Authors: Stacey Coverstone
“I only met my aunt once when I was a child. She was my grandmother’s sister. I remember an argument. Lydia left and no one in the family ever mentioned her again. I hadn’t even recalled meeting her until the day I got a letter telling me she’d died and left me her ranch here in Tularosa. I’ve no idea why she left the Lucky Seven to me. But to be completely honest, I’m glad she did. I’m one of those people needing a fresh start. Does that sufficiently answer your question, Mr. Brannigan?”
He nodded. “Yep. I think it does. For now, anyway.” He opened the door to his pickup and stepped onto the running board and looked up. “I just about forgot. The horses are at my place. I moved ‘em over there right after Lydia passed.”
“I wondered where they were. It would have made sense to ask you, but I was planning on talking to the lawyer about them.”
“She asked me a few weeks before she died if I’d care for them until you arrived.”
Jordan’s head tilted. That didn’t make sense. “Before I arrived? What do you mean? How would she know at that time I’d even be coming? I could have sold the ranch from Colorado, sight unseen. In fact, I did think about that.”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe she hoped something would draw you here. Lydia never ran out of hope. You could tell that by the animals she took in.”
“How many horses are there?”
“Six. She sold three a few weeks before her death. You do know she ran a rescue operation here, don’t you?”
“Yes. I learned that from the lawyer. He mentioned it in his letter.”
“Lydia didn’t have much of a head for business, but she never could turn down an abused or neglected horse. They were her passion. She spent every last dime she had to help those animals.”
Jordan knew that wasn’t exactly true. Besides inheriting the house and the ranch, the lawyer’s letter had stated that Lydia had also left her one hundred thousand dollars. Apparently her great aunt had been more of a businesswoman than her neighbor had realized.
“So, when would you like me to haul them over?” he asked.
She shoved her hands into her hip pockets and nibbled her lip. “Would you mind keeping them a while longer, until I can get a few things settled? I noticed there isn’t any good hay in the barn, and to be honest, I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. I don’t know the first thing about horses, although I’m anxious to learn. I might need to get some pointers from you, if you wouldn’t mind.” She sensed he’d be a good teacher, and he was friendly and seemed willing to help.
His lips curved into another winning smile. “I’ll be glad to show you the ropes, and I can help out with fresh hay, too. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
A small weight lifted from her shoulders. “Thanks, Mr. Brannigan.”
He finally climbed into his truck, turned the key, and the vehicle started up with a roar. Sticking his head out the window, he said, “You’ve been calling me Mr. Brannigan, but my close friends call me Wyatt. Besides, mister makes me sound ancient.”
She thought that over a moment. “I expect we’ll become friends, but let’s not rush the close part. Anyway, you seem more like a Brannigan than a Wyatt. I’ll stick with Brannigan, if you don’t mind.”
He responded with a deep belly laugh and raised his hand to wave. “Have it your way. Just remember to leave the mister off. See you soon, I hope.”
She returned the wave and watched as he drove down the driveway and out of sight. Whirling to face the adobe, she spoke aloud. “Okay. Let’s see what kind of a mess you’ve left me with, Aunt Lydia.”
Chapter Two
The lawyer had mailed the key to her along with the legal information about the ranch. Jordan trotted back to her vehicle and grabbed her purse from the seat. When she slipped the key into the lock, the door squeaked open.
Stepping inside, her gaze roamed over the dimly lit front room. Sunshine streamed in the moment she threw open the dingy curtains, brightening the place immediately. The house was small, which was fine with her. She liked cozy, and small meant less housework.
It was an open floor plan. Standing in the living area, she could see into the kitchen. The kitchen counter, with two tall bar stools nestled beneath, separated the two spaces. A pleasant surprise was the kiva fireplace tucked in the corner of the living room. Jordan wondered if it was in working order and how long ago the chimney had been cleaned. Even in New Mexico it could get very cold in the winter. As it was summer, fireplace maintenance would be low on her priority list.
The furniture was covered in sheets. Jerking them off, she sneezed from the dust. When she tested the couch and chair by pressing down on the cushions with her hands, she felt they were springy. They were outdated but comfortable, and would certainly do for the time being. She was happy to see terracotta tile floors throughout the house and was thankful they were in good condition.
After inspecting the one bedroom, she returned to the main living area and made a mental note to slap a fresh coat of paint on all the walls. She stepped into the kitchen and ran her hand over the counter. The room needed a remodel to bring it into the twentieth century. The appliances, though old, were in working order, thank goodness. The fridge was empty, but it looked to have been recently cleaned to a sparkling shine. She wondered if her neighbor had done the honors. The one window in the kitchen overlooked the back courtyard. Jordan stood at it and caught the majestic view of the mountains and found herself mesmerized again.
She took a step down from the kitchen into a sunken dining room. Sunlight poured in through a set of sliding glass doors that led out to the courtyard. Pressing her nose to the glass, she could picture a rebuilt stucco wall, a pretty blue gate, and blooming flowers sitting around the patio in ceramic pots. She could imagine herself drinking coffee and reading the newspaper out there in the mornings with the fountain gurgling beside her.
The house tour ended in the tiny bathroom. Like the kitchen, it also needed updating, but the large claw foot tub made her smile. Bubble baths were one of her favorite indulgences. Her spirits soared now. The house needed some work, but it was more than doable with the money Lydia had left her.
She checked her watch. After finalizing matters with the lawyer, she planned to lay in a few supplies before the day got away from her, so she locked the house and fired up the Jeep.
As she drove past the Circle B, she saw her neighbor’s truck parked by the barn, but no sign of the man. A dog lay curled on the front step, sleeping in the sun. More than a dozen horses grazed in a back pasture. She suspected some of them were Lydia’s—or rather, hers. Air whooshed from her mouth. The thought of being responsible for a herd of horses was overwhelming, but she wouldn’t think about that right now.
The Lucky Seven was just four miles out of town. Dust from her tires puffed into the air as she thundered down the gravel road. When she came upon a historic marker at the edge of the small town, she pulled over and stepped out to read what it said.
The Tularosa Basin has been occupied by Indian groups for thousands of years. The first Hispanic settlers moved here from the Rio Grande Valley in 1862. Anglo settlers and cattlemen began moving into the region in the 1870’s. The original 1862 town site has been designated a State and Historic District.
Many questions entered Jordan’s head, all of them about her aunt. How had Lydia come to own a ranch in New Mexico when generations of their family hailed from Colorado? What had the big argument been about that had caused her banishment from the family? Why had she left her ranch and savings to a niece she hadn’t even known? Jordan hoped to learn the answers to these mysteries one day. But today wasn’t that day.
She hopped back into the car and popped open the glove compartment. Inside was the envelope that had the lawyer’s address printed on it. While preparing for the trip before leaving Colorado, she’d gone onto the computer and gotten directions and scratched them onto the envelope. Turns out, the town was so small it was easy to find her way around.
Driving down Central Avenue, she took in the sights on both sides of the wide highway. She passed the Dusty Peddler, which looked like an antique shop, an ice cream shop called the Tulie Freeze, the Del Sol Gift Shop where large Native American rugs hung out front, the fire station, and a building covered with chili pepper ristras and wreaths.
Jordan slowed down when she came upon a pretty whitewashed church with bells and a cross on top. An arched entrance made of white plaster and stone guarded the entry, and the sign out front informed her it was St. Francis de Paula, a Franciscan Mission founded in 1865.
After turning down Grenado Street, she peered up and down looking for the lawyer’s office.
There were only a handful of stores on the street, so it didn’t take long to find the number painted on a small brick building. A sign on the door confirmed she was at the correct address. Parking at the curb, she let down her hair and swiftly ran a brush through it and then dabbed her lips with gloss in an attempt to look fresh.
Upon entering the law office, she found the front room empty. There was no receptionist at the desk to greet clients, which seemed unusual. Of course, she hadn’t called ahead or made an appointment. Someone must be here, she thought, since the door was unlocked. She waited a moment before calling out.
“Hello! Is anyone here?”
From the back of the building she heard what sounded like a mountain of papers crashing to the floor.
“Yes! I’m coming,” called a voice. A short man in jeans, a white shirt and bolo tie hurried in carrying an accordion file overflowing with documents. The man’s round glasses slid down the tip of his nose. “Can I help you?” he asked, dumping the jumble of papers into a wooden chair.
“Yes. Are you Mr. Taylor?”
“I am.”
“Hello.” She extended her hand. “I’m Jordan Mackenzie.” Apparently the name did not register with him so she repeated, “Jordan Mackenzie? I’m Lydia Albright’s niece. You sent me a letter about her ranch, the Lucky Seven.”
“Oh! Of course!” Taylor reached out to shake her hand. “I’m sorry, Miss Mackenzie. Please forgive me. It’s been one of those crazy days. I’m happy to meet you.”
“Thank you. Pleased to meet you, too.”
“I apologize about there being no one up here to greet you. My secretary has been out sick for a few days and I’ve been trying to manage on my own. It’s just her and me in the office. I really should have hired a temp.”
Glancing at the pile of disorganized papers on the chair, Jordan had to agree. “I’m sorry for not calling ahead. Is this a bad time? I could come back later. Or tomorrow, if it’s better for you.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a few minutes before I have to leave for my next appointment. Let’s go to my office. This shouldn’t take long.”
Jordan followed him to the back and he offered her a chair. Then he excused himself and walked back to the front. She heard him rummaging through a file cabinet.
When he returned to his office he said, “I’m lost without my secretary. She’s rarely absent, so I rely heavily on her.”He showed Jordan a folder with her name on it and smiled. “Somehow I managed to find your file.” She breathed a sigh of relief.
“When did you arrive?” he asked, reaching into his back pocket. He yanked out a hankie and wiped his perspiring forehead.
“Just today. About an hour ago. Again, I apologize for not calling first. I should have. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He waved her off. “No need. I have everything right here. Let me explain.” He placed some documents in front of her. “When Lydia came to see me about drawing up a will, she asked me to prepare a new deed as well, which I recorded at her request about a month before she died. I believe she knew her time was coming. As her only heir, she named you as executrix of her estate, deeded the ranch over to you, and added your name to her checking and savings accounts. She took care of every last detail. It’ll be the easiest estate I’ve ever settled.”
Jordan’s heart began to thump. Lydia had thought of everything, but now that she was hearing the words with her own ears, it all felt surreal.
“Lydia left nothing to chance,” the lawyer continued.
“She didn’t want the ranch falling into the wrong hands.” He ran his fingers through his combed-over hair and leaned back in his chair.
She looked him in the eye. “What do you mean by the wrong hands’? Was she referring to my grandmother?”
He stared at her with a blank expression. “I don’t know anything about your grandmother.”
“She’s Lydia’s sister. She lives in a long-term care facility in Denver.”
“Oh!” Taylor seemed genuinely surprised. “Ms. Albright never mentioned any sister. How strange. She said you were her only living heir.”
Jordan contemplated that news. Perhaps Lydia assumed Grandma Laura had passed away. After all, from what she understood, the two sisters hadn’t spoken in many years.
“No matter,” Taylor replied. “By the wrong hands I believe Lydia was referring to Mr. Stillwell.”
Now it was Jordan’s turn to stare blankly. “Mr. Stillwell?”
“Addison Stillwell.” The lawyer’s eyebrow lifted. “You’ve never heard of him?”
She shook her head.
“He’s a large landowner and one of the wealthiest men in Otero County. He’s wanted your aunt’s ranch for years now, but she would never sell out. He tried everything— sweet-talk, bribes, threats—but Lydia would not budge. It was her home. She didn’t want to sell, especially to him. But I heard it from Lydia’s own mouth that Addison offered a great deal of money for the Lucky Seven. She once told me she could have bought two ranches with what he was willing to pay, but she refused. She stood her ground until the end.”
“Why wouldn’t she sell?” Jordan asked. “If this man offered her that much money, she could have bought herself a larger property for the horses and a newer house with modern conveniences. I don’t understand.”
“She refused out of principle. Addison Stillwell wants to build a massive housing development and Lydia was morally opposed to him destroying the natural land.”