by Paula Boyd
Waverman’s nostrils flared, his eyes bugged and his mouth hung open as if gasping for breath. As amusing as it would be to go all Henry Heimlich on him, a few thrusts to the solar plexus weren’t going dislodge what was stuck in his craw. He would have probably gotten his hackles up with anyone who hadn’t groveled before his greatness, but my being a woman made it all the worse. “I’ll give you a call this afternoon to schedule an appointment.”
He nodded, but still hadn’t found the words or the ability to speak.
As I turned and walked back toward the Tahoe, I glanced over at Waverman’s truck. His sidekick sat bolt upright, staring straight ahead, pretending he hadn’t heard every word said, which of course he had since the window was now rolled down a couple of inches.
The encounter hadn’t been confrontational, really, except for the Miz thing. But it still felt yucky. I was not looking forward to dealing with Waverman—nor he me—but for now, neither of us had much choice.
I climbed back in my car and pulled out onto the highway. “What next?” I muttered.
The words had zipped across my mind and out my mouth before I could stop them. And, around here, once let loose on the world, seemingly innocuous rhetorical questions quickly produced real-world answers. And I never liked the results.
Then again, I already knew I wasn’t going to like what came next. A one-two punch of attorney legalese and Lucille stubborn-ese was nobody’s idea of fun.
Chapter 6
“Good morning, Miss Lucille,” Melody Nichols said, gliding into the hospital room in her typical state of cheerfulness. Shimmering waves of silver hair framed a youthful heart-shaped face, and a wire-wrapped quartz crystal hung around her neck. She wore a simple blue blouse and a long flowing skirt that made her appear to almost float across the floor. Stepping up to the bed, she said, “You look wonderful!”
“Shhhh!” Lucille frowned. “I’m good, but don’t be spreading it around.”
“I still don’t understand why you don’t want them to know how well you’re doing.”
“And I still don’t know why you won’t wear makeup or color your hair, but you say you have your reasons. Well, I have mine too.”
Melody’s laugh was light and lilting. “My reasons are because those products have toxic chemicals in them.”
“Well, what they’re handing out here will kill me a lot faster than liquid foundation or hair dye, and I’m not going out of here on a gurney like the others. As long as they think I’m weak and feeble they’ll leave me alone. Then when Jolene gets here to spring me, I’ll hop up out of that stupid chair they make me use and march myself right out of here, and I will thumb my nose at every last one of them.”
“I really don’t understand,” Melody said, shaking her head. “But the only thing that matters is that you’re getting better.”
Lucille swung her legs over the edge of the bed and set both purple-slippered feet on the floor. “I’m telling you, people come in here with simple problems and get taken out dead. Not me.” She stood carefully and walked slowly to the bathroom door with only a slight limp. “Besides, you think any of them would believe I can do that? No they would not. Always telling me I’ll never be the same and I have to accept it, telling me to just try real hard so I can be as good as I can be. Have you ever such a stupid thing? I’ll show them!”
“You are certainly doing amazingly well,” Melody said, absently toying with the sparkling pendant around her neck as she watched Lucille. “Any pain?”
“Oh, well, sure, but nothing I can’t manage. I was a little wobbly this morning when Christine came and got me, but I’m okay now.” She looked at Melody and frowned. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but sometimes I think I can feel my bones growing back together, just knitting up like a sweater. I think that’s why it hurts more sometimes.”
Melody nodded. “That sure could be the case. The energy work and nutritional supplements can work fast.” She paused, then said, “It still seems it would be in your best interests to show the therapists how well you’re doing so you could leave sooner. And with the insurance situation as it is, they’re required to get you out as soon as possible in order to get paid.”
“That’s not how it is around here, I’ll tell you for sure.” Lucille eased herself back into bed. “You start acting like you’re doing good and then you have a setback or something else goes wrong so you have to stay. That way they have guinea pigs to test their drugs on, then if one of us dies, well, it was just because we took a bad turn and nobody questions it. Two more have turned up deader than doornails in the last three days.”
“Now, Miss Lucille…”
Lucille shook her head as she watched the odd young woman with the hot hands and strange ways. It was a quirk of fate that they’d even met. Christine had gotten an emergency call and had left Lucille in the hallway outside Doris Nichols’ door where the thin attractive woman struck up a conversation. Lucille knew Doris was in for six weeks, so when Melody said she’d be leaving sooner, Lucille wanted to know why. She still didn’t understand how just putting your hands on somebody and focusing your mind made you heal faster, but it did. Still, it didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t take a turn for the worse. “I know Doris gets out tomorrow, but you still better watch out for her.” Lucille frowned. “If Jolene will hurry up and get herself in here, I’ll be getting myself out today.”
“That might be a bit soon. You don’t want to take any chances,” Melody said gently, tucking a silvery curl behind her ear. “Besides, you said your daughter won’t be back in town for another few days yet.”
“Well, that was what she told me, but she snuck into town last night. I had four phone calls before seven o’clock this morning with people telling me about her car being at my house. The sheriff’s car was there too, of course, which was no surprise to anybody.”
“The sheriff?”
“Yes, Sheriff Jerry Don Parker out of Bowman County,” Lucille said. “He and Jolene went to high school together and they’re still crazy about each other. They might even be grown up enough now to do something about it, but it’s hard to tell with all the nonsense they’re always stirring up.” Lucille waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, she’ll probably sleep late and won’t get here until noon, but I’ll be leaving just as soon as she shows up, I’ll tell you for sure.”
Melody adjusted the sheet over Lucille’s leg. “Your daughter may not be expecting that.”
“Of course she’s not expecting that. Just makes it all the better. She is going to be mighty surprised to see what I can do!” Lucille lifted her leg and wiggled her foot. “I’m good as new.”
“They probably won’t make it easy on you to leave,” Melody said. “Particularly since you’ve been pretending to be hardly improving at all.”
“I’ll worry about that when Jolene gets here. And if they give me any guff, I’ll just tell them what they can do with their stupid walker and march myself out the door on my own. They can’t stop me.”
Melody smiled and placed her long thing fingers lightly on the hip joint. “Let’s do a few minutes today, and you remember to do it on your own too, okay?”
Lucille nodded. “How in the world am I going to explain all this to Jolene?”
“You don’t have to explain anything to anybody if you don’t want to. Just tell them you set your mind to getting your bones healed and you did. That’s really what it is anyway; I just give you a little boost, that’s all. Your body does the work.”
Lucille tipped her nose up. “Jolene is going to be mighty surprised when she finds out about this!”
Chapter 7
It was now after noon, and yes I could have arrived at the attorney’s office sooner if I’d wanted to. But after the episodes with Clove and Waverman, I didn’t. I’d needed a little time to cool down from those tail twisters before I hopped into another one, so I’d taken myself to lunch. The barbeque sandwich, sweet potato fries and iced tea wouldn’t change anything—except my waistline and art
eries—but it was gloriously delicious comfort food and I enjoyed every bite.
The offices of Vanderhorn Carpenter Vanderhorn Smith occupied the top floor of the three-story office building. There was an elevator, but I took the stairs. After my ill-advised lunch it seemed a fitting penance. I also hoped the burst of physical activity would magically fill me with happy and calming endorphins as I faced up to my fate. Reaching the top floor—and breathing harder than I would like to admit—I pulled back the heavy fire door and stepped into the hallway. I passed several private access doors and headed for the long wall of glass with the firm’s name spelled out in gold lettering and a VCVS logo above it.
As much as I liked to pretend otherwise, the whole thing was still a little daunting. The inheritance—and the reasons for it—had come out of leftfield and it had rocked my world. Today, I had to face the full reality of what I’d gotten myself into and how it had changed my life—how it had changed me. I was still angry that I’d been forced into the mess, but part of me was also intrigued by the challenges the situation offered. Could I do it? Could I manage the cleanup project? Could I run the ranch? The businesses? Did I have it in me to be that person? Just asking the questions had subtly shifted my perspective—had shifted me. I’d noticed myself stepping up—and maybe even growing up—in ways I hadn’t even known I needed to before. And as I placed my hand on the ceiling-high glass door to open it, I knew there was another push coming. I was going to have to answer the most important question of all: What do you really want?
“Are you Sheila?” I said, walking up to the woman at the front reception desk.
“Yes,” she said, standing to greet me. “Welcome, Miz Jackson. Mister Vanderhorn is expecting you. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
I nodded, wondering how she’d identified me so quickly. Did they keep a photo with “If you see this woman…” instruction sheet? Yeah, they probably did. Probably even had a staff meeting over it.
While Sheila made the call, I looked around, realizing I had been in such a daze the one time I was here a few weeks ago that I hadn’t even noticed the place. The offices were professionally and elegantly decorated, dark polished wood, rich leather seating and bronze art pieces. I vaguely recalled that there was a conference room around to the right because that’s where a room full of men had each told me their part in this drama—and what I had to do about it. If they thought I remembered a single thing that was said that day they were sadly mistaken.
“Miz Jackson.”
I turned to the left and saw a man, probably in his late thirties, in a blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, navy pants, light brown hair and a nice smile—and very handsome. “Hi.”
“I’m Grant,” he said, extending his hand.
I shook his hand and smiled. “Jolene.”
Grant smiled back, a professional and charming smile, complete with perfectly straight and exceptionally white teeth. “I’ve been overseeing the environmental responsibilities for the properties. I was out of town when you were here a few weeks ago. I’m pleased to finally meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Grant,” I said. “Although I’d be more pleased if there weren’t any environmental issues to be responsible for.”
He chuckled a bit and motioned me to follow him around to the left. “I’ll do my best to make this as easy on you as possible.”
Oh, please. Nothing about this was going to be easy and hunky attorney Grant very well knew it. I followed him into a conference room similar to the one I’d been in before, however, this one had a wall of bookcases filled with books and binders, along with a desk and computer at the far end. Actually, if not for the oval conference table in the center it would have looked more like a big office.
Grant walked around to the far side of the table and sat down behind a stack of file folders, which were presumably part of the agenda for the day.
I sat down across from him. “I suppose you should know that on my way to town this morning, I made a few stops I hadn’t intended to…”
“Clovis and Waverman,” said a voice behind me.
Ed Vanderhorn walked into the room, closed the door behind him and sat down beside Grant. “Well, Jolene, for somebody who didn’t want anyone to know she was in town, you’ve already had quite a day.”
Great. Just great. “You’re sounding like my mother, Ed. If I’d wanted to be chewed out and told all the things I’m doing wrong, I’d have gone to see her first.”
Ed shook his head. “No, not my intent. My job is to make things as easy for you as possible.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said, glancing at Grant. “But ‘as possible’ is a relative term, now isn’t it?”
They both just looked at me with their composed lawyer faces.
“Okay, so I caught Clove and Waverman off guard this morning. So what? Warning them ahead of time wasn’t going to change the outcome. Nothing is going to make them happy they have to deal with me and there’s no point trying to pretend otherwise.”
“That’s true enough, Jolene,” Ed said bluntly. “But there are situations you aren’t aware of that could change your viewpoint on how you want to deal with them.”
Grant stood. “Want a bottle of water?”
A bottle of vodka would probably be more helpful. Too bad I don’t drink. I nodded. “Yes, water would be great.”
The younger Vanderhorn walked to the end of the room and went behind the desk. What had looked like a credenza at first glance was actually a mini serving area. He bent down and plucked three bottles from the refrigerator hidden beneath the cabinet. After we all had a drink, Grant said, “I know you grew up here, but you may not realize—”
“Oh, I realize,” I said, knowing where he was headed. “It is not a revelation to me that I don’t fit in here. And should I forget, there is always someone ready and willing to point it out. I also know I have a bad attitude sometimes—okay a lot of times—but in my defense, you don’t know what all I’ve had to deal with around here.”
“We know,” Ed said, then glanced at Grant as if he wanted the younger man to say something. He didn’t, so Ed added, “It’s our job to know.”
Of course it was. But really, who didn’t know about the craziness I’d been dragged into in the last year? Every bizarre episode had been broadcast on the six o’clock news and written about extensively, albeit ridiculously, in the newspaper. And while ace reporter Kimberlee Fletcher’s favorite literary expression, “Jolene Jackson said,” might not totally explain the reactions to me—or the repetitive name thing—it was certainly a contributing factor. “Okay, fine. I get it. Write me up a tutorial on what I’m supposed to do—and not do—and I’ll study it.”
Ed nodded. “Good. There’s a list in the paperwork you’ll be taking with you today.”
“I was just kidding,” I said. The look on Ed’s face said he wasn’t. “Although I could definitely use a how-to guide for dealing with sexist Redneck condescending men. Have one of those?”
Grant chuckled. “There are some guidelines on dealing with press, asset personnel, investors, partners and anyone who might approach you for information. In short, don’t talk to anyone without one of us present.” He smiled. “As for the other, well, I can probably help with that.”
I figured Grant Vanderhorn could help with a lot of things, including things a sort-of-officially-engaged woman ought to not even be thinking about, which she was not…even a little. Grant was cute, no denying that, but he was no Jerry. No one was.
Ed cleared his throat and then he and Grant began opening file folders and spreading documents across the table. As they did, I noticed some obvious similarities in their mannerisms. Now that I was thinking about it, they looked a lot alike too. Grant was a younger and taller version of Ed, with more hair and less weight. He also had a more sophisticated way about him and not as much of a Texas accent. Ed was a bona fide Texan, but not a typical good ol’ boy type, although I was sure he could play one if it was beneficial
to do so. “Brothers, or father and son?” I said, a little surprised to hear my thoughts voiced aloud.
Grant answered. “Edmond Grant Vanderhorn the Fourth. Dad lured me away from the big city to the family firm. At least for a while.”
Ed glanced at his son, then back at me and said, “We have a lot of ground to cover, so let’s get started.” He slid a sheet toward me. “As you know, Bob Little was a client of this firm since before you were born. All historical files have all been scanned and are stored electronically should you ever want to review them. This is a list of the categories.” He then slid a large manila envelope across the table to me. “Some personal documents that may be of interest to you. These are copies for you to take with you today if you choose.”
The envelope was large, so I figure it had more than just the documents pertaining to my adoption, which was the last thing I wanted to think about at the moment—or maybe at any moment. I didn’t know what else might be in there, but whatever it was, I needed to know and deal with it at some point. “Okay.”
Grant slid a bound report across the table to me. “This is the preliminary environmental assessment of the property and a proposal for the next phase of work.”
As I flipped through it, Grant gave me the short version of what it said. Since Waverman had only been given the go-ahead to start investigating a couple of weeks ago—apparently by me in that first meeting I couldn’t remember—things were still in the very beginning stages. There were several pages of water and soil sample results, maps, diagrams and colorful ground penetrating radar images showing the hot spots for drums. I had to give Waverman credit, he’d managed to get more accomplished than I would have suspected. The next decision on that was approving his proposal and starting the next phase.