Inheritance of Love

by Linda Ford

  No way Darcy could express to her sister how much it meant to have someone but she'd take a gift of welcome and gratitude.

  Oh yeah, and she'd see the house her father willed her. What would it look like? The old property, the lawyer said. Probably a decrepit building. Probably short in modernization. She wrinkled her nose. Would there be an outhouse?

  Unless the toilet stood white—or any color but wood—and flushable in a room with a tub and sink, she'd be heading straight back to town and the comfort of a motel. She glanced around. She didn't see a motel but she'd find one.

  Not that she planned to stay long. She'd meet her little sister, decide what to do about her guardianship responsibilities and sell the house as Blake had suggested. She snorted. His 'suggestion' sounded more like an order. Not that it mattered. She wanted nothing to do with the hurtful emotions she associated with her father or Blake's obvious displeasure.

  Blake disappeared into the store and she hurried after him catching him just inside the door.

  "I'd like to take Amy a gift." She spoke to the man's back because he left her no choice.

  He seemed bent on putting as much distance between them as possible. "It would help to know how old she is and what she likes."

  A young man with a nose too big for his face stood behind the counter. He glanced up from reading a magazine. "Hey, Blake," he called. "How's it going?"

  "Hi, Joe. Things are just great." Darcy knew she didn't imagine the sarcasm in his voice. He turned to her. "Listen to me. Amy doesn't need anything. Get it? Nothing."

  Darcy hoped she revealed only her stubbornness. "I'd have to be as stupid as this cart—" She yanked one toward her. "—to not 'get it'. You want me to know Amy doesn't need me." Like he had to say it. How much more obvious could it be than to keep Amy's existence a secret? "However, need I remind you that apparently my father thought differently?" A little late in the game but at least he'd remembered her in death if not in life.

  Blake spun around and strode down an aisle.

  She headed in a different direction. Half way down the length of the store she remembered to look at the shelves for supplies. Suddenly, she stared ahead. The modern grocery store at the front had become an old-fashioned hardware store with coffee colored wooden shelves and creaky oiled wood floors complete with the scent of lemon oil, twine and leather. She wanted to linger, poke through the shelves, and touch pieces of history but she heard Blake back at the cash register. She grabbed items off the shelves. She'd need some food if she meant to stay at the house and she selected fresh produce.

  Blake stood at the checkout with a super big bag of cat food. She wondered if he had a super big cat to match.

  She stood in front of the household section shamelessly listening to the conversation between Blake and the clerk as she decided what she needed. Definitely some cleaners and a good strong bug killer. She put an extra large, industrial strength can of it in her cart.

  The young man at the counter chuckled. "More food for Amy's cats?"

  Blake laughed too. "Gonna have to take on a part time job just to pay for cat food."

  Cats, huh? She detoured down the next aisle and selected a handful of cat toys. Not exactly her top choice for the first gift for a new sister. But better than twine and nails.

  As she unloaded her cart to ring her selections through, Blake waited at the door, glancing frequently at his watch and casting a look toward his truck as if trying to decide if he should wait or leave her to find her own way to the ranch.

  "What brings you to our part of the country?" the clerk asked.

  She ignored Blake's impatient sigh. "I've come to see the house I inherited."

  The young man raised his eyebrows and glanced at Blake who said in a voice thick with resignation, "Rob's daughter, Darcy. She inherited the old house."

  She certainly didn't like the way they kept saying old house and shuddered at visions of huge spiders. Fat, lazy mice. Spooky sounds in the walls. Maybe she should get another can of bug killer.

  The young man leaned over the counter. "Welcome to your new home. My name's Joe Brown."

  She smiled at the eager clerk as she scooped up the bagged groceries and rushed after Blake. "Wait. How far is it? When can I meet Amy? We need to talk."

  He brushed at his face as if she were a pesky mosquito. "If you follow me, I'll take you to your house." He headed for the truck like there was a national emergency requiring his immediate attention.

  Darcy called after him, again talking to the man's back. "I WILL be meeting my sister," she said, her voice hard with determination. "You don't have the right to refuse it."

  He yanked the door open and spun around. "The way I see it, a piece of paper written by a dying man doesn't give you the right to march in here and start making demands."

  She took a step toward him. "That piece of paper gives me as much right as you. And I will not be denied it." She'd been pushed out, left in the dark, excluded her rights as a daughter all her life. She would not let anyone, including Blake Thompson, push her away from her sister.

  Blake closed his truck door firmly, effectively shutting out any more discussion.

  Darcy clenched her teeth as she crawled into her car, depositing her purchases on the seat beside her. No way was he going to deny her access to her sister.

  2

  Darcy followed Blake down the highway. As the road flashed under her wheels, she looked about. The Rockies rose in the west like uneven dinosaur teeth. She'd loved the drive through the mountains, the sun shining off them like a girl's best friend. She imagined herself running down the highway, breathing in the rare air, waving to the deer in the trees. By the time she got back to Seattle, she'd be in such great condition she'd easily win the charity challenge run. She, Darcy Hagen, the winner, pumping her arms over her head in a victory cheer and everyone from her office yelling and congratulating her. As the winner, her office would present the funds raised by the event to the charity of their choice. They'd agreed to give it to the homeless shelter.

  She smiled at the thought. Maybe the homeless wouldn't be off the streets but at least they'd have a place to sleep.

  Now she didn't know if she'd be spending much time in the mountains. She wanted to meet Amy and get to know her. Anger spurted to the surface again. How would she ever make up for the missed years be it four or fifteen?

  She sucked in a deep steadying breath and prayed for peace in her heart. Slowly, her anger abated and she returned her attention to the sights out the car windows.

  Grassy fields spread out like thick, pale gold corduroy. Other fields seemed thin like they'd been washed too often—some kind of crop residue from the last growing season, she'd guess. But what she knew about farming or ranching wouldn't fill the cap off her pen. Cows, she recognized and knew they came in various colors, mostly brown and black.

  The brake lights flashed in the monster truck ahead of her and she slowed as Blake turned onto a gravel road. His dust forced her to drop back but she didn't have to worry about getting lost. The swirling gray cloud shouted the way.

  A few minutes later, the air cleared as Blake pulled to a stop. She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes from town. Unbelievable. She couldn't imagine not being able to run across the street for a magazine, or to the corner for a mochacinno.

  As she parked next to his truck, her gaze riveted on the small house behind him. Her house? She couldn't imagine owning a house. Too bad it was out in the middle of Nowhere, Montana. She leaned over the steering wheel and peered through the window. It didn't look that old. Sure, the trim needed painting and a curtain hung crookedly in one window. But it had a sun porch. Just like a summer home. A place where a person could come and forget their troubles. Her insides pingponged around. A haven.

  Not that she needed a physical haven. Years ago she'd found what she needed in her faith. One of her favorite verses caressed her thoughts. It was from Deuteronomy—chapter thirty-three, if she remembered correctly. The eternal God is your refu
ge and underneath are the everlasting arms. Her faith had sustained her for years and would continue to do so into the future. She took a deep breath and let peace fill her mind.

  Her attention turned to Blake, shifting from foot to foot and frowning so deeply he drove gouges into his forehead. She sighed. Looks like she might need a haven after all—someplace to get away from him. She gave him a little wave and laughed at his curt nod, refusing to let his bad temper steal away her stubborn peace.

  She studied him. How would she describe him to the girls at the office? Rude.

  And physically? She examined him closely, building a word picture. Lean, like a runner. All muscle. Long legs and broad shoulders. She studied his face. Wide forehead. Nicely shaped brows. Short brown hair brushed back. Highlighted with blond streaks, straight from sunny Mother Nature if she didn’t miss her guess. Irene would sigh dramatically if she could see his eyes. Dark brown and intense. In fact, to be honest, if he was anyone but her father's stepson, she'd be just a tiny bit interested in him.

  He crossed his arms and glowered at her. She blinked. How long had she been staring at the poor guy?

  She hurried to get out of the car. As she straightened, she plastered on a smile. "This is my house?" A bouquet of strange scents greeted her—pungent animal smells, the aroma of damp, sweet hay, and the hint of something sharp and spicy.

  He nodded. "Give me a couple of minutes to clean out some stuff." He pulled a box from the truck and headed to the door.

  Darcy bounced after him. "Listen, we have to discuss Amy. When am I going to meet her?"

  He threw open the door without answering.

  "It wasn't locked?" She hesitated, glancing around nervously. They stood in an entryway large enough for a washer and drier and a row of hooks holding an assortment of Goodwill coats. "What if someone's in here?"

  "There's a key on the nail by the door if you want to keep it locked."

  A sigh released her lungs. "That's good." But he'd already stepped into the next room. She hurried after him to a large, airy kitchen. A wooden table and mismatched chairs stood in one corner next to patio doors with a view of the sunroom. She could almost imagine settling in, stretched out in a chaise lounge reading and enjoying the sunshine. Her skin warmed. She could hardly wait. She even had Oprah's latest magazine. This could be enjoyable if she didn't have to contend with Blake and his lack of cooperation.

  "You can't keep ignoring me. I have a right—"

  Blake picked up a shirt and a clock and dumped them in the box.

  "Someone's living here?" In her shock and excitement, she hadn't thought she might be putting someone out of their home. "Who?"

  "No one lives here." He crossed to the next room.

  Darcy followed him into what was the living room—a fireplace at one end, dusty bookshelves across another wall. It looked and felt occupied. "Sure looks like someone lives here." She faltered. "I wouldn't make them leave. I can always go back to town and stay in a motel."

  "I said no one lives here. Besides. It's yours. Remember?" As he talked, he carefully took some framed photos off the shelves. Peering past him, she saw a serene looking woman standing beside a familiar figure. "That's my father."

  He dropped the photo into the box.

  "Was that your mother with him?" she asked.

  "Uh huh."

  "Did they live here?" Getting words out of this man was like trying to gain an extra minute in an hour.

  "No. They lived in the new house."

  "Then why is their picture here?"

  He picked up a trophy of a man swinging a rope and set it in the box before he faced her. "I lived here until..." He turned away but not before she'd seen the tightness around his eyes. "Until Rob got sick and I moved in with them to help."

  Darcy's thoughts stuttered. She didn't want to think about her father.

  "Rob lived here before he and Mom married," Blake said.

  Something cold dribbled down Darcy's spine. Her father lived here at a time when she still hoped he'd come back to her and her mother. When she still believed things would work out. She spun away and stared out the window forcing herself to see the view. Mountains far to the west. Dark brooding pines to the right. Witchy-fingered poplars to the left. "How long was he sick?" She hadn't meant to say the words. She hadn't even meant to think them. No way was she going to give the past any power in her life.

  "Almost a year."

  "I'm sorry. Truly I am. It must have been a difficult time for you."

  His gaze scorched her.

  Instinctively, she stepped back and raised her hands to protect her face from the heat.

  "How can it mean nothing to you?"

  "Look. I said I'm sorry about your loss. I know it's recent and still hurts like mad. I got over my loss years ago."

  He made a choking sound as he grabbed his box and strode into the next room. She sighed deeply. Maybe she should turn around and go back to town. Only she had a little sister she was truly curious about. So she followed Blake into a sunny room he'd obviously used as an office. The large oak desk would have held his computer. There remained a stack of paper in a tray and mugs filled with pens and pencils.

  He stood in the middle of the room. "I slept here as a kid. Before my parents built the new house." He wandered over to the window and stared out.

  His silence made Darcy uncomfortable. She didn't want to be dragged into his grief.

  Suddenly he faced her, his expression dark. "He was a wonderful father to me."

  Her heart clenched. Pain shot through her chest. His words stung. But it wasn't like she'd never before thought about what it meant that her father raised someone else's child.

  She could deal with her unexpected reaction. It was no different than running. You hit a spot where you wanted to give up. Your muscles hurt. Your lungs screamed for air. But you pushed past that hurdle and suddenly it eased. Your lungs learned to expand. Your muscles got the required oxygen and you settled into a rhythm you could maintain for miles. She just had to focus on her breathing until it leveled out. She sucked in air and eased it out slowly.

  His expression had softened as if he'd read her reaction but she didn't want to hear another word about her father. Giving him a curt nod, she said, "How nice for you." The room suddenly crowded in on her and she hurried away.

  She peeked into the last room. A rumpled bed. This was where Blake had slept. Had her father slept there too?

  She stepped back and crashed into Blake. He cupped her shoulders to steady her. Embarrassment filled every pore with heat and she pushed past him, heading for fresh air.

  Blake followed her outside. "What're you so upset about?"

  Arggh. How could he be so dense? "Nothing."

  "I saw—" He waved toward the far room where she'd let herself react to the surroundings.

  "It was a long trip. I'm tired."

  "Right. I'll just get the rest of my stuff." He headed for the bedroom.

  She lowered her shoulders. This wasn't going to be easy. But then why should she be surprised? Nothing to do with her father had ever been easy. She followed Blake and prayed for wisdom to deal with him. "Blake, I want to meet Amy. As soon as possible." She'd been shut out of her sister's life as long as she intended. No more.

  He halted, his back to her. "Don't you think you should give me a chance to prepare her?"

  Although she didn't care for his harsh tone, she saw the sense in what he said. "Fine. But when?"

  She refused to allow him to use it as a delaying technique. She suspected he might try and delay it forever.

  "As soon as I get a chance."

  Hah. She recognized that as a deliberate attempt to delay. "Today then?"

  He shrugged and concentrated on pulling things off the desk and dropping them into his bag.

  "So I can meet her tonight?"

  He slowly turned, his expression fierce. "Let's see how she reacts first."

  She gave him a hard look. This all had a familiar feel to it. Empty
promises. Having her feelings shoved aside by a man's excuses. Well, not this time, buddy. She wouldn't allow it. "I will not wait forever."

  They did silent battle with their eyes and then he strode from the room.

  She grabbed an empty plastic bag off the counter and headed for the bathroom to collect Blake's stuff and help him on his way. In the medicine cupboard she found a collection of men's cologne and aftershave and began to clean the shelves. One bottle looked weirdly familiar. Red, with a white sailing ship. She smelled the bottle. Why did it send little shivers across her shoulders? The sounds of laughter through her thoughts? A distant memory of a little girl on a swing, arcing skyward, giggling? Her throat tightened. How odd.

  "You found Rob's Old Spice."

  Blake's voice behind her startled her and she dropped the bottle. It broke and the scent almost choked her.

  "I'll get a rag."

  She was still staring at the mess at her feet when he returned with paper towels and swiped up the mess.

  "Sorry," she mumbled, backing out the room.

  "You'll be stuck with the smell."

  She coughed. Why was she letting a little bottle of outdated aftershave upset her equilibrium? A truly stupid reaction. She swung her gaze to the outdoors. "There's lots of fresh air."

  He dropped the paper towels and broken glass into a bag and tied it shut. "I'll get rid of this." He tossed it in the back of his truck then returned for the box. "I'm out of here."

  She couldn't blame him for the bitter note in his voice. After all, this house meant a lot to him. To her, it was more like a guilt offering. One she didn't want and wouldn't accept. Only one thing made her stay. Amy. "I'll expect to see my sister very soon."