The Romeo Arrangement: A Small Town Romance
Page 39
It was always just me and Gramps, or me and my parents. Two exclusive worlds running forever parallel, never to meet.
Except...I hadn’t spent much time in the world I loved with Gramps, had I? Not recently.
There’s that pesky guilt again.
It’s not like anyone paid me to stay away. But somehow, in a flash, it’s been six freaking years since I was here, visiting Dallas, North Dakota.
Time has no chill. I spent my last summer with Gramps after my high school graduation. Then I moved to California and started college.
Summer vacays became a thing of the past. Hell, so did vacations of any kind. Six years blurred by in a flash flood of life of attempted adulting.
That thing they tell you not to do in life? I did it.
I blinked.
And when I was done, I already had one failed business and was working frantically to save my second. Now, I just dissolved my third.
Three strikes, Bella – you’rrrrre out!
I wish I’d known the first two times.
Real estate, plus California, plus me? That’s an equation even Einstein couldn’t fix.
No, I didn’t lose my shirt, as Gramps would’ve put it, but I barely made enough scratch to pay my parents back each time – something Gramps, my true backer, always insisted I use for my next 'adventure.'
More accurately, my next failure.
If I had a dime for every time I ever wished I was home, at the ranch, I’d be richer than my parents are, or will be once this godforsaken meeting ends.
I’m pinching my thigh under the table, imagining the next six months of misery.
They’ll sell the old ranch first thing. That’s for sure.
Mom hates the place, so Dad does too. She’s the reason he left it in the first place, and never came back. She’d wanted out of this town and knew my father was her ticket to the moon. It worked...and it’s been 'working' for more than twenty years in the screwiest family unit imaginable.
Mother’s gasp stops my rabbiting thoughts.
“Now, see here!” Dad yells, holding up a finger. “You’re a smart man. There’s no way – no goddamn way – my father would’ve ever set it up this way. There’s been a mistake.”
I hold my breath, wondering what I’d missed.
Talk about going well. So they’ve blown right past annoyed into screaming mad.
“No mistake, sir. You can read it for yourself right here,” Sheridan says, lowering his glasses on his nose. “Jonah’s will is remarkably straightforward. Every asset, every account, every penny, every stake in North Earhart Oil, and every earthly possession all goes to his granddaughter, Ms. Bella Reed.” He gives me a pointed gaze over the rim of his glasses. “Annabelle Amelia Reed, to be technical.”
Eep. That’s me. Annabelle Amelia Reed.
Named after the famous Amelia Earhart, who Gramps always swore was a distant relative. He was the only one who combined Annabelle and Amelia into Bella and called me that. For that reason alone, that the will says Bella, I have to ask, “Wait. What?”
“Jonah Reed was senile!” Mom retorts. “Ever since the first day I met him. I don’t believe it’s a mistake at all, Gary.”
Her eyes flash to my father. He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds like here we go.
“It’s a sick joke. One last way for that old fool to toy with us beyond the grave. Listen, Mr. Sheridan, and listen good. No way. There’s no earthly way Annabelle gets everything. She’s too young.”
I try not to snort at how ridiculous she sounds. Worse, her latest Botox rounds still don’t allow her to make proper facial expressions. But she doesn’t need to.
It’s in her tone. She’s always been petty and jealous over my relationship with Gramps.
Never when it benefited her, of course, but when it didn’t. Whenever she had something to lose by Gramps flying me out to Dallas, or in her words, 'sticking his wretched beak where it doesn’t belong.'
It wasn’t pretty. Like now.
“She’s over twenty-one,” Sheridan says. “So legally, under federal and North Dakota law, she inherits it per Mr. Reed’s wishes. All of it.” He almost cracks a smile when he looks at me. “Including Mr. Edison.”
Edison! My heart skips a beat. “Oh my...he’s still alive?”
“Alive and more trouble than ever,” Sheridan tells me with a sly grin.
Edison might be the smartest horse on earth. He has to be over thirty, which is ancient for a horse.
I smile, seeing him like it was just yesterday. Coal-black with a white streak on his forehead, the horse is practically Houdini – a born escape artist.
Gramps hadn’t mentioned Edison in any of our last phone conversations. I’d been afraid to ask, didn’t want to know if he’d died.
He loved that horse, the same as me. How else would a grown woman ever feel about her favorite playmate growing up?
“Ridiculous! What’s she going to do with a ranch and an oil company out here in the middle of nowhere?” Mother snaps.
Sheridan lifts a grey brow. “Whatever she pleases, Mrs. Reed.”
“Well, she can’t. The girl has commitments in California.” Mother’s dagger eyes drift in my direction, her lips pursed sourly, expecting me to fly to her rescue. Say something, damn it, I can almost hear her beaming.
“Actually...no, I don’t. I had obligations until last week, when I submitted the papers to dissolve my latest company.” I flinch, knowing I shouldn’t have spoken.
This is already bad enough. But Gramps would want me to have a little fun, wouldn’t he?
Dad just shakes his head and averts his eyes. He’s drained, in disbelief, thoroughly done with all of this.
“Ms. Reed, you should know there are a few stipulations, which you and I will address privately.” Sheridan then casts his stoic and somewhat tired gaze back at my parents. “That, too, is in the will.”
“I’ll stipulate you,” Mom whispers under her breath, sniffing loudly. “And after all we’ve done for her, too.”
Then she snatches her blue and white dimpled Gucci purse off the floor. It’s a perfect match for her outfit, as always. “Enough! I’ve never been so insulted in my life.” Standing, she snaps, “Come on, Gary.”
That’s Dad’s signal to follow, and he will.
The look he gives me as he stands up is almost sympathetic. For the briefest second, I see a resemblance to Gramps, mainly in the eyes. Lush green, just like mine.
He turns to the lawyer. “I’m assuming you want us to wait outside?”
Sheridan stands up, a movement that seems to take forever since he’s nearly as tall as a telephone pole and almost as skinny.
“That’s up to you,” the lawyer says. “You’re perfectly welcome to return to your hotel, or visit the cemetery.”
For a second, they freeze.
He knows they didn’t go to the grave this afternoon to watch that little bean-pot-looking urn get placed in the ground. Only I did. The only soul on earth besides the attendant who watched him being interred.
“Oh, please! The hotel...that hovel?” Mom says, already marching toward the door. “Hell is a national hotel chain. Do you have any idea what the bleach in those sheets does to my skin?”
I try not to roll my eyes. If only we could blame even half her antics on the bedding.
“We’ll be in the lobby, Anna,” Dad tells me, catching up with her just in time to yank open the door.
I nod, swallowing the lump growing in my throat because I truly wish I didn’t have to go through this alone.
“Can I get you anything?” Sheridan asks once the door clicks shut, leaving just the two of us in his office. “Coffee? Soda? A glass of water?”
I shake my head, thankful it still moves. I feel stiff, frozen, and chock-full of dread. I’ve had three failed business adventures, mostly rentals I thought I could manage and turn a profit on.
How could I ever take on the complicated monstrosity Gramps turned into his em
pire? How could I ever do it justice?
A flipping oil company? I don’t even know the price at the pump today!
Mom might be right. I can’t.
And I’m kinda sorta panicking.
Mr. Sheridan slowly sinks back into his chair, eyeing me slowly. “Forgive me, Ms. Reed. I recently had back surgery, so I’m not moving very fast yet.”
I nod again. Then, because I should at least acknowledge he’d spoken, I say, “I hope you feel better soon. Gramps went through something like that maybe ten years back...he was practically doing cartwheels a year later.” God. I’m really out of my element here.
“Ah, I hope to be half that lucky. And you won’t be alone in this, let me assure you. Your grandfather was a careful man and a good planner. He left generous provisions for my services as long as you need them. Additionally, you’ll have the full support of his most trusted companion, who’s also listed in the will. Mr. Larkin will provide you with everything you could ever need.”
His...companion? Mr. Larkin? What the what?
I knew Gramps had an assistant around the house, of sorts, but...I’m drawing a total blank on the man’s name. Gramps never said much about him, only mentioned his helper a few times.
Someone who worked at the ranch, and sometimes dealt with company business. Probably an old Army buddy or something.
It’s a big place, but there’s not as much to manage as there used to be.
Gramps sold off his cattle and chickens years ago and rented the majority of his land, so his man simply filled in the gaps, did odd jobs he couldn’t keep up with in old age.
Honestly, I was glad he had someone there with him, living on the property. I wish I’d asked more, knew more, but whenever we’d talked, it was always about me. That’s what Gramps loved to talk about more than anything. Living vicariously, maybe.
To hear what I was doing, and when I was coming home.
We’d talk for hours, even when the visits I’ll always regret not making couldn’t happen.
Gramps heard it all.
Life. Dreams. Triumphs. Every good thing any loving grandfather wants to know about.
Well, I’m here now, and at least I’ve got help.
Sorta. An old attorney, an old companion, and an old horse.
Hopefully they don’t all die on me the same week.
I catch myself, shaking my head. What an awful, selfish thought to have. I hope it isn’t Mom’s craptacular attitude rubbing off.
Slowly, I plant my hands on the black dress covering my thighs and try to refocus on what Sheridan says.
“...need to live at the ranch for at least six months. I’ll be checking in with you regularly. Do you have any questions?”
Considering I hadn’t been listening to most of what he’d said, I should have a million, but I shake my head. I don’t want him to know what a failure I am at business, or today, following a simple conversation.
My shoulders slump. He probably already knows.
From what I gather, I have six months to either make it or break it here.
God only knows what’ll happen then. Or maybe Sheridan does, but right now, I don’t even ask because I don’t even want to know.
“As I said,” he continues, “Jonah has everything in perfect order down to the last T crossed. The board of directors will handle everything with North Earhart Oil. The company has a vast legal framework, so I won’t be as involved in that, but will be available to assist you with anything you don’t understand pertaining to your role in the founder’s seat.”
Heavy lies the crown, they say. Except, in this instance, the thought of even sitting in my grandfather’s seat before a gaggle of sharp-dressed executives makes my stomach twist.
I nod, swallowing hard, pretending it’ll be just dandy.
He leans back in his seat. “As I told your father earlier, his position with the company won’t change, and neither will his income. Jonah saw no need to modify his usual compensation.”
Fair. Dad barely does anything to warrant his six-figure salary, but I know my parents would be ten times as irate losing it.
Gramps inherited North Earhart Oil when it was small. His father was a wildcatter way back when, and the company had always been prosperous, but when the oil boom hit North Dakota with Gramps at the helm, North Earhart did exceptionally well. Practically the only thing about Gramps that Mom was extremely proud to talk about.
“I know this is a lot for you to take in. For someone as young as you to take on, but I’m here to help. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Just call.” A smile curves the edges of his lips. “Jonah was very specific about his wishes, and how they ought to be overseen. I gave him my solemn word I’d help ensure every detail gets executed to the letter of the law.”
I nod again. What else can I do? It’s sink or swim, and I can barely doggy paddle.
Still, I can’t let that show.
He pushes a pile of papers toward me. “I’ll need you to sign these, please. Two copies of what we discussed here today.”
I pick up a pen and sign my name mechanically next to the little red Sign Here stickers.
“Have you been out to the ranch yet?” he asks.
“No. As soon as I got the call, I packed up and drove straight here,” I say, signing the second copy. “I arrived yesterday and went straight to the funeral home. I stayed at the hotel last night, with the service today and then this meeting.”
He collects both copies. “I understand. Do you have a house key?”
“Absolutely.” Truly, it’s never left my keychain since the day Gramps gave it to me when I was twelve.
I don’t share that. To some, it’d be insignificant. To me, that key symbolized belonging somewhere.
“Would you like your copy, or do you want me to keep it?” Sheridan’s smile holds sympathy. “We can go over it again, in a few days, if you’d like, after it’s not such a shock to the system.”
I think of my parents, and until they’ve left, everything is safer out of their reach. “Go ahead and hang on to it. I’ll get my copy then.”
“Perfect. Before you leave, there’s one more thing...”
I look up, almost afraid. My fingers flex before reaching out to take the white envelope he’s holding.
“It’s from your grandfather. A personal message.”
Nodding, I close my eyes for a moment, and then draw a deep breath before unsealing the flap.
I can’t help but smile, even as tears sting my eyes like hornets at the sight of the tan Post-it note with JONAH REED printed across the top of it.
Gramps adored those little sticky notes. They were tucked inside every card, every gift he ever sent me.
I pull out the three-inch square slip of paper and blink back more tears at the familiar handwriting.
Bella, you followed your head to California.
I know who put those thoughts in your head, so this time, I want you to follow your heart.
Trust me.
Love, Gramps
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About Nicole Snow
Nicole Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty.
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