Lost and Found (books 1-3): Small-Town Romantic Comedy

by Elizabeth Lynx

  "No, I haven't. That was his can I ate?" I felt as if I disturbed a sacred tomb and gasped. "I'm so sorry, Carter."

  "It's fine. Like you said, they're only beans. But the will was his voice. His ideas, his money, his words. If I read it, then that tiny part of my brain that was desperate for him to be alive would know he was dead."

  It was a small gesture, but it was the best I could give him, sitting in this lobby. I took Carter's hand in mine and held it as long as he would let me.

  "Mr. Fitzwilliam." Austen appeared and waved us back to his office.

  It was the same room I listened outside of several weeks ago. It was small, barely enough space for the outdated brown desk, desk chair, and two more for Carter and me to sit.

  The decor matched the rest of the bank, wood paneling. Wood decor must be trending up here on the mountain.

  Austen brought out the will and pointed to where Carter needed to sign.

  "Just sign there when you have finished reading."

  Carter lifted the paper and was surprised to find it only one page in length.

  "That's the whole thing?" Carter asked, holding the paper up in the air.

  "Yes. You were his only concern. It lists his assets, which is the cabin and the amount of money in his bank account at the time. That number has changed for obvious reasons, due to the time that has passed."

  "Because of the money set to deposit into my account, I am assuming it's much lower."

  Austen sat back and shook his head. "No, it's more. Due to the amount of money he had and that the majority was being held in a savings account until the will was signed, the interest was more than what you received from him monthly."

  "What?" I said as I straightened in my chair.

  I knew the Fitzwilliams were rich, but I thought they had only a little more than my father.

  Carter's eyes went wide, and his finger traced under one of the parts of the will.

  "My father had over ten billion dollars?" Carter's voice went up an octave.

  I made a choking noise and my hand, on total instinct, snatched the will out of Carter's hand. "That can't be right. I think that's a typo, Carter." I narrowed my eyes and mentally counted all the numbers. "That's eleven numbers . . . Eleven." My voice sounded like a cross between a longtime smoker and Vincent Price.

  "There are no errors. That number is correct. Well, it was correct two years ago. Here is the updated amount, which you will also need to sign this document, too."

  Austen pushed the piece of paper toward Carter. I leaned over and saw the number.

  "That's a million more dollars. Carter, you're rich. You're like stupid, ridiculous, over-the-top wealthy."

  He sat there staring at the two pieces of paper, not moving.

  A billion little ideas were fluttering around in my brain. He could expand the cabin. My God, he could build ten cabins, each holding a different purpose. One was the bathroom cabin and another the kitchen cabin, and another would be one big bedroom cabin.

  I had a twisted version of cabin fever as I imagined the many homes he could build, all made out of the wood that's so popular here.

  "I can't take this. It's, uh . . . it's too much," Carter said as he put the pen down and pushed the papers back toward Austen.

  "It's not really a choice. If you sign the papers, then it's yours to do with what you want."

  Carter didn't lift his eyes from the papers. "And if I don't sign? It goes to my grandmother?"

  "Yes, if that is what you want. Come Monday, the bank will reach out to her and inform her of the will."

  "But think of the cabins, Carter," I said as if this was my money and I had any right.

  "Cabin. I only have one cabin."

  "Sorry, I was just daydreaming for a moment. Never mind."

  Internally, I wept for the cabins that almost were.

  "Actually, Carter, you won't even have that. Unless your grandmother lets you stay there . . . I've found that the wealthy, once they own property, rarely keep it untouched. She might want to remove your cabin and farm to make way for a vacation home or some money-making property." Austen's tone was more of a warning than a casual observation.

  That got his attention. Carter lifted his gaze. "I can find another farm, somewhere else. I'm sure I have enough money to—"

  Austen leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk. "And then what? You would use all your savings to purchase a farm, and then how will you live?"

  I shifted my gaze from the papers to Austen. It sounded like he was mad at Carter for not signing. Maybe he did get some kind of payment or percentage if Carter signed.

  "What I make from the farm. I'll live off that."

  "No, you won't. What you make off your small farm isn’t enough to have even a meager living. What happens when one of your ewes gets sick or you have to rent a ram or any number of costly surprises that dealing with a farm brings?"

  "What is wrong with you?" I narrowed my eyes at Austen.

  I also believed Carter should sign, but I wasn't going to bully him into doing something he didn't want to do.

  Austen straightened in his chair and scratched at the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I got carried away. It's just . . . I've seen what owning a farm can do to people. The hard labor put in working the earth and dealing with the animals and barely getting enough money for that effort. It's driven some people to do things that . . . I just don't want to see that happen to you."

  Carter reached for the papers and read over them once again. He then grabbed the pen Austen had put out when we first arrived. Placing the papers on the table, his hand hovered over the bottom of the will. After a moment, he put down the pen and stood.

  "I can't do it. That's not me. My father raised me to understand money can easily corrupt people. He taught me better. I'm sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Goode. Call my grandmother and tell her about the will."

  He turned and walked out the door. In shock, I sat there and stared at the empty hallway.

  "He's going to regret this," I heard Austen mutter.

  What a greedy dickhole.

  I turned back and narrowed my eyes. "Why? Because you don't get your big cut from him signing the paperwork? This was his decision, not yours."

  "No, I don't get a cut. It's my job to guide people with bank accounts. Whether they have five dollars or five billion, I get paid the same salary. No bonus. Not even a lunch out on the company dime. I have seen the damage and heartache owning a farm can do to a person. You know the reason Carter can still shop for groceries or eat out at the diner or pay Tyler when one of his sheep has whatever illness sheep get?"

  "Because of the bank account from his father."

  Austen nodded and pointed to the will. "That's what keeps Carter afloat. I've seen the amount of money coming into his account versus the amount going out. There are months that he takes out more than he puts in. Now, imagine his life without that cushion of cash. What will happen to Carter? Will a big group of his friends bail him out and keep bailing him out for all the bad months that keep happening?"

  I was Carter's only friend.

  "I could cover his bills. I could take over where his father left off." I folded my arms, refusing to let the man I cared for have his dreams die.

  Austen leaned closer and held up the sheet with the corrected amount in the savings account.

  "He wouldn't take this. Do you really think he's going to take your money? You know Carter, does he seem like the humble sort?"

  I thought back to when I first got the credit card from Bea and tried to pay for our meal at the diner. Even then, he wouldn't let me pay.

  My shoulders sloped forward. "No, I guess not."

  I couldn't let Carter struggle. I wanted to sign the paperwork for him just to make sure he would be okay, but I wasn't allowed. It didn't stop me from asking or suggesting I forged it. But Austen was a stickler for the law.

  I got up and said, "I'll try to convince him. Just hold off on calling his grandmother until you absolu
tely have to, please."

  Austen nodded. "You have until Monday."

  It was Thursday, so I was hoping that was enough time.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Carter

  Olivia slid her tongue over her red glistening lips and moaned, "Oh, my goodness, but that will make me come."

  That made two of us. If she kept up groaning and giving her I'm-about-to-come face, the whole restaurant was going to think we weren't just eating dessert.

  "You like the lemon mousse?" I asked with a bit of a chuckle.

  "It's the best in the world. Here, you try it."

  Before I could respond, she shoved a spoonful of mousse between my lips. There was a tangy, creamy explosion in my mouth.

  "Mmm. That is amazing," I mumbled as I let the flavor linger on my tongue.

  "This whole dinner has been wonderful, Carter. Thank you for taking me."

  It was Saturday night, and I realized yesterday I had never taken her out on a date. The woman I loved, and I hadn't done the most basic date thing there was, taking someone out for dinner.

  "When I saw the dress your sister gave you, I thought there should be a reason for you to wear it."

  And a reason for me to peel it off, too.

  Her cheeks turned crimson, which the dark blue of the dress seemed to emphasize. She was stunning. I planned to tell her how I felt tonight. That I love her and would do anything to make her happy. I knew there was a chance she didn't feel the same, but I didn't care. After the past week, I realized how incredibly lucky I was to have her.

  After what happened at the bank, she tried to convince me to change my mind a few times but eventually gave up Friday night. Which surprised me. I thought she would never stop talking about all the good things I could do with that money.

  Perhaps, since she was used to money, and it didn't seem that big of a deal to be given that much. I had no idea how much her family had, but maybe ten billion wasn't a lot to her. Maybe her father had a hundred billion, and walking away from ten billion wasn't the worst thing in the world.

  I couldn't imagine thinking like that, but I didn't grow up in her world. I almost did, but my father took me away from that just in time—before it desensitized me to what really mattered in life. But, not soon enough to save my mother and sister.

  "What's going on in that sheep farmer brain of yours?"

  "I was thinking what if I never left DC when I was little. Maybe if my mom and sister hadn't been killed, if we would have met? Maybe at school or something like that."

  "I think so. I went to your elementary school. You would be a few grades above me, but I'm sure we would have seen each other in the halls and on the playground. Who knows, you could have been one of the ones that called me Green Olive."

  "They called you a green olive? But why?"

  She reached up and covered her forehead as if there was a bright light overhead. "I got sick once in second grade. It was lunch, so the cafeteria was filled with most of the grades. I think I had some stomach bug but felt fine enough to go to school. By lunch, it was bad. I knew I was going to throw up, but I didn't make it to the bathroom or even a trash can in time. I threw up in the middle of the cafeteria. The kids laughed and pointed and began to chant Green Olive. Since then, I was Green Olive."

  I reached across the table and clasped her hand. "Did it bother you?"

  "Yes, it bothered me. How you are with bad language, that's how I am with olives. I won't eat them. My family knows never to have olives in the house. I know it's silly, and it was almost two decades ago, but that stuff gets into your bones. Kids are so cruel."

  My heart began to pound in my chest. Kids could be very cruel, especially me.

  "I lied to you." I took a deep breath and gazed over into Olivia's hazel eyes.

  "About what?"

  "About the killer. I'm the one that caused my mom and sister's death. If I hadn't said what I did, my family might still be here. Even my father."

  Olivia got up and walked to the chair closest to me. She took my hand and sat quietly waiting for me to go on.

  "The gunman appeared in the crowd and started shouting at my father. But he wasn't cursing, I was. I stepped forward and used all the big words I could think of. Words I heard big kids say at school or my dad's political friends said when they didn't think little kids were around. I thought if I scared the guy with what I said, he would go away. But it angered him. He told my father, 'Is this what you teach your kids?' But he hadn't taught me that. I only wanted to scare him . . ."

  Olivia leaned forward and wrapped her arm around me.

  "If I hadn't cursed, that man wouldn't have tried to shoot my father. My mom and sister would still be here. My father would have never fallen trying to get a tree branch off the roof."

  "That's how he died?" Olivia whispered.

  "No. He died because I was too busy trying to get laid from one of the tourists at The Lodge. I came back home around one in the morning. He had been like that since the late afternoon."

  "Oh, no," Olivia said with a whimper.

  "He died by the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital. I was too late. I abandoned him and he died. I tried to scare off a gunman, and my mom and sister were killed. These were the reasons I never got close to people. When I tried to help, it hurt them more."

  "You helped me." She squeezed my hand, but I barely felt it, lost in my terrible memories.

  "No, I didn't. If I really did help you, I would tell you to go back home. But instead, I wanted to keep you to myself. Come Monday, I'll just be a poor sheep farmer. You deserve a man that will be able to put food on the table. According to Austen, I may not be able to do that."

  "Carter, I think—"

  "We should go." I took my wallet out of my back pocket.

  "I'll get it."

  She lifted the bill and reached for her purse.

  "I can afford this."

  "But for how long? I want you to keep every penny while you have it. If you insist on not taking what your father wished you to have." I could hear the irritation in her voice.

  I guess she hadn't let it go.

  "Hand over the check. I'm paying for the meal. This is a date, remember?"

  I held out my hand, and she slapped it away. Not harshly, but enough to let me know she was serious about paying.

  "Women can pay for dates."

  "But I asked you. Therefore, I should pay."

  She held the receipt to her chest and stared.

  "Look, Carter, there's something I need to tell you." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I got a call from Bea before we came to the restaurant. My father had a heart attack. He's in the hospital."

  "Oh no, Olivia. Why didn't you say anything?"

  She bit her bottom lip and sighed. "I debated saying something. Bea got a flight first thing in the morning for me. I thought we should cancel tonight, and I would stay home and pack. But then you were so happy. And the way you looked at me in this dress, I wanted something wonderful for us. A lovely romantic evening."

  Now it was my turn to clasp her hand in mine. She loosened the hold she had on the bill and placed it on the table.

  "We could have had a date when you come back. Your family needs you."

  I didn't want her to make the same mistake I did.

  "I know. But since the airport is a two-hour drive, I wouldn't have made it in time for the last flight to DC."

  "We should go." I saw our waiter heading to another table and waved at him.

  When he came over, I gave him the bill and told him it was urgent. Once I had settled the check, we got our coats and headed to the truck.

  The restaurant was a thirty-minute drive from the cabin and Olivia was silent during most of the ride. We were only five minutes away when she finally spoke.

  "I want you to come with me."

  It felt like a blow to my chest. I tried to keep my voice steady. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  Something warm moved on my leg. I looked down and
found Olivia's hand gently laying on my thigh.

  "Why not? The sheep? Kitty? I'm sure if you called Emily and explained there was a family emergency, she could help for a few days."

  Darn. She crushed my excuse before I could use it.

  "I can't just up and leave, Olivia."

  I had nothing. She knew it. I stiffened, preparing for whatever she would throw at me. Some logic that would only end up making me look like a crazy, reclusive mountain man that prefers the company of sheep over people.

  I turned and went up the narrow path to the cabin and stopped the truck. I turned to face her. No matter what she said, I had to fight against it. My father warned me to never go back. I had to honor my father's wishes. I had to honor my heart.

  She moved her hand to mine and watched our fingers intertwine.

  "Carter, I love you. I want you to come because I want you to meet my family."

  She lifted her eyes and what I saw struck me harder than when I fell through the roof. Every part of her face was soft, full of a vulnerable longing I feared if I touched, would melt into nothing.

  "But, I'm just a poor farmer."

  "I made Bea get two tickets. We can go together."

  I was being selfish. She needed to be with her family, and it wasn't as if I had money to sway her to be with me long-term. Olivia belonged in the city, I didn't.

  "Maybe it's best you go alone. I don't think your family would approve of me."

  "Once they found out you're a Fitzwilliam, I know my parents would love you no matter what."

  And that was the problem. That wasn't my world. Where names and what you did for a living mattered more than if the person was good in their heart.

  "No one can know who I am, Olivia. I can't go back to that life."

  I would never live through it.

  Olivia let go and nodded. "I see."

  She was silent for a moment, turning so she faced the windshield, staring out at the pines that made up the mountains.

  "It's always going to be this, isn't it? To be with you, I must stay here. You can't come meet my family. I have to do what is best for you, but I can't ask you to do one thing for me. Something normal in any relationship, like meeting the parents. I'm not worth the risk that your family might discover you're still alive."