Now, Adam wasn’t worried about the responsibility, but he sure did feel guilty at being boosted to the front of the inheritance line. His guilt at being the new heir wasn’t aimed directly toward Jordan, who had made a choice to give up his stake in the Williams Homestead. No, the guilt was aimed elsewhere, because Adam figured that since his two younger brothers, Jon and Samuel, had put just as much work into the ranch, as Adam, they should be equal partners too. Their father would never see it that way, because he had lived by the same tradition of the eldest son inheriting.
The thing was, Russell Williams had also inherited by default. The farm had belonged to his father, who had left it to Russell’s older brother, Michael. Together they had worked the farm, until Russell found his mate over in Bear Bluff. They had met by chance, while Russell was delivering some cattle that way. It had, of course, been love at first sight, and Russell had moved in with his mate.
He’d raised a family there, four strong sons, and they’d had a good life. But the hills and rich pasture of Black Bear Ford had called to him. That was when fated played one more hand. Michael died, thrown from the back of a young colt he was trying to break. With no mate, and no cubs of his own, the Williams Homestead had passed to Russell. The family moved back here: the boys were old enough to help run the ranch, and they had all taken to it. All except Jordan, the eldest of Russell’s’ sons and the sole heir, according to family tradition.
Had fate played one more trick on the Williams family when Jordan decided the army was the life for him?
Adam thought that one over, turning it around and looking at it from all sides. If he was a superstitious man, he would say that fate did not agree with the family tradition of the land passing to one sole heir. That was the reason the Hawkins Ranch meant so much to his dad. In his eyes, the ranch belonged to the family; it was a missing piece, a constant reminder of a supposed blemish on the family name.
Their father huffed, and Adam prepared for the usual speech about it being a matter of Williams’ family pride. That their grandfather had been cheated in a deal with Frederick Hawkins, and the land should be theirs. That after the Williams family had rallied around him as he become weak and frail, taking him food, tending the ranch as best they could, he should have sold the farm to them and let them join the fractured land back together.
Adam got up, not needing to hear it again. “I’ll go over and say hello.” He turned to fix his father with a stare of his own. “But only to say hello. And only because it’s the neighborly thing to do.”
“Neighbor? Should be in jail, cheating, stealing family.”
One day, Adam figured his dad would wake up and listen to himself long enough to realize he sounded just like his own father. That the grudge was in their minds. Adam and his brothers had talked it over when confronted with the facts, and decided the land had been claimed, fair and square, by Frederick Hawkins. It had been a poker game; both their grandfather and Frederick Hawkins had stakes they didn’t want to lose. Luck had fallen on Fred, and the matter should have been dropped there and then.
“Dad, one day you are going to have to let it go,” Jon said, then to Adam, he added, “Want company? You know, in case she tries to rob you of your inheritance.” Jon said it as a joke aimed at his father, but Adam winced, almost imperceptibly. His brother saw it and shrugged. “Really, I’ll come if you want.”
“No. I’ll make sure I keep my wallet tucked firmly in my pocket, and my truck keys in my hand. Just in case she tries to steal them.” He laid the sarcasm on a little strong, but this was turning into one of those days he would rather forget. It wasn’t just about having to go over and meet their new neighbor. It went a lot deeper than that.
Jon might have been ribbing him about his inheritance, but it hit him in a tender spot, right in the pool of guilt he felt since Jordan’s announcement. Although, the way their father behaved, Adam would likely be an old man himself by the time it passed to him.
Adam might stand to inherit the ranch when his father died, or became too frail to run it; however, that would have to be frail of mind, not body. Adam was sure his father would find some way of getting around the acreage—even if he lost all arms and legs, he wasn’t going to do the sensible thing, like Jordan had. The man held on to the ranch as if it were his last breath. He’d lost it once to his brother, and now that it was in his hands, he was keeping it.
“Hi there, Adam. Why do you look as if a storm is brewing in that head of yours?” a voice called.
“Mom, I’m OK. No storm, I promise you,” Adam answered. His mom had a sixth sense for whatever her boys were thinking.
“Come on, I know that look. You’re not upset about Jordan visiting, are you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she did when she was observing her sons. Sometimes that tilt was joined by a smile, and sometimes raised eyebrows, depending on what exactly her boys were up to. Right now, it was joined by a look of understanding. “You know he wants you to have the farm.”
“I know. But it still doesn’t sit right. It didn’t when he first announced it, and now he has the use of his legs again, and a mate who will give him children. Well, in my mind, the Homestead is still his by right,” Adam said.
“Jordan doesn’t see his life here. And he knows you do,” his mom said, reassuring Adam that he wasn’t stealing the farm out from under his older brother, who was a war hero and the true heir to the vast, sprawling ranch known as Williams Homestead. How did Adam compete with a man like that?
“And Jon and Samuel see their lives here too,” Adam reminded her. “We all grew up knowing Jordan would take over, as the eldest. Doesn’t mean we don’t love the place, and have worked hard while he was away to keep it going and make it prosperous. Now he’s decided to give up his birthright… I don’t know, it just feels wrong for me to be the sole heir.”
“Eldest always inherits. And since Jordan is coming to officially sign that away, it’s right it falls to you,” she said. “That is the family tradition.”
Adam kissed his mom on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
“Adam, family means a lot to your father, and that means family traditions too.”
“I know, but sometimes I wish we could all stop living in the past.”
“I’m not sure that’s fair,” Adam’s mom replied.
“It probably isn’t,” Adam said. He was heading for the door, but stopped, turning around and facing her, wanting to get the real issue off his chest. “I’m going over to meet the Hawkins heir. If I inherit this ranch, will I have to spend the rest of my life trying to devise a plan or scheme to part her from her property?”
His mom burst out laughing. “Hell, has your father been on about that again?”
“Jon said he saw a car there, so we presume she’s moved in,” Adam said sourly. “I’m not sure if I’m the welcoming party, or if I’m supposed to try to harass her on behalf of the family.”
“You go welcome her.” His mom pointed a finger at him. “But before you go, come get an apple pie to take as a homecoming gift. You can sit and share it with her. Poor girl most likely needs something to help her get over the condition of that place.”
“So you don’t agree with dad and this never-ending fixation with merging the Hawkins Ranch with the Homestead?” Adam asked.
“Lord, no.” She was back in the kitchen, and Adam followed her into what they all knew was her domain. You didn’t come in here and mess up the order of Mrs. William’s kitchen, everyone knew that, from his dad down to the hired hands who came in for supper when they were working late on the summer evenings.
“Why does it mean so much to him?” Adam asked. “It’s such a small acreage compared to what we have here.”
His mom frowned, studying Adam once more, and then said, “You know that your grandpa was a proud man. He wanted to make the ranch whole, and that piece of land cuts off the lower meadows from the upper pasture. It belonged to his brother before Mr. Hawkins. The story I heard was that your grandpa’s
brother, Al, was given it as a … I don’t know, as some kind of recompense for not inheriting the ranch. Your grandfather tried to make things right, just as you want to.”
“I know that much,” Adam said. “I know that Al lost it in a poker game, and that caused a rift between the brothers.”
“Well. The truth is, I think the rift was there before Al gambled it away.”
“Before?” Adam asked, studying his mom’s expression. As much as she liked to read other people, she was a master at keeping her own thoughts completely hidden. This time was no exception.
“Before he lost it, yes.” She took a fresh apple pie off the counter, one of a batch of seven she had baked, ready to freeze. “Here, you take this, go meet our new neighbor, and think on what I said. Tradition is tradition, but if you don’t hold with tradition, there is no one who will stop you from changing it. Just make sure you understand why you want to change it.”
With those cryptic words in his head, Adam took the warm pie, placed it on the seat of his truck, and drove carefully down to the Hawkins Ranch. He had intended to shift into his bear and run down there, but a bear was not good at carrying apple pie. He smiled, feeling the bear within him get up and sniff the air.
A bear sure does like eating one, his bear reminded him.
“Let’s keep you out of sight for now,” Adam said. “Learning her new neighbors are out to gain her property is one thing. Learning they also happen to be bear shifters is another.”
It would be one way to scare her away, his bear said.
Now you are sounding like our father, Adam answered.
And that’s a bad thing? his bear asked.
Let’s make our minds up when we meet her, Adam answered.
Agreed, his bear replied.
Might be the only thing any of them agreed on for a few days, with the arrival of a new neighbor, and his brother, Jordan, due tomorrow with his new wife.
Adam felt a pang of jealousy. He’d surely swap inheriting the ranch for a mate. Jordan had gotten lucky, Adam hoped he realized just how lucky.
Chapter Three – Lynn
Lynn had cleaned and scrubbed through the night, and well into the early hours of the morning. Where she’d gotten the energy from, she had no idea, but she put it down to the nervous excitement of the huge task ahead.
Then she’d slept, too exhausted to do anything other than fall onto the lumpy sofa in the sitting room, which she’d covered with a couple of blankets and a pillow. There was no bed upstairs, and she couldn’t face the dining room and the bare single bed her Uncle Freddy had died in.
Her furniture would be arriving in a couple of days, although now she was wondering if she should have sold it all instead of moving it halfway across the country. Except for her bed, and a couple of other pieces of furniture, she intended to buy everything new to fit in with the character of the farmhouse.
Thoughts of lumpy sofas had soon slipped away as sleep her took her; they were replaced by images of mountains and trees. The house cocooned her, the sounds of the wind outside lulled her, and the animal noises in the distance—cattle lowing, a wolf howling, and the roar of a bear somewhere in the distance—soothed her. A sense of belonging crept over her, like a warm blanket that she wanted to tuck underneath her so no one could ever pull it off.
When she woke, she lay on her side, resting her head on her pillow, watching the clouds flow across the sky, big, white, fluffy, an endless stream to who knew where. How many times she had wished she could float away on such a cloud, to a place where she was free to be herself.
She had tried to fit into the mold her parents created for her, but she simply didn’t. Neither her looks nor personality were suited to the hotel trade. Lynn hated the formal suits she was expected to wear for work; she hated the fact she was at work, even when she was at home, and she hated having to smile and be nice when guests were being unreasonable.
She shifted her weight. Her body was a snug fit on the sofa, and she had some kinks she needed to iron out. She also had some curvy bits that needed ironing too. Lynn giggled. The only thing that was going to shift her extra pounds was hard work and exercise. Not that she hadn’t tried that already, using the stairs instead of the elevator in the hotel business meant she should have been stick-thin, but it was never happening. Ever. Her curves were a part of who she was and always would be.
With voluptuous breasts, which she’d had to grow into—an early developer, was her mom’s excuse for her daughter at age thirteen, when the rest of her friends were still flat-chested, with only dreams of having the breasts men would take notice of—and curvy thighs, along with a stomach that was never going to be flat, no matter how many crunches she did, Lynn was the opposite of her mom. Sometimes Lynn thought she must have been swapped at birth, that her parents could never be Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, voted independent hoteliers of the year four times in a row. But that was her past.
“And now I’m here,” she said, and sat up, excited to go out and explore the outside of the house. The agent, after trying to put her off keeping the house, had furnished her with a map of the property boundaries. Lynn wanted to familiarize herself with them, check her fences were sound, and behave like a responsible landowner. She also need to think about dealing with the overgrown pasture. Since there were no animals, she would have to find a local farmer to cut the grass for her, and guide her in getting it back into good condition before she could purchase her alpacas. Not a farmer at heart, she did understand that grass needed to be grazed, or at least cut for hay, or the land would turn sour.
There was to be nothing sour about this life.
“Tea. And toast. I brought some jam. Didn’t I?” she asked herself, rummaging in the box of groceries she hadn’t finished unpacking. Last night she had scrubbed out all of the cupboards, and left the doors open for them to air. The whole place was starting to smell fresher already. And Lynn was feeling more confident about her decision.
Managing to get her toast sort of toastlike, she buttered the two slices, and spread it with a thick layer of jam. Lynn was confident she would burn the calories off during the day, and so she refused to feel guilty. Difficult when she constantly heard her mom’s voice in her head, as if she were seated on Lynn’s shoulder, whispering in her ear about how she shouldn’t be eating carbs, and definitely not smothering anything in jam. Did she know the sugar content of jam?
“Yes. I do, Mom,” Lynn said, and balanced the toast in her hand with a cup of tea in the other, and went to sit down outside on the back step. Tilting her face up, she let the sun warm her, and relished the breeze on her face. It ruffled her hair, and set her arms to goosebumps, but it excited her, bringing the scent of grass, and the lavender in the overgrown garden, and mixing it with the honeysuckle, which grew rampant over the garden wall.
Toast was followed by a banana, and then she ate an orange for good measure. She would have to go into town in the next couple of days. It would be good to make some friends. Lynn had no intention of having a lonely, secluded life here; she wanted to get out and be part of the community. As long as she fit in.
“Am I out of place here?” she asked the birds that flew down to drink from the small stream which meandered through the garden, feeding a small pond, before flowing away down to a meadow that looked filled with wild flowers.
“Only one way to find out,” she said, emptying her mug of tea and getting up to stretch out a couple more kinks. Returning to the kitchen, she switched on the hot faucet to wash up. The water gushed out, a little too fast. Turning the faucet, in an attempt to reduce the flow, something broke, or disintegrated—she couldn’t tell specifically. However, whatever it was, well, it was an integral part of how you stopped water coming out of a faucet. Water shot out of the broken faucet, the pressure so intense it bounced off the enamel sink and sprayed all over the kitchen.
“No!” she said, trying to stem the water as it filled the old sink, so fast, there was no way it wasn’t going to flood the kitchen. “Shut-of
f valve.”
Lynn stood, not letting panic get the better of her. She had found the shut-off valve last night, all she had to do was turn it off, and the water would stop. Pulling open a door in the hallway, she knelt down in the dust, and wrapped her hand around the valve, panicking when it didn’t budge. Pushing down her panic, she placed her other hand around it too, and then twisted it, ignoring the pain in her hand as the handle of the valve dug into her palm. It moved, and an overwhelming sense of achievement coursed through her as she twisted her hand around and around, until the sound of water coming from the kitchen slowed, and then stopped.
“I did it,” she said triumphantly. “But now I have no water.”
Getting up, she ignored the dirty state of her clothes; they could always be washed. “If I ever get the water back on.” She dug her phone out of her pocket. “No signal.”
Sitting back on her heels, she thought it through. The signal was blocked by the hills surrounding the house. Two choices: either get in the car and drive higher, or lower down the valley, until she picked up the signal, or go up to the top of the house, and see if that would give her enough bars on her phone to call a plumber.
“I can’t always drive to get a signal, so let’s try upstairs.” She walked up the stairs, making a mental note to add new stair carpet to her long list of items she needed to buy.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she stopped, big mistake. The enormity of the situation came crashing down on her. What was she thinking?
The agent’s words came back to her, his words of advice about what a large undertaking the house would be, how it would take all of the generous reserve of money she’d managed to save while working for her parents. Tears threatened, but she beat them back, pushing air down into her lungs. She needed to see this through; she needed to prove to herself that she could do something for herself, by herself.
A sob welled up inside her, and she let it erupt, but then she looked down at her phone, swiping the tears away as they misted her eyes, making the screen on her phone blurry.
Cowboy Bear Blues: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance (Cowboy Brother Bear Book 1) Page 2