Читать книгу A Father's Stake - Mary Anne Wilson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE TRIP FROM Los Angeles to Albuquerque, New Mexico was the first time Grace Evans had ever flown in her twenty-six years. As she stepped out of the terminal with her suitcase and overnight bag, she spotted a tram she was supposed to use to pick up her rental car. Half an hour later, she was in that car, a red compact, and heading out of the terminal parking lot toward her future. At least she hoped it was her future—her daughter’s and her mother’s as well.
Her world had been turned upside down, and she still didn’t know if this trip would lead to something more than a huge wish on her part. It had all started two weeks ago. After a double shift waitressing at the diner, she had been exhausted as she’d headed to the tiny, second story apartment she and her family shared in a less than gentrified area of Los Angeles. All she wanted was a hot bath after ten hours on her feet.
She’d found her mother in the living room with a stranger. The man probably wasn’t much taller than her own five-feet-two-inches and was sitting in the rocking chair. Grace had immediately noticed the assortment of papers spread on the low coffee table.
The stranger stood when he saw her, smoothing the front of his elegant dove-gray suit.
“I am Ethan Vaughn, with the Seals, Silkirk and Vaughn Law Firm.” Grace barely had the time to acknowledge her mother’s strained expression before he took her hand and said, “I am representing your father in a legal matter that concerns you.”
She’d just stared at him. Her father? She looked around, then let go of his hand and sank onto the couch by her mother. Reclaiming his seat in the rocker, he’d leaned forward, picked up a couple of papers and handed them to her.
The first one she read was a deed for a three hundred acre property in New Mexico, outside a small town called Wolf Lake. “What is this?” she asked, then stopped as she saw her name on the deed. She stared at it, certain she was hallucinating.
“A property deed and....” He motioned for her to look at the next sheet of paper.
The hallucination expanded. In her hands was a cashier’s check for fifty thousand dollars attached to a verification letter that had her name on it. She’d shaken her head, then turned to her mother. Gabriella Michaels touched her daughter’s knees. “It’s yours,” she said in a shaky voice. “It’s all yours.”
Mr. Vaughn had spoken then. “Your father wanted me to bring these to you.”
Charles Luther Michaels had disappeared from Grace’s life when she was about three years old. The man had been there one day, and gone the next. No goodbyes, no arguments, no warning.
“He’s restless,” her mother had explained more than once. “He needs to be on the move, and he’s not equipped to be a husband or a father.” The words had meant little to a tiny girl who didn’t have a daddy anymore, and though the tears had long since dried up, she had never quite lost that deep longing for a family.
When her own marriage had failed, she wondered if she’d deliberately picked a man like her father to try and prove to herself that she could make it work. But she’d been wrong. So very wrong. Her daughter Lilly, now six, hadn’t even been born when Jerry Evans said he couldn’t do the whole family thing. Her mother’s mistake had become her own, and the only good thing out of the mess was her daughter. Grace had listened as Mr. Vaughn explained that the deed and money were hers if she wanted them. If not, they could go to charity. She’d almost laughed at that, although she’d recognized that the laughter would have bordered on hysteria. She was close to being her own charity with a child to support.
As she drove now into the afternoon sun, the New Mexico countryside passing by unnoticed, her mind refused to settle. By the time Mr. Vaughn had left the apartment that day, she’d known that no matter what the reason behind this sudden windfall, it was hers, and she could make the life she’d always dreamed of for her little family.
Maybe Lilly could go to a school that didn’t require security guards at the doors, even for kindergarten. The air had to be cleaner out here, the streets safer. As the miles flew by, she was getting closer and closer to the end of her own personal rainbow. New Mexico. She’d never thought much about it before, except for the city of Taos far to the south, an artists’ mecca. But that had been in her teens, when she’d had dreams of being an artist after she graduated from high school. Instead she’d ended up as waitress at The Table, a down-on-its-heels diner.
She exhaled. The owners were talking about making the diner into a bikini bar, giving the area yet another dive. Now she wouldn’t have to figure out how to get another job in the city or worry about how she could make her boyish figure fill out a bikini. She shook her head at that thought. She’d been getting a bit desperate before Mr. Vaughn suddenly appeared in her apartment.
She glanced at her bag on the passenger seat and smiled. If this worked out, she wouldn’t ever be desperate again. She had images of rolling pastures and maybe a horse or two, some cows and chickens, definitely a dog and a cat. Everything she’d never had and never would have in her Los Angeles neighborhood. Clean air, clear skies, safe surroundings. It all sounded like a fairy tale to her.
She just didn’t know why the euphoria she’d had while planning this trip had deflated a bit since she got on the plane. She felt a tinge of fear now that all this might just be her own fantasy. After all, her father had never owned anything, he’d never wanted to. No money, no land, nothing like that.
That afternoon in her apartment, she’d looked from Mr. Vaughn to her mother and voiced her confusion. “I don’t understand any of this. Is he dead?”
Mr. Vaughn had shaken his head immediately. “No, he’s not.”
“Then why did he send you?”
“Honestly, I believe he didn’t want any direct contact, just to make sure you got the land and the money.”
That had brought anger and pain in equal measure. She hadn’t missed the soft gasp from her mother. No contact. A slap in the face. But Grace hadn’t been stupid enough to let the attorney take the deed and check back.
There was a note her father had sent with Mr. Vaughn for her. “It might explain things a bit,” the attorney had said.
The words were burned into her mind, and she could almost see the single sheet of paper with the strong writing on it. “Never did nothing for you, Gracie, never could. Thing is, I’m no father, never meant to be and it scared me. I knew, as much as you would hate me for it, the best thing I could do for you and your mother was to leave and keep away. I loved you both, as much as I was able to love anyone, but I never could be tied to much of anything. I had some good luck recently, and I have no use for what came with it, so I want to offer it to you. Maybe it can make up in some way for what I never could do for you.” The note wasn’t even signed.
Pain still came with the memory, but she realized it was as close to an explanation for all of this as she’d ever get. Mr. Vaughn had tried to clarify things. “Why he did this is the one thing I can’t explain to you, but I can assure you that all of this is yours, and it’s up to you what you decide to do with it.”
Her call. A fortune in land and money, and it was her call. Why her father had done it shouldn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that it could change her life, her daughter’s life and her mother’s life.
She drove past Santa Fe, barely glancing at the city. Her only thoughts were on getting to Wolf Lake, then driving on to her property. The deed included buildings and water rights. Mr. Vaughn had explained it was near an Indian reservation, but the three hundred acres was totally private, unencumbered by liens or mortgages, and it had been empty for a few years, maybe three or four.
The person her father had received it from was a man named Herbert Carson. The land where the ranch was situated had been part of a land grant in the eighteen hundreds to the Wolfs, then deeded to the Carsons after Jackson Wolf had died.
When she’d looked at her mother, silently questioning what she should do, Gabriella had simply nodded. “Let him do it for you. He owes you that much.”
After that, there had been a blur of signings on the dotted lines, making arrangements to have the check deposited in her account, then figuring out how she could go and look at everything to check it out. Now she was close, so close, and nervousness was building in her. Mr. Vaughn had said there was a house on the property, but he had no idea what condition it was in. Even a search on Google Earth had shown lots of land, roads cutting through it, dark stands of trees, outbuildings, maybe a barn. Details were lost in the aerial photo.
She rode in silence as portions of her father’s note came to her. “...the best thing I could do was leave and keep away. I had some luck...make up in some way for what I never could do for you.” Good luck was all the deed and the money were to him.
She’d been so worried about Lilly’s school, worried about saving to move to a better location, worried about her job disappearing. Now she had a place to go, and fifty thousand dollars in the bank. All thanks to her father’s luck. That probably meant gambling, though it seemed far-fetched that three hundred acres of land could be payment for a gambling debt. But that was all her father had known about making money. Find a game, get the upper hand and know when to fold.
Her world had always felt a bit unstable, ready to tip upside down in a second. And she’d been holding on for dear life. But now, she had the means to let go and have a life, a stable life. A real life.
* * *
JACK GOT HIS horse out of his parents’ stable around dawn and rode off before he saw anyone stirring. He’d spoken with his mother on the phone only once since the confrontation with his father, hearing determination in her voice to make the best of what had happened. He’d hated it when she’d apologized to him for the land being lost to them, as if it was her fault.
He hadn’t had any contact with his father over the past six weeks, and that was fine with him. He didn’t want words and promises. They were too easy to speak and impossible to back up.
He spent most of the day up in the high country, visiting a few friends on the Rez, then headed back down in the middle of the September afternoon. The heat was at its peak, but more mellow than it had been for a while, and the day was bright and clear. When he approached his parents’ land, he hesitated, then road past, farther east, and a short time later cut between the worn stone pillars that marked the drive to the old ranch.
He slowly headed up the incline of the packed dirt trail to a smaller rise that hid the old house from view. He wound around, past the stables, and the house appeared. He was trespassing again, he knew it, but he had to come. Just one last time until he could be here legally again.
He drew up by the hitching post, dismounted and secured his horse. Instead of going inside the house, he sat down on the stone step where he’d waited for his brothers back in July when he’d felt as if his world was going to end. It had come darned close, but it hadn’t ended. His determination to get this land back one way or the other kept him going,
Now frustration was driving him. The problem was, he’d found out plenty about Charles Luther Michaels, except the most important things—where he was and how to reach him. They knew he was basically a drifter and a professional gambler, moving constantly from place to place. The papers he’d sent to the address listed on the legal documents with an offer for the property had been returned. By the time a private investigator checked out the address, a boarding house in a small city near the Jersey shore, Charles Luther Michaels had been gone for two weeks.
Adam had found a criminal record for the man, a few DUIs, public disorder, minor confidence charges, vagrancy, misdemeanor assault on a casino bouncer, all scattered around the country, one in Canada. But all of them had been more than five years old. Jack and his brothers knew he’d been in Las Vegas in June, but that led nowhere. The game had been “private,” which meant big spenders in a private suite in one of the hotels and unreported to any gambling authority. They couldn’t find anyone who would admit to him being there. Privacy for big spenders was everything in that city. But it meant the man had enough stake money to get in the door, and he’d walked out with whatever cash he’d won along with the deed their father had thrown into the pot.
Michaels was out there somewhere, they knew that, but the man left no tracks. That frustrated Jack to no end. Somewhere along the way he’d come to believe that healing the tear in the Wolf family heritage by regaining the lost land would mean he could heal his own wounds. But unless their luck improved and they found Michaels, he didn’t know what would happen with the land and with him.
He flexed the tension in his shoulders as he glanced at his horse, then over to the stables. He frowned and looked back to his horse. Something was different than the last time he’d come here, but he couldn’t figure out what. Then he knew. The dead weeds in the gravel edging the drive had been cleared, but only in front of the house. He went down to take a closer look, and found lugged tire tracks. Glancing around first, he followed them down the slope to the end of the abandoned stables.
Booted foot prints in the dust led to the hay doors, and he followed them along the side of the stables to the doors to the stalls. A new lock glistened in the sun. Jack stared at it then spun around and broke into a run, heading across the dry weeds and packed earth and up the shallow hill to the drive. He took the stone step in one stride and stopped in front of the door to the house.
A new key lock with a dead bolt above it had been installed there. Going to the nearest window, he cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the streaked glass into the great room. Nothing had changed. Dust covers were in place, and as far he could tell, nothing had been moved. He went back to the door and pounded on it. “Hello! Hello? Anyone here?”
When there was no response, he stopped, suddenly feeling like the trespasser he was on the land he loved. He stood at the top of the step, unsure what to do. Someone had been here to make sure the property was secured. Possibly Charles Michaels. Or had he hired someone to come out and check on things, then change the locks?
At least something was happening. Jack headed for his horse, then rode off down the driveway and turned back to the family ranch. He needed wheels. “This could be very good,” he thought as he pulled out his cell phone and put in a call to John Longbow at the police station.
* * *
AS SOON AS Santa Fe was in the rearview mirror, Grace felt the gnaw of hunger, but didn’t want to take the time to have a sit-down meal. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last, not even peanuts on the flight, but right then the hunger was starting to be tinged with nausea. She needed food. Not sure how long it would take to get to Wolf Lake, she started looking for signs for take-out food. One proclaimed Willie G’s, The Best Food Around, Eat-in/Take-out, just two exits ahead.
A few minutes later she found the off ramp, drove onto it and down a narrow road. She could see a grouping of buildings back under the highway overpass and headed toward them. The cluster comprised little more than a gas station, a teepee-shaped souvenir shop with a heavy emphasis on Indian and Western collectibles, and a group of trailers beside a broad parking lot that serviced an old adobe building with a huge sign proclaiming Willie G’s Diner.
She pulled into a space in front of the dark wooden entry doors, shadowed by a heavy beamed overhang. A flat roof, trimmed in overlapping half pipe tiles, and plastered pink walls that were chipped to show spots of adobe brick gave the place an old Southwestern style. Only a few vehicles were parked in front—an old blue pickup truck and a very big motorcycle, painted patriotically in red, white and blue with an eagle decoration on one side. An eighteen-wheeler was parked off to the side.
Grace slid out into the blanketing warmth of the afternoon, thankful she’d worn a short-sleeved white shirt and denim shorts with sandals. As soon as she stepped inside she was greeted with cool air. The space was larger than it had looked from the exterior, with low-beamed ceilings and worn Salito tiles underfoot. Western music hummed in the background.
“Help you?” someone asked, and she looked toward a set of swinging doors to the kitchen. An older man, dressed in stained cook’s whites, smiled at her as he stepped into the room. He came to the counter and wiped his hands on a white rag. Lines fanned the edges of his eyes, and his gray hair was pulled back from a center part in a long braid.
“I need some food to go,” she said, crossing to the counter and slipping onto the nearest stool.
“Just name your poison,” he said as he passed her a single sheet menu protected by plastic.
She realized it was about the same as the menus in most of the diners she’d worked in—sandwiches, burgers and fries, chili, even some pizza. “I’ll take a turkey sandwich on wheat, not toasted, with steak fries and the largest cola you have with lots of ice, please.”
He nodded and crossed to a soda machine, packing ice in a large take-out cup before filling it with soda. He brought it back and set it down in front of her. “Thought you could use this first,” he said, and reached for a straw from under the counter.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t move to put in her food order. “Where you heading to?”
“Wolf Lake.”
“You’re too early if you’re looking for the casino or hotels that way,” he said. “Not even up yet, but they will be.” He shook his head. “So, what you got left is picking up some native art, or souvenirs, or maybe taking in one of the tours near the Rez.”
She undid the straw and pushed it through the lid. “None of that,” she said, then took a sip of the chilled drink.
Thankfully, he turned, saying, “Gonna get your food,” before heading through the swinging doors. Next thing she knew, he was pulling on a cook’s cap over his gray hair. He winked, then got busy with her order.
She took another drink and glanced around. No waitress was in sight, and only five customers were at the tables near the front windows. The cook looked as if he was doing everything by himself, moving quickly around the kitchen. He came out with two plates of food for one of the tables, then hurried back into the kitchen, reappearing almost immediately with a large white bag. “There you go, Ma’am. Napkins and ketchup in the bag.”
She paid, then grabbed the bag.
“Drop by on your way out of town if you’re going this way,” he said. “I’ll get you some real food when you’ve got the time to sit and enjoy.”
“If I come this way again, I’ll do that,” she said, slipping off the stool. “You know Wolf Lake very well?”
He chuckled. “Heck, yeah, born and bred on the Rez, then slipped on down into town when I was, oh, around twelve. Been there ever since, except when I’m down here running this place. If you need a place to stay, my niece runs a bed-and-breakfast in town. Nice place, too, and reasonable.”
“Thanks, but I have a place,” she said, hoping the house was livable.
“Where’s that?” he asked, reaching for the white rag and starting to clean the counter.
“On a ranch on the other side of town, from what I was told.”
“What ranch?”
“Wolf Ranch.”
His hand stilled and his dark eyes looked right at her. “Wolf Ranch,” he echoed. “You sure you have that right?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” she said.
“You’re a friend or something with the new owner?”
She had a feeling the man was upset for some reason, but his voice stayed even. “I am the new owner,” she said, and loved the words as they came out of her. The new owner. That sounded so great, but the cook didn’t look pleased at all.
“I knew that whole mess with the Carsons was crazy, but sure never expected old Jackson Wolf’s property to be bought by a tiny thing like you.”
She’d been called a lot of sexist things by men over the years, and she hated it, but she barely reacted anymore. Now this man was calling her a “tiny thing,” and she knew it wasn’t a sexist thing to him. He just couldn’t believe she had the land—a woman, on her own, coming in to take it over. “I didn’t buy it,” she said by way of clarification. “But it’s mine.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he said in a low voice, “I guess you didn’t buy it.”
“Sir, I need to get going,” she said.
He came around the counter toward her. “First of all, I’m Willie G., not ‘sir’ to anyone, and secondly, I was a friend of Jackson Wolf, the original owner. Old man used to head the council for years on the Rez. Town’s named after his people. Great man,” he said. “And that was his place, a Wolf place.”
She had decided from the start that she liked the idea of the land having a history, but obviously this man didn’t think she had any right to be there. She tried to divert the conversation. “What’s it like there?”
“Fallow. Empty,” Willie G. said, “for maybe four or so years, since the old man passed. Age ninety-two, I think, and still on that land until the day he died.”
“I’m here to check it out,” she said, sticking to the bare facts and not letting his attitude make her defensive. She had nothing to be defensive about.”
He shook his head. “So, it’s come to this?” he asked softly, as if talking to himself. “Stupid man,” he muttered, then must have realized he’d been speaking out loud. “Sorry, Ma’am, but life gets crazy sometimes around here.”
“It does everywhere,” Grace said and started for the door.
“Miss?” he called after her.
She turned just before reaching for the handle. “Yes?”
“Who have I been talking to?”
“Grace, my name’s Grace.”
“Okay, Grace. I know this will sound strange, but if you decide by any chance that that hunk of land isn’t for you, would you let me know? I’ve been looking for a bit of land around that area.”
She was as shocked by his question as he’d seemed to be when she’d told him she owned the land. “I won’t be selling it, I don’t think.”
“Just let me know, one way or the other, okay?” He reached for the order pad lying on the counter and quickly wrote something on it before tearing the page off. “Just let Willie G. know, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, and started to shift her load so she could take it from him, but he simply reached over and dropped it in her bag.
He opened the door for her, calling after her, “Safe trip, Grace.”
His interest in the property had taken her back, but once she saw what condition it was in, she might hunt the man down and see how much she could get out of it. She slipped inside the sweltering interior of her car, put her purse and the food bag on the seat, then started the engine and flipped the air conditioner on. She put her drink in the holder in the console, then reached into the white bag to get a French fry.
Cool air flowed into the space and she put the car in gear. Glancing up at the restaurant, she was a bit surprised to see Willie G. still standing there in the doorway watching her. He lifted a hand in her direction, that smile back in place, before ducking inside. She felt odd for a moment, then pushed the feeling away and drove back toward the highway.
