Her Country Heart

  Her Country Heart

  A Sierra Creek Novel

  Reggi Allder

  Copyright © 2015 Reggi Allder

  All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, this book may not be reproduced or utilized in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, known today or invented hereafter, xerography, photocopying or any information storage or retrieval system and is forbidden without the written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events is entirely coincidental. Published by Cressmead Publishing.

  ISBN 978-0-9921148-5-5

  Cover art by Steven Novak

  DEDICATION

  To Gran who worked hard, never complained and had time to listen to me whenever I needed her.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Anna Markland, Jacquie Biggar and

  Sylvie Grayson

  Books By Reggi Allder

  Money Power and Poison

  Shattered Rules

  Her Country Heart

  CHAPTER 1

  “Sierra Creek,” the driver shouted as the Greyhound Bus came to an abrupt stop on the two lane highway.

  Amy Long pushed her hair behind her ears and grabbed her worn suitcase. Surprised to see her hand tremble, she seized the case with both hands and rushed toward the front of the bus.

  A gust of hot wind slapped her face as she stepped off the bus. Gravel pelted her bare legs when it drove away. She squinted and read a faded road sign, Sierra Creek population five thousand. There wasn’t a building in sight.

  After years of living in the city, she’d forgotten how sweltering and desolate it was here. She’d vowed never to return home. Odd it was the first place that came to mind when she and her young son needed a fresh start.

  With Granny gone, there was no family left to welcome her. She swallowed a sob. Maybe it was a mistake to come back.

  The relentless afternoon sun beat down on her shoulders and her arms began to burn. San Francisco, the air conditioned city, seemed a million miles away.

  Impatient, she cleared her dry throat, wiped perspiration from her forehead, and let out a groan as the minutes ticked by. What wouldn’t she give for some shade and a bottle of ice water?

  With a sigh, she pulled out her smart phone and checked the time. Thirty minutes since she’d arrived at the bus stop and not a single car had gone by. Where was the arranged ride into town?

  Granny’s handyman was supposed to meet her. He obviously wasn’t a stickler about being on time. She reminded herself she was in the California foothills not in a busy metropolis where time was money.

  The sound of a truck rumbled in the distance. With the back of her hand, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes and squinted. Hopeful, she watched the pick-up come closer. A shiny black Ford F 150 with extended cab pulled up in front of her.

  “Hi, Amy?” A man yelled through the open window as his brown hair fell casually over a high forehead and deep-set blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She moved nearer and stared at his wide cheek bones, square jaw and full lips. About thirty?

  A flutter of recognition stirred in her as palpable charm radiated from his broad smile, Wyatt Cameron.

  His muscular arms flexed as his huge hands squeezed the steering wheel. “Don’t just stand there. Get in. The judge is waiting.”

  Surprised by his gruffness, she stepped back.

  “I heard you need a ride into town,” he said quietly as if he understood her reaction. “It’s Wyatt.”

  “Hi, nice to see you again.” Even now her cheeks burned with the memory of him. She tightened the grip on the suitcase. As she stared her heartbeat increased and her breathing quickened. “Granny’s handyman is going to give me a ride.”

  “You could say that’s me. Toss your suitcase in the back and get in the truck.”

  She shook the pebbles from her flip flops and picked up her suitcase. Filled with everything she and her son might need, she grunted and struggled to lift the enormous bag high enough to push it into the raised truck bed.

  Wyatt hopped out of the cab and brushed by her. With a sharp intake of breath, she took in his fresh just-out–of–the-shower scent.

  Effortlessly, he tossed the bag into the truck.

  “Get in.”

  She quickly hauled herself into the vehicle and slammed the door. “Nice pick-up. Beautiful upholstery,” she said trying for casual conversation. She ran her hand over the black and white leather seat.

  “It’s custom. Had it done in Sacramento by a guy who specializes it tuck and roll car seats.”

  “Really nice.”

  Pretty fancy truck for handyman. The job must pay better than she’d thought. For some reason she’d believed Granny’s handyman would be an old retired guy gnarled from too much sun and hard work, not the hunk sitting next to her.

  “Where’s your son? Thought he’d be with you.”

  “He’s staying with a friend of mine in San Francisco. Bobby’s only four. I thought it’d be better if I took care of things here before he comes to the farm.” She paused. “It’s only been a few hours since I left and I already miss him.”

  She sighed, leaned against the back seat and let the air conditioned breeze wash over her. The purr of the truck’s engine soothed her and her breathing slowed.

  “Thanks for picking me up. If you drop me at my grandmother’s farm I’ll…”

  “It’s too late for that. We can’t keep Judge Wilcox waiting. He’s going to read your grandmother’s will.”

  “I need a shower and a change of clothes before I see him.” She yanked on her cut off jeans and pulled on her pink tank top, but no matter how hard she tugged they were both too short. “I can’t wear these clothes in front of a judge.”

  Wyatt’s eyes widened as he quickly scanned her before returning his gaze back to the road. “You should have thought of that when you got dressed this morning.”

  “I thought there’d be time to clean up and put on something more—more appropriate. How could I know the bus would be late? My ride was late too,” she said pointedly.

  He mumbled an expletive under his breath then said, “You’ll just have to deal with it.” His features hardened and his lips tightened.

  The plea for him to change his mind stuck in her throat. The set of his jaw told her it wouldn’t do any good to ask him to reconsider.

  As the vehicle roared down the highway she found a comb in her purse and yanked it through her tangled hair. She dug in her bag looking for a ponytail holder. No luck. Still wishing she had time to shower and change, she applied pink lipstick, took a breath of the cool air, and resisted looking at Wyatt.

  ***

  Sierra Creek, the gold rush town, looked much the same as it did the last time she was there two years earlier. She smiled, comforted by the fact that there was something in her life that hadn’t changed.

  The main street, with its turn of the twentieth century buildings, gleamed with fresh paint. “Open” signs looked out from retail stores, trying to entice shoppers to come in and browse.

  No big box stores allowed. The same shops she remembered as a kid were still there, including Sol’s Barber Shop, Andy’s General Store and Sophie’s Ice Cream Parlor, where Amy and her friends had spent many hours talking over ice cream sodas and diet cokes.

  The huge columned courthouse at the end of the street looked like it could be part of a nineteen fifties movie set. Was it a good idea to bring Bobby to a town that time forgot? Did she have a choice?

  Wyatt dropped her off at the curb in front of the courthouse and went to park t
he truck. With shoulders squared, she forced her head high and walked up the steps. Suddenly nervous, she hesitated at the front door.

  Without warning, her throat tightened. She gasped, unable to get her breath. Granny was gone. She’d never see her beloved grandmother again. The realization slammed into her like a fist to her chest. Rooted in place, she struggled against a surge of tears.

  “Come on. We’re late.” Wyatt caught hold of her arm.

  “No. I—” She held her hand to her mouth to stop a cry.

  “Judge Wilcox is waiting.”

  Wyatt led her into the building and to a room off the rotunda.

  Everyone in the chamber stared when she entered and the room went unexpectedly silent.

  “Mrs. Long, I presume.”

  She nodded at sound of the judge’s deep voice. “Yes your honor.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and yanked on the back of her shorts.

  “Take a seat Mrs. Long.” The man’s brown eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her.

  “Yeah. I mean yes sir.” Without looking at the other people in the room she sank into the nearest chair.

  “Now that you are all here we can start.” The judge still glared at her. “This is the last will and testament of Mary Louise McCarthy.”

  She gasped.

  “Do you need something Mrs. Long?” the judge asked.

  “No sir.”

  “Then I will continue. I, Mary McCarthy, herby revoke all former wills and codicils.”

  Amy leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes against the truth of Granny’s death.

  The judge’s voice droned on, but she had difficulty concentrating. Memories of her grandmother flooded her. Granny was always smiling, always cheerful, and always kind, even when, as a teenager, Amy had rebelled and wouldn’t listen to reason.

  Her grandmother was her rock, the problem solver, the woman with overgenerous patience. And together they’d managed to find an answer to Amy’s many troubling situations. But today there’d be no resolution. If only she could speak to Granny one last time and tell her how much she loved her.

  “I direct my executor, Wyatt Cameron, to pay my enforceable unsecured debts and funeral expenses, the cost of my last illness, and the operating expense of administering my estate. I direct him, without apportionment against any beneficiary or other person, to pay all estate, inheritance, and succession taxes (including any interest and penalties thereon) payable by reason of my death,” the judge continued.

  She heard disjointed words that floated in the air as she bit her lower lip and pressed her hand tight against her mouth. Did the judge just say Wyatt Cameron was the executor of Granny’s will? She shook her head. I must have heard that wrong.

  “I bequeath fifteen hundred dollars to the Sierra Creek Methodist Church and one thousand dollars to the Sacramento Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,” the man continued. “To my good friend Sophie Danelavich I leave my Windsor rocking chair and the Grandfather clock she always admired.”

  There were other small bequests, but Amy couldn’t concentrate enough to hear them. “Focus,” she whispered and forced her eyes open in an effort to pay attention.

  The judge glanced at her and almost as if he understood she was having trouble following him, he spoke more slowly, “I thank Wyatt Cameron for his help. It allowed me to continue to live in my home. My bequest gives him the use of my cottage and barn for as long as he needs them. And I leave half ownership in my farm including all buildings and land to Wyatt Cameron.”

  “No.” Amy whispered.

  Wyatt stood up. “That can’t be right.”

  “It is correct Mr. Cameron. Do not interrupt this court again or I will ask you to leave my chambers. Do you understand sir?”

  “Yeah. Sorry your honor.”

  “Take your seat Mr. Cameron.”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know.” Wyatt whispered and reached for her.

  “Get away from me.” She yanked her hand from his.

  A murmur went through the room.

  “Silence.” Judge Wilcox slammed his gavel down on his desk. “Everyone settle down.”

  The whispers and mumbling slowed.

  Amy wiped tears from her eyes. Granny betrayed her, betrayed Bobby. Why would she give half the farm to Wyatt? He wasn’t blood kin, not even a distant cousin. He was just—nobody.

  Her grandmother wouldn’t do that. Somehow he had tricked Granny into leaving half the property to him. He wouldn’t get away with it, not if she could stop it.

  “To Amy Long I give all the rest of my tangible property, real and personal and all the residue and remainder of my estate.”

  The judge cleared his throat and stood. “That concludes the reading. If any of you have questions call my office and make an appointment to see me. Now everybody get.”

  He glanced from Amy to Wyatt. “Mrs. Long, I’ve set up a meeting for next Monday at two o’clock in my office for you and Mr. Cameron to complete the transfer of your grandmother’s property.”

  Without waiting for her to agree to the appointed day and time, he left the chamber. Apparently the meeting next Monday was not a request. It was a command.

  People filed out of the room without speaking to her. She watched hoping to find a familiar face, but didn’t see one.

  Wyatt’s truck was parked at the curb in front of the building when she came out of the court house.

  “I’ll drive you to Granny’s farm.”

  Don’t you mean your farm? She bit back the caustic reply. A thief, the thought of sitting next to him in the truck turned her stomach. But with no cab or bus in town, a five mile walk to Granny’s house dragging a giant suitcase in one hundred degree heat wasn’t appealing either. She squelched the need to tell him what he could to with his ride. With a hiss under her breath, she got in his truck and slammed the door shut.

  “Did you say something?”

  “No.”

  He looked unconvinced, but started the engine without saying anything more.

  A few minutes later, the Ford turned off the two lane highway onto Star Route 3.

  She waited for Granny’s property to come into view at the end of the road. Had it really been two years since she’d come home? It seemed like yesterday. How could everything look the same when her world had totally changed?

  In anticipation, she sat forward. The apple orchards appeared first, the trees green leafed and flushed with fruit almost ready to be harvested. No matter how many new brands of apple came on the market, the red delicious defined the apple for her.

  The white two story traditional American farmhouse with its pointed gables and wraparound porch, so popular in the Sierra Foothills, glistened in the late afternoon. Her chest tightened at the sight.

  Soon the sun would be setting. So many times she and Granny had sat on the porch peeling apples for applesauce as they watched the late afternoon sky turn orange.

  Wyatt drove the truck into the driveway and turned off the engine. Anxious to get into the house, she reached into her pocket and felt for the key Granny had given her so many years earlier.

  “If you’ll get my suitcase out of the truck, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’d like to get home.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows rose as he turned to face her. “I thought you knew—I live here.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “Your grandmother’s will gives me the right to stay on the farm as long as I want to,” Wyatt said.

  How stupid could Amy be? He owned half the farm. Of course he could live on it. Even so, she’d assumed he had a home somewhere else, anywhere but the farm. His taking half ownership of Granny’s place was bad enough, but the thought of him living there was unbearable.

  The worn plank floor creaked when she walked into her childhood home. The familiar smell of lilac and pine still permeated the old place. She ran a shaking hand over the familiar pastel flowered sofa and touched the blue and white granny square blanket her grandmother had knitted. It lay
tossed on the corner of Grandpa’s leather club chair just as it had when she’d first seen it as a scared six year old kid who’d come to live with her grandparents.

  In a few days Bobby would arrive on the farm. Slightly younger than she’d been when she came to live there, he also needed a haven from the problems in his young life just as she had when her mother had sent her to live on the farm with Granny.

  Would Wyatt let her stay now that he was the executor and half owner of the place? Could he turn her away even though she and Bobby had nowhere else to go? The question sent a jab of fear rushing through her.

  She glanced around the room. Everything held a memory, a story of Granny, only deepening her sense of loss. Sorrow tightened her chest threatening to stifle her breathing. She forced herself to inhale deeply.

  To protect Bobby, she hadn’t cried when she received the phone call that Granny was gone. She swallowed a sob. She wouldn’t let Wyatt see her cry.

  He had the right to stay in her home. No matter how angry that made her, she couldn’t stop him. But she wouldn’t let him see her tears.

  ***

  Without the sun, the evening cooled. In the great room of old house, Wyatt set a fire in the stone fireplace. She watched the muscles of his strong back flex as he lifted a huge oak log and placed it on the burning kindling. Her body reacted with a sudden shot of heat, but it was proximity to him not the fire’s warmth that caused it.

  “That should keep the cold out tonight.” Wyatt brushed ash from his jeans and stretched his hands out to the fire, then turned and smiled.

  Even though anger pulsed in her, his magnetism called to her. Damn her female response to his sex appeal. She moved toward him, stopped, moved back and gave her head a quick shake. Granny must have felt the pull of his charisma too. Was that how he got her to sign over half the farm to him?

  “I obviously make you uncomfortable.”