A Father's Stake. Mary Wilson Anne

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      GRACE DIDN’T ANSWER his question. She stared up at him, then took a step back. “I don’t know who you are, or why you think I’d share my personal business with you, but one thing I learned growing up was not to talk to strangers.”

      She knew she was bordering on rudeness, but she didn’t even know his last name. And she was edgy, and tired from sleepless nights, then the flight out and the drive to the ranch. And she still hadn’t eaten much more than a few French fries. And she felt a bit light-headed.

      “I’m Jack Carson,” he said without preamble and held out his hand to her.

      Carson. He had to be a relative of the man who had owned this land before her father got it. Okay, she could deal with this. She met his grip, which was warm and firm. “Grace Evans. Not that you don’t already know that.” She drew her hand back. “And this is my land. I own it.”

      “You purchased it from Charles Michaels?” he asked, tucking the tips of his fingers in the pockets of his Levis.

      “He’s my father.” She saw a flash of something like surprise cross his face, then it was gone. “And I didn’t buy it from him.”

      “You’re not the legal owner?”

      “Yes, I am. He signed it over to me.”

      “Why?”

      “He’s my father, I told you that. He gave it to me. He said he didn’t have any use for it, so I should have it.”

      “Where is he now?”

      That seemed an odd question, but she didn’t mind answering it truthfully. “I don’t know. All of the land business was done through an attorney in Los Angeles, Mr. Vaughn.” And that was all she was going to say. She would never tell anyone that her father hadn’t even wanted to see her or Lilly.

      “And he has no legal interest in this land anymore?”

      He has no interest in anything, period, except what he wants to do, she thought. Bitterness didn’t sit well with her, but she couldn’t seem to get beyond it. And she sure wasn’t going to tell this man about her father. “No, no interest at all.”

      “That’s it? He just gave it you?”

      “Yes,” she said.

      * * *

      SHOCKED WAS THE only way to describe how Jack felt. Michaels hadn’t wanted this ranch, so he gave it to his daughter? Just like that. Still, there had been something in her expression when she spoke about her father. Maybe sadness. Jack wished he understood her just a bit. He had to make her see it his way about the land. He had to know Grace Evans and what made her tick.

      All he really understood was that Grace Anne Evans was the one with the prize. Charles Michaels was out of the picture. His daughter stood between Jack and what Jack wanted. And if he’d thought to recheck the deeding of the land before he came, he wouldn’t be standing here figuring out things on the fly.

      “I’ve got a question for you,” Grace said, crossing her arms and shifting slightly to use his shadow to block the sun from her eyes.

      “What’s that?”

      “You said you were told I was coming here. So, who told you?”

      That was a simple question and he didn’t hesitate. “Willie G. at the diner let me know.”

      “You’re kidding me!” she said. “He told you about me?”

      “Absolutely. He’s an old friend, and he thought I’d like to know someone was claiming to own this place. He’s very protective of this land and his people. Just ask him about the new entertainment center.”

      She brushed at her hair, the tendrils that had escaped the high ponytail lifting in the gentle breeze. “I should tell you that he asked me if I was going to sell this place, and if I decided to, to let him know so he could make an offer on it.”

      That didn’t surprise him. Willie G. saw the land as the peoples’ land, not possessed by individuals. They were just the caretakers. Since he’d found out about the ranch being lost, he hadn’t spoken to Jack’s dad. But finding a woman who claimed to own it, a stranger, must have set off all sorts of warnings in Willie’s head. “And what did you tell him?”

      “That I wasn’t considering selling.” He saw her look around, her gaze taking in the house and outbuildings, then skimming the distant hills. “I don’t think I would ever sell it,” she said in a near whisper.

      And it was legally hers. When Maureen had confirmed that Grace Anne Evans was indeed the owner of record, Jack had known right then that his quest had changed course dramatically. She was his target. She was the one he’d have to deal with.

      “So, you’re keeping the land?” he finally asked.

      “So far, yes, I am,” she said without hesitation.

      “But if you find you don’t want to, that this place is too isolated or too hard to handle or not your taste, you’d be selling it, wouldn’t you?”

      She turned away from him again to look at the house. “I don’t see any reason for me to sell.”

      It couldn’t be sentimentality over her father that was stopping her. The man had never been here as far as Jack knew, and Michaels had only owned it for a month or so. He was surprised she wasn’t put off by the parched earth and obvious neglect. But she seemed pretty determined to stay, and he didn’t know what cards to play to make sure she didn’t.

      He’d have a background check run on Grace Evans first thing, to figure out where she stood in life, then go from there. “Where are you from?” he asked.

      She didn’t turn back to him, but kept staring at the old adobe house. “L.A.”

      He’d been in Los Angeles for college and law school, so he knew most of the areas. “What part?”

      When she told him, he frowned. The area she’d named was rough, on the edge of a high crime district. Maybe the ranch looked like Shangri-La to her.

      She finally turned when he didn’t speak again. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Is Herbert Carson your father or uncle or something like that?”

      “Father,” he said.

      “I saw his name on the deed.” She bit her lip. “What I can’t imagine is why your father let this all go.”

      “Me, too,” he said in a low voice. “But he did. And your father got the benefit of his stupidity.”

      That brought a look of incomprehension to her face. “What stupidity?”

      “You don’t think it’s stupid to gamble away a place that’s been in your family for over a century in a poker game?”

      She knew all about it. It was there on her face, along with a slight blush. His father had bet the land on a single hand of poker, and her father had won it on a single hand. “You know,” she said, a statement, not a question.

      “Yes, СКАЧАТЬ