Her Right-Hand Cowboy. Marie Ferrarella

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      She smiled to herself at her unintentional pun.

      And that was new, Ena noted as she continued to travel along Forever’s Main Street. Slowing her vehicle, she took a closer look at what appeared to be—a hotel?

      Surprised, she slowed down even more as she passed a small welcoming three-story building. Yes, it was a hotel all right.

      Was there actually an influx of tourists to Forever these days? Enough to warrant building and running a hotel? Was it even profitable?

      Ena looked over her shoulder again as she passed the new building. She had never thought that progress would actually ever come to Forever. Obviously she had thought wrong.

      The law firm where she was supposed to go to see her father’s lawyer was new, as well—as was the concept of her father actually having a will formally drafted and written up. If her father had actually wanted to put down any final instructions to be followed after his demise, she would have expected him to write them down himself by hand on the inside of some old brown paper grocery bag, its insides most likely stained and making the writing illegible.

      To see a lawyer would have taken thought on his part, a process that she had a hard time crediting her father with. Anyway, to draw up a will would have been an admission of mortality, and from the bottom of her heart, she was certain that her father had honestly believed he was going to live forever.

      He’d certainly conducted himself that way while she lived here.

      Ena realized that she was driving past the diner. She caught herself wondering if that, too, had changed. Was Miss Joan still running the place? She couldn’t bring herself to imagine that not being the case. Miss Joan had been a fixture in Forever for as long as she could remember.

      When she’d been a young girl, Ena could remember that she’d been afraid of the sharp-tongued woman. It was only as she got older that she began to appreciate the fact that everyone turned to Miss Joan for advice or support, even though, at least on the surface, Miss Joan was a no-nonsense, opinionated, blustery woman who could cut to the heart of any matter faster than anyone she’d ever met.

      Ena made a mental note to stop by the diner when she finished with her father’s lawyer. She wanted to see for herself if Miss Joan was still running the place.

      And, while she was at it, she wanted to ask Miss Joan why she at least hadn’t gotten in contact with her to tell her that her father was dying of cancer. Never mind that she hadn’t given the woman her address or phone number and had maintained her own silence for ten years. Miss Joan had her ways of getting in contact with people. She always had.

      After pulling up in front of the neat, hospitable, small freshly painted building with its sign proclaiming Law Offices, Ena carefully parked her sports car.

      As she emerged out of the vehicle, she saw a couple of vaguely familiar-looking people passing by. They were looking in her direction as they walked. By the expressions on their faces, they appeared to be trying to place her, as well.

      Getting this uncomfortable bit of business over and done with was the only thing on her mind at the moment. She looked away from the duo and went up to the law office’s front door.

      Ena had barely rung the bell when the door swung open. She found herself making eye contact with a tall, good-looking, blond-haired man she didn’t recognize. The man had a friendly, authoritative air about him despite his age, which she judged to be somewhere around his late thirties.

      Ena dived right in. “Hello, I have an appointment with Cash Taylor,” she told the man.

      Warm, friendly eyes crinkled at her as he smiled. “Yes, I know. I’m Cash—and you’re right on time,” he told her. “That isn’t as usual as you might think.” Cash opened the door all the way. “Won’t you come in?”

      “Thank you,” Ena murmured, making her way into the small homey lobby. And then she turned toward Cash, waiting.

      “My office is on the right,” he told her, sensing his late client’s daughter was waiting for him to tell her which direction to go in.

      There were two main offices in the building. Cash had one, while the sheriff’s wife, who had initially started the firm when she married Sheriff Santiago, had the other. Both were of equal size.

      “This is new,” Ena heard herself saying as she followed Cash into his tastefully decorated office.

      “It is,” Cash agreed. “Although I can’t take credit for it. My partner started the firm when she decided to stay in Forever after she married Sheriff Santiago.”

      “Sheriff Rick’s married?” Ena asked, surprised by the information.

      Cash nodded. “Married and a father. So am I.” Not that she probably remembered him, Cash thought. However, there was someone she probably did remember from her early days in Forever. “You might know my wife. She was Alma Rodriguez before she decided to take a chance on me,” he told her with an engaging smile.

      The surprises just kept on coming, Ena marveled. “You’re married to Alma?”

      Cash was obviously proud of that fact. He nodded. “You’ve been gone ten years, is it?” As he sat down at his desk, he checked the notes in the open file before him. “I guess you have a lot of catching up to do.”

      “I don’t plan to stay here long enough to catch up,” Ena politely informed him. “I’m just here long enough to get the property ready to put up for sale and then I’m going back to Dallas.”

      Cash frowned slightly. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to postpone your return back to Dallas,” he informed her politely.

      Ena’s eyes widened as she stared at the lawyer. “Wait, what? Why?”

      Cash realized that he had forgotten one very important step. Extending his hand to her, he said, “First of all, please allow me to express my condolences on the death of your father—” He got no further.

      Ena waved her hand, symbolically wiping away whatever else he had to say along those lines. She didn’t want his sympathy or anyone else’s.

      “You can save your breath, Mr. Taylor,” Ena said. “My father’s been dead to me a long time, just as, I assume, I have been dead to him.”

      Cash shook his head, wanting to correct her mistaken belief. “I’m afraid I—”

      “If he didn’t tell you, Mr. Taylor, let me,” Ena volunteered. “From the minute I was born, my father and I never got along. After my mother died, that hostility just increased by a factor of ten. I took off the day after I graduated from high school. And I’ve never looked back.” That wasn’t strictly true, but she saw no point in elaborating.

      Cash nodded. “Yes, your father told me.”

      Ena shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at the very idea of being here. “To be honest, I’m not really sure why he left the ranch to me. I just assumed he was going to run the ranch forever.”

      “Unfortunately,” Cash began, “forever had a timetable.” He lowered his voice a little as he added, “And we are all very sorry to have lost him.”

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