“Good,” Deb continued. “Your lawyer can see if there’s any validity to the claim, and then we’ll go from there. I’m just obligated to tell you that I also have to notify the buyers. There’s a possibility they’ll back out.”
“I understand.” When Clara hung up with Deb, she wanted to throw her phone and yell at something. Mostly her dad. The man who’d decided that drugs were more important than his daughter and his parents. Was he sober now? Or was he still an addict looking for a way to finance his habits?
Her phone rang again, and Clara answered. A few minutes later, she had an appointment with an estate lawyer on Thursday. She didn’t really want to wait that long to get things going, so if one of the other lawyers could meet with her earlier, she’d cancel this appointment.
Then Deb Stansbury called again. “Sorry to call again. I was actually going to call you today with another matter, and I forgot to tell you in the course of our conversation. The buyers on your property have a partnership with a commercial company. There’s a good chance that once the property closes, the house will be torn down within a couple of months.”
Clara knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but it felt like a blow nonetheless.
“You still own it until the closing date, and I know you got out all of your belongings and furniture, but if there’s anything else you need, you should pack it up.” Deb lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t normally tell a client this, but you could even sell the appliances, or cupboards, or countertops. There are salvage companies that will buy used items to resell.”
“Okay,” Clara said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
After hanging up the second time with Deb, Clara felt as if she’d been run over by a car. She had no desire to go on a hike. Who knew how many other phone calls she’d have to field? She just didn’t know how much worse this day could get.
It had been over a week since Dawson had heard from Clara. Dawson had told himself over and over she was fine. That he would be fine. That everything would be fine.
But he missed Clara. More than he’d thought possible. Waking up every morning was like a punch in the gut, because he realized again that he wouldn’t be seeing her or hearing from her that day. He’d been tempted more than once to call Jeff and ask a casual question or two about how Clara was doing.
But Dawson didn’t know which details Jeff might know, if anything.
So Dawson did nothing.
At least his parents had gotten the message about Paula, and his mom even apologized. This made Dawson feel both better and worse. He really did wish Paula all the best in her life and hoped she’d find a man who would be a great dad to her kids. But Dawson wouldn’t be that man.
Dawson had resumed his erratic sleeping schedule, but he made a valiant effort every night about midnight to go to sleep, at least for a few hours. So it was just after midnight when he found himself staring at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, again, and going over what he might have done differently with Clara. A knock sounded on his front door, and for a moment, he decided he imagined it. Maybe it was getting windy outside. A rainstorm was supposed to be coming in.
Then another knock sounded. This one he paid attention to. Maybe something was on fire in the complex or there was some sort of other emergency. A drunk and disoriented Leslie? He scrambled out of bed and hurried to the front door.
He opened the door to find Clara on the doorstep. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks stained with tears. She wore pajama bottoms and a tank shirt that exposed a portion of her stomach, and she looked like she was freezing. In one hand, she clutched a large envelope.
“Clara?” he said.
“Can I come in?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Of course.” He moved aside to let her in.
He shut the door once she was inside, then turned to her. Before he could ask any questions, she wrapped her arms about his waist. He didn’t know why she was here, but she was literally trembling. So he pulled her tightly against him and rested his chin on her head.
Dawson closed his eyes. She smelled like sweet citrus, even in her pajamas. Her skin had been cool to the touch when he’d first hugged her, but now it was warming up, and he was warming up too.
Finally, when it appeared she wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon, he drew away. It was killing him not to know what had her so upset. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a quiet voice.
She lifted her face, and her blue eyes seemed as dark as the deepest part of the ocean. “I didn’t know where else to turn.” She wiped at the streaked tears on her face and stepped back. Then she held out the envelope she’d brought. “Can you read this?”
Dawson blinked and looked down at the envelope. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about it, and he wondered if she’d maybe received correspondence from her ex-boyfriend. He took the envelope and opened the top tab, then pulled out the stapled pages. After reading only a few lines, he looked at Clara.
She had her arms wrapped about her torso as she stood shivering.
“This is about your dad?” From what he knew, her dad hadn’t been in her life, or her grandparents’ lives, at all. “Claiming his inheritance?”
She nodded.
“I thought your dad had left a long time ago,” he said.
“He did.” She rubbed her arms. “But I guess he found out about my grandma’s death and wants money.”
Dawson set his jaw. “Come sit down, and I’ll get you a blanket. Do you want coffee?”
“No, a blanket’s fine.” She followed him into the living room and settled on the couch. He put the document on the coffee table, then left to grab a blanket from his bedroom. He returned and draped it over Clara.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice more steady now. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly when I drove over here.”
Dawson settled next to her. “Not a problem.”
“And I’m sorry it’s so late,” she continued. “I should have called you first, but I would have lost my nerve. Did I wake you up?”
He shook his head. Then he met her gaze. “I told you anytime, remember?”
She bit her lip. “I remember. But you probably didn’t really mean midnight.”
He nudged her shoulder with his own. “I especially meant midnight.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face, and he wished he could pull her into his arms again. But he had to let her call the shots. So he turned back to the coffee table and picked up the documents she’d brought. He read through every line, and when he finished, he set them back on the table.
“When did you receive this?” he asked.
And the whole story came out. Apparently, a courier service had delivered the document to her office last week. After she told him about an appointment she’d gone to with an estate lawyer, and how the lawyer hadn’t even pulled the will from her grandparents’ estate yet, he said, “Okay, I have a friend I know from law school who works in your home city. She’s an estate lawyer, and she’ll get to the bottom of this in a couple of days.”
Clara narrowed her eyes. “How’s that possible? The lawyer I’m working with said this can take a couple of months.”
“Yeah, that’s a standard response. But sometimes it’s who you know, and who you’re connected with. Hang on, I need to grab my laptop and phone.”
He returned moments later to the couch.
Clara had pulled her feet up on the couch and had the blanket completely covering her. The circles beneath her eyes were noticeable.
“Do you want to go lie down on my bed and sleep?” he asked. “I can stay out here once I get a few things done.”
Clara yawned, covering her mouth. “No, I don’t want to put you out.”
Dawson lifted a brow.
“Fine,” she said. “But wake me up when you’re tired, and I’ll head home.”
“All right,” he said, knowing he’d just let her sleep. “First, though, for me to make any headway on this case, I need you to sign a representation document. I’m not an esta
te attorney, but I can get the process started.”
“Sure,” Clara said. “That would be great.”
He printed the document from his laptop, sending it to the printer in the corner of the kitchen. When he retrieved the document, Clara signed it.
“Thank you,” she said, her gaze meeting his.
He swallowed. “You’re welcome. Now, go sleep.”
She nodded, and he watched her walk out of the living room, her steps slow.
Then he called Lindsey Gerber. He didn’t expect her to answer, but when she did, he wasn’t entirely surprised.
After he explained the case and all he knew so far, Lindsey laughed.
“Wow, Dawson, I know you’re a pit bull in the court room, but you’re certainly going out of your way.”
“Clara is important to me.”
“Got it,” Lindsey said. “I’ll have something to you first thing in the morning. Send me the representation contract, and give me her contact information. Then I can copy you on the emails.”
“Okay, great. Sending now.”
After Dawson hung up with Lindsey, he went into his bedroom to check on Clara. She was sound asleep, and she looked a lot more peaceful. He pulled the blanket up higher so that it covered her shoulder, then bent down and pressed a light kiss on her cheek. Her breathing was deep and even, and he hoped she’d sleep through the night.
He snagged one of his pillows, then went back to the living room. It would take him a lot longer to fall asleep now, but that was okay. Helping Clara was more important than clocking in the sleeping hours.
When his phone rang at 7:30 a.m., Dawson sat up and snatched it from the coffee table. It was Lindsey.
He cleared his throat and answered. “Tell me you have good news,” he said, his voice scratchy.
“Good morning to you, too,” Lindsey said in a way-too-cheerful tone. “You owe my assistant lunch next time you’re in town. In fact, you owe us both lunch. A scanned copy of the will should be in both yours and Clara’s inboxes as we speak.”
“Wow.” He was impressed. “How’d you get it so fast?”
“I sent an email last night, and this morning my assistant waited outside the building until the first employee showed up,” Lindsey said.
Dawson balanced his phone against his shoulder as he opened his laptop and opened the email from Lindsey. As he waited for the PDF scan to load, he said, “Did you look at it? Does her dad have a case?”
“Fortunately for your friend, the will is solid, and Clara is the sole heir,” Lindsey said.
Dawson felt like he had a thousand pounds lifted from his shoulders. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” she said. “Her grandma was a smart woman. There’s a clause in there that should anyone try to contest the will, they will receive a settlement of no more than twenty-five dollars.”
“Twenty-five bucks?” Dawson echoed, leaning back on the couch. “Hallelujah!”
Lindsey laughed. “Agreed. I’ll wrap up details with the mortgage company this morning. You owe us lunch and my fee of $650.”
“Done.”
“Have a nice day, Dawson,” she said. “And tell Clara she’s a lucky girl to have you in her corner.”
Dawson swallowed at the compliment. “I will. And thanks for everything, Lindsey. I mean it.”
He hung up with her and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He was elated, and he also felt like he could sleep ten hours straight. Instead, he rose from the couch and went into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. He opened the refrigerator and was glad to see a carton half-filled with fresh eggs. As he cracked them into the frying pan, he wondered if Clara liked eggs.
She’d never told him when they were talking about Romy’s letter.
The eggs were cooked and dished out onto two plates when Clara came into the kitchen. Her clothing was rumpled and her hair adorably messy.
“Hey,” she said. “Smells good.”
“Do you like eggs?”
She settled on the barstool at the counter. “I do, in fact.”
Dawson smiled. “Good to know. Did you sleep okay?”
She nodded, then stifled a yawn. “Sorry about stealing your bed. Did you sleep?”
“I got a few hours in,” he said, sliding over the plate of eggs toward her, then adding a fork. He didn’t have fresh juice, so they had to settle for water.
Clara didn’t comment, just started eating.
Dawson was more than happy to have her in his kitchen. He fetched the laptop from the living room. “I have something to show you,” he said when he returned. He pulled up the scanned will.
Her eyes widened, and she set down her fork. “It’s the will?”
“Yes.” He scrolled to the third page, then pointed to a paragraph. “This is a clause that prevents anyone from contesting the will. Your grandmother put in a twenty-five-dollar limit.”
Clara stared at it for a moment, then raised her gaze to meet Dawson’s. “What does it mean?”
“It means that your dad is only entitled to twenty-five dollars,” Dawson said. “I suggest we cut a cashier’s check, mail it certified, and be done with it. Lindsey Gerber is going to contact the mortgage company so you won’t have to deal with that end of things. She thinks you’ll still be able to close on your original closing date.”
Clara covered her mouth with her hand and laughed. Then she slid off the barstool and threw her arms around Dawson’s neck. He chuckled as he hugged her back.
“You’re amazing, Mr. Harris,” Clara said. “Thank you, thank you! How can I thank you?”
She drew away, smiling up at him, and Dawson felt as if he’d already been thanked a thousand times over.
“We’ll come up with something,” he said.
“I know, I can cook dinner for like a month.” She placed her hands on her hips and looked about his kitchen. “Or maybe three months.” She sat back on her stool, then squealed, “I can’t believe this!”
Dawson laughed. “I’d love you to cook me dinner, but you don’t owe me anything. Really. I mean, unless you wanted to, but not to pay me back for anything. Your grandma is the one you should be thankful for. All I did was make a phone call.”
Clara grabbed his hand before he moved to the other side of the kitchen island. “You’ve done a lot more, Dawson. You opened your door last night at midnight.” She bit her lip. “You’ve been so generous, and I’m going to find a way to thank you.”
Ten Days Later
Clara stood on the sidewalk in front of her grandparents’ house, her arms folded. The house was modest by any standard, but the surrounding acreage was worth millions. In a few hours, Clara would be signing closing documents on the estate, and she’d instantly become a wealthy woman.
She hadn’t even told Dawson how much the property was selling for. Jeff Finch had reviewed the offer, so he knew, but she also trusted that he’d keep it confidential. And now that her dad’s claim had been cleared up, Clara would be letting go of the property once and for all.
She had wondered if her dad would try to reach out to her after learning that he’d only get twenty-five dollars. She’d also wondered if her dad even cared to be reunited with his daughter after all this time. But so far, she hadn’t heard from him. She’d grown up blessed to be a part of her grandparents’ lives, and any grudge against her dad wasn’t worth the energy.
Besides, she had a great man in her life.
The sound of Dawson’s approaching truck caught her attention. He’d driven with her to her grandparents’ home, and when she said she wanted to keep her grandparents’ red mailbox, he’d left to get some tools at the hardware store.
She smiled as he pulled up to the curb, shut off the engine, and climbed out. No suit today. He wore what had become her favorite jeans of his and a gray, fitted T-shirt. Dawson had taken the entire day off to help her, and she found that more than endearing. She’d decided not to call a salvage company or sell any of the stuff off. She’d turn it over to the buyer, exce
pt for the mailbox. It had always been her job to get the mail, and the red mailbox would someday go in front of her own home.
Dawson walked toward her, a sack in hand.
“Looks like you bought more than a screwdriver,” she said.
“I bought the basic tool kit,” he said, holding up the sack. “I should probably have one stored in my truck anyway.”
“To help more damsels in distress?” she said, looking up at him as he stopped in front of her.
One side of his mouth lifted as his brown eyes captured hers. “You’re the least distressed damsel that I know.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Except when it comes to hiring lawyers.”
“What’s most important is that you got the right one in the end,” he said with a wink.
While she watched him pull out the tool kit from the sack, then use the screwdriver to remove the red mail box from the post, she felt another rush of gratitude for Dawson.
They’d had dinner together every night since the day he had called Lindsey Gerber. Mostly she cooked, but a couple of times they’d gone out to eat.
Dawson never tried to hold her hand. They hadn’t kissed either. He was keeping true to his promise of just being a friend, no expectations. Well, they had hugged a time or two. Okay, three times to be exact. Clara pushed back the urge to wrap her arms around him now.
Each time she saw him, it took five or ten minutes for her heart rate to settle down, and for her to convince herself that friendship was enough with this man. Her pulse was increasing again, so she turned from Dawson and scanned the lawn leading up to her grandparents’ home. There were plenty of weeds in the grass now, something her grandpa would have hated. And the bushes around the house needed a good trim.
It was sad to think that this could all be gone in a couple of months, replaced by a construction crew building a strip mall. Clara wasn’t entirely sure what the property would become. Maybe one day, in a year or two, she’d come by again.
“Done,” Dawson said, holding up the red mailbox. “Hey, there’s something in it.”
She turned to face him as he shook the mailbox. “What?” Clara opened the small door. Inside was a square envelope that looked like it was new, which meant it hadn’t been sitting in the mailbox for long. On the front of the envelope, it read, Clara Benson, in what appeared suspiciously like Dawson’s handwriting.
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