her. Dylan was no exception.
“Sondra, sugar, you made these last years the happiest ones of my life. We were kindred spirits who weathered life’s storms on our own terms. My only regret is that I’m not there to give you some help, but I’m trusting Dylan to fill in for me.” He chuckled again in that odd, rasping way he’d had. “He’ll be forced to since I’ve saddled him with leaving the livestock on my land during the next year. You can rely on him. He has a sound head on his shoulders.”
Sondra felt the blood seep from her face in slow degrees as Miller’s voice droned on. “As for the balance of my estate, real and personal—home, ranch, and possessions as well as the remaining livestock and balance of funds—I leave them all in total to Sondra Thankful with two provisions: She is to take immediate possession and live at the Curly Q for the next full year, and the ranch must reach the profit level I mentioned earlier. If those conditions aren’t met, Mr. Cheviot will give Sondra fifteen thousand dollars, then accept the offer from Tuttlesworth Developers to turn the land into a housing subdivision.”
A ruckus ensued. Dylan shot to his feet, scooped her purse from the floor, and shoved it in her numb hands. “Let’s go.”
“But—”
Dylan took hold of her arm, yanked her from the room, and steered her through the office. Mr. Cheviot scurried alongside them, blurting out two alternatives they’d not heard because of the ruckus. He’d just finished telling them Sondra could immediately opt out for fifteen grand or, “You and Mr. Ward can marry and have full, unconditional possession.” He looked at Sondra expectantly.
Dylan growled, “Of course she’s taking the ranch.” Then he pulled her out of the office and stuffed her in his truck. After he slammed his own door, he let out a long, gusty breath and started the engine.
“I don’t believe it.”
His jaw clenched. “Neither do I.”
“He didn’t really. . .”
“He did. You got it.” Dylan kept staring ahead. “What’s your address?”
She stammered her cross streets. “You know I didn’t—” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I didn’t know.”
Finally, he shot her a sideways glance. The muscle in his cheek twitched, and his lips pressed together. Determination, grudging as it sounded, finally echoed in his curt words. “What’s done is done. I’ll pull you through for a year.”
Sondra swallowed hard. She’d been a charity case all of her life and struggled so hard to be self-sufficient. The depth of his upset was clear, even if he’d not voiced a word of it. “You expected more.”
His long fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “No. Absolutely not. And yes. We didn’t have it on paper. There was an understanding. I’ve already made arrangements for a loan; I planned to buy all of the Curly Q, and the money was to fund Miller’s favorite charities.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t.” He hit the turn signal indicator with notable force. The clicking sounded preternaturally loud until he made a right turn and it automatically shut off. Though clearly upset, he kept his voice so carefully modulated and low, it gave her the willies. “I need the land.”
Shocked by the whole turn of events, Sondra stared out the windshield. Month by month, she barely eked by. In one incredibly generous gesture, Miller rescued her.
A home. I’ll have a home.
None of it seemed real. She cast a glance at Dylan. The set of his jaw and way his fingers curled in a near death grip around the steering wheel made it clear her windfall was his loss. “I’m sorry the will ruined your plans.”
He slowly eased his hold and flexed long, callused fingers. “Not ruined. Delayed.” He nodded resolutely, as if confirming something to himself, and kept his eyes trained on the road. “As soon as we’re through this year, that acreage will be mine; but I may as well put my offer on the table here and now—I want first bidding rights to buy the rest off of you when we finish the contract year.”
Her chin lifted. He’d stung her with that demand. By willing her that land, Miller gave her a home—the one thing she’d never had. “I’m not going to sell it.”
“Don’t get your dander up. The original agreement I reached with Miller stipulated the money would go to a charity. This way, you’ll get it instead.”
“So instead of
worthy
causes,
I’ve
turned out to be Miller’s ‘charity.’ ”
“It’s none of my business. As I said, what’s done is done. Like it or not, we’re partners for the next year.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “Actually, it’s a little shy of a year. The Curly Q is set up so the fiscal year hits in mid-March. I reckon we can tolerate each other that long.”
“Not necessarily. I can turn down the ranch and take the fifteen thousand dollars Mr. Cheviot mentioned.”
He snorted. “That’s as likely as us getting married.”
“No kidding,” she snapped.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I can’t believe Miller even put that as an option. I’ve got more pride and sense than to marry a woman to get land. Judging from today, you’re still reeling from your own loss.”
“Maybe I should just hire a consultant.”
Dylan pulled his truck to an abrupt stop next to her apartment building. He twisted to face her, his eyes alight with ire. “Not a chance, lady. You stick some idiot in there who messes things up, and the profit margin will be too low. You’re not putting my future in someone else’s hands.”
“So you expect me to place my future in your hands?”
“You got that straight.” He slid out of the truck and opened her door. Towering over her, he gritted, “Get it in your pretty little head right now: I’m running the show.”
“Not unless I say so. I could take the money and let the developers cement in the whole place!” Sondra marched to her apartment, let herself in, and shut the door. A glance showed Dylan standing on the pavement, his hands on his hips and a scowl darkening his much-too-handsome features. If she accepted the conditions of the will and kept control of her life and affairs, she’d have an enemy for a neighbor.
Two hours later, Sondra looked around her cramped apartment. Her teacher’s salary qualified as modest, and hefty college loans ate into her budget. Fifteen thousand dollars would barely get her out of debt. Financially, she needed to work—and she’d be forced to leave the baby with a sitter all of the time once it came.
On the ranch, I can be a full-time mother. Miller did that for you and me, sweetie.
She slumped on the sofa and rested her hand over her slightly rounded tummy. Just last week, she’d started to wear maternity clothes. They weren’t absolutely necessary, but some of her regular clothes felt binding. Three months of morning sickness had made her weight dip dangerously. Then, too, grieving didn’t do much for her appetite. Most women looked noticeably pregnant by the beginning of their sixth month.
Lord, I don’t know what to do. Guide me.
In the quiet, reality started to sink in.
Miller’s friendship was such a blessing. When everything else fell apart, he cared and showed God’s love to me. I’ve been praying for months now. I’ve asked God to show me His will. Could this be it?
By taking the ranch, she’d have to work hard—but that was nothing new. With this, she’d be financially stable. She’d have a place all of her own, a forever-ours home in which to rear her son, and they wouldn’t have to scrimp from week to week. Of all the people Miller knew, all the lives he touched, he’d singled her out. Why? She’d never know, but she’d eternally be grateful.
What did she know about ranching? She was twenty-five and never once rode a horse. Cattle were cute, splotchy animals in picture books. Yes, she did a creditable
moo
sound. Other than that, ignorance abounded.