Somebody Like You

by Lynnette Austin

*

  Running across the street, Annelise noticed a few parked cars and trucks. People like Fletch coming into town to do their business. And they’d all know each other, their family history. Everyone would smile and wish each other a good day. Not a bad way to live.

  Her grandfather had that for the first nine years of his life. Had best buddies. Then had all the security torn away.

  Fletch might not know why, but Annelise figured she did. A threatened scandal over infidelity had chased Davis “Driller” Montjoy out of Lone Tree. What a shame. And, yet, the very act that had torn her grandpa’s life from him was now the only thing that could save it. Or so she hoped. What a convoluted jumble.

  She stepped into Ollie’s and waved at him behind the counter.

  “Hey, good-lookin’.” Ollie wiped his hands on his apron. “How are you today? Saw that bike of yours out there and wondered where you’d gotten off to.”

  She grinned. “I ran into Maggie’s.”

  “Ahh. Find anything?”

  “As a matter of fact, I hit pay dirt.” She looked at him, blew out a nervous breath. “Now, if I can only be as lucky with Ms. Hanson.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, honey.” He slid a piece of paper toward her. “Here’re the directions to her place.” He trailed a stubby finger over the drawing. “Be sure you turn when you get to this sign. You do that, you can’t go wrong.”

  He glanced up. “You got your cell phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. There’s a big tower outside of town, so you’ll have decent reception. You get lost, you call me, and I’ll come find you.”

  Again, she felt the sting of tears. “Thank you, Ollie.” She leaned over the counter and kissed his cheek. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “Ah, get out of here. Go.” A big grin split his jowly face. “Good luck.”

  She threw him another kiss as she rushed out the door.

  At her bike, she studied the crudely drawn map. It seemed simple enough. The problem was, a lot of territory rambled out there. Well, she had her phone and didn’t doubt for a minute Ollie really would come rescue her if she needed him.

  Turning the key, the bike rumbled to life beneath her. She backed out of her spot and turned south. Maggie waved at her from the window of her shop, and Annelise waved back.

  In a matter of a week, she had more friends here than she had in Boston. Regardless of the outcome with Thelma Hanson, regardless of whether or not she found her great-aunt, she would never regret this trip.

  *

  Thelma Hanson lived at the end of a rutted dirt road. Annelise imagined every filling in her head would have to be replaced as she bumped along.

  When she reached the end of the lane, the door of a weathered two-story white house opened, and a rail-thin woman stepped out. “You must be Annie.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Annelise removed her helmet and shook out her hair.

  “Oliver tells me you’re looking for family and that they came from here at one time.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you come inside out of this miserable heat? We can talk in there as well as out here and won’t suffer heat stroke while we do.” With that, Thelma Hanson opened her door wide and welcomed her in. “Where are you from?”

  “Boston. But my great-grandfather was from here. My grandfather lived here for a while, too.”

  “Well, then, Annie, I probably knew them. The Hansons have lived on this homestead since before history.”

  Annelise smiled. “That’s what Oliver told me.”

  “What was your great-granddaddy’s name?”

  And here’s where the fat met the frying pan. “Davis Montjoy.”

  “Driller?”

  Annelise nodded.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t Ollie tell me that?”

  “He didn’t know.” Annelise took a deep breath. “I didn’t tell him.”

  “Why ever not?”

  She shrugged, uneasy.

  “Hmmm.” Thelma switched subjects. “Bet you’d like something cold to drink, huh? Wash down that road trip. Surprised me to see you pull up on that big motorcycle. Not the usual mode of transportation for a girl like you.”

  “No, it’s not, but I love it. And I’d really appreciate a glass of iced tea if you have any. If not, even water will do. I think I’ve swallowed enough dust to fill a sinkhole.”

  Ms. Hanson made a cackling sound. “That’d be about right for Texas mid-summer. Need to get us some rain. And soon. Or the whole state’s going to blow away to Nebraska.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Annelise trailed after her and stood in the arched doorway as Thelma moved on into the kitchen, as old-fashioned as any she’d ever seen. A chipped, white porcelain-topped table sat in front of the chintz-covered window. A white cupboard that she knew would have a flour bin and sifter inside sat against the far wall. The whole house had been freeze-framed sometime in the forties—or earlier. An antique dealer would go nuts in here. Off to the left in the dining room, she recognized a beautiful oak icebox, now serving as a side table.

  Thelma Hanson, though unbelievably thin, stood tall and straight. Annelise guessed her for somewhere around eighty. Her face had obviously seen its share of the Texas sun and had the wrinkles to prove it. She wore a navy and white cotton shirtdress and had obviously fixed her hair in anticipation of Annelise’s visit.

  She wondered how many visitors Thelma had. Not many, she guessed. Not anymore. Living out here must be a lonely life, filled with memories of what once had been a bustling ranch, a family home.

  When Thelma moved back to the living room, Annelise took the tray of tea and shortbread cookies. Placing it on the coffee table, she sat. Thelma handed her a napkin, then set one of the teas close to her on a coaster and passed her the plate of cookies.

  Taking one, she said, “Thank you, Ms. Hanson. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you meeting with me.”

  “Like I told Ollie, I don’t know if I can help you. Call me Thelma, please.”

  “All right. Thelma.” She sipped her sweet tea and tasted the slight tang of orange. “This is great.”

  “Family recipe.”

  “Did you know my family?” She gripped the glass tightly, more nervous than she’d have thought possible.

  “I didn’t know Driller well. I was too young. He became kind of a legend here, you know. A man from Lone Tree falling into all that money. Now your granddaddy, I knew him better. He was a couple years younger than me. Vinnie was a sweet boy. Even after his daddy came into all that money, he never changed a whit. Never got all uppity like so many nouveau riche do.”

  Thelma set the last of her cookie on a napkin. Standing, she beckoned to Annelise. “I think I might have a picture for you.”

  In the dining room, she moved to an old steamer trunk. Lifting the top, she sifted through the contents till she found the box she wanted. Placing it on the dining table, she said, “Have a seat, Annie, and let’s see what I have here.”

  As they went through photo after photo, Thelma reminisced, telling Annelise about the people in the photos. Finally, she found the picture she’d been searching for.

  “Here you go.” She laid the sepia-toned photo in front of Annelise. “There’s Driller and Vinnie, your great-grandfather and your granddaddy. He was so young, then, wasn’t he?”

  “I’ve never seen a picture of him as a child.” She stared at the boy and his stern-faced father, both dressed formally in white-collared shirts, ties, and suit coats. Her great-grandfather sat in an upholstered chair, while her grandpa stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Neither smiled.

  “You can keep that.” Thelma shook her head. “Darn shame about all the fuss. Such a nice family. After the scandal, they moved away. Never heard from them again. Except once in a while on the news, of course. And you must be the one who’s gone missing.”

  “Yes, I needed some time away.” But Annie’s mind wasn’t on
that. Her ears had pricked up at Thelma’s comment about the scandal. Exactly what she’d come for.

  The story of Driller’s illegitimate child.

  Her mouth cotton-dry, she wished she’d carried her tea to the dining room with her. “Ms. Hanson, Thelma, the scandal. Did it involve a child?”

  “Indirectly, I suppose. You sure you want to hear all this?”

  “Yes. It’s the reason I’m here.” She picked up the photo and studied it. “I came for my grandfather.”

  “How is Vinnie? I heard he was sick.”

  “He has leukemia and needs a bone marrow transplant. Relatives are generally the best matches. None of us are, though. I’m thinking that—”

  “A sister might be.”

  “Exactly.” Goose bumps raced over Annelise’s skin. “I’ve heard rumors he might have had one here. A half sister.”

  “He did.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vivi wants to do what?” Cash sprang from his chair. He’d been worried when Gideon had asked him to stop by his law office. But this beat all.

  “She’s filing papers to legally change the name of the ranch, and I’m not violating any client privileges by telling you this. She specifically asked me to. She wants you to know.”

  “She’s gonna rename the ranch Vivi’s Valley?”

  “Now settle down.”

  Cash rested his hands on Gideon Crain’s cluttered mahogany desk. The gray-haired, bespectacled man had been his grandfather’s lawyer from the time he’d graduated law school. Leo Hardeman had been his first client.

  “Settle down? Settle down? I don’t think so. Tell me she can’t do this.”

  “I’m afraid she might be able to. Since the ranch will be split fifty-fifty, she’ll have as much say as you. This arrangement’s pretty dicey.”

  Cash sputtered and paced the small room.

  “You’re the only one who can stop this nonsense.”

  Cash halted mid-step and glared at the elderly lawyer. “Don’t lay this on me. Grandpa created this fiasco.” He pointed a finger at the lawyer’s chest. “How could you let him do this?”

  Gideon shook his head. “Believe me, I tried like hell to talk him out of it. He wouldn’t listen. Your grandpa could be a stubborn old cuss.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Because of lawyer-client privacy laws, I couldn’t tell you what he planned to do,” Gideon said. “I figured, given time, he’d come to his senses and change it.”

  “But he ran out of time.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  A deep sadness settled over Cash. “You know, as hard as it’s been, as hard as it is not having Gramps here, maybe that heart attack was the kindest thing that could have happened. The way his mind was going—hell!” He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets and wandered over to the window. “What am I gonna do?”

  “I can’t answer that for you, Cash.” Gideon peered over the bridge of his glasses. “Tell you what, though. I sure am glad I’m not in your boots. Hell of a pickle Leo put you in.”

  Cash rested his fists on the windowsill and looked out over Main Street. Henry Foster and Walt Johnson headed into Sally’s Place. They were running late today. They generally met for lunch. In fact, they’d been there the first time he’d laid eyes on Annie.

  Annie. His chest tightened.

  Life went on.

  Not for Leo Hardeman, though. Why had the old man felt the need to orchestrate things after his death? If he’d simply left the ranch to his widow, it would have been easier to swallow. But dangling Whispering Pines in front of him—well, it didn’t go down well. And it was totally out of character for his grandfather.

  “Never could figure out what Leo saw in that woman.”

  Cash raised a brow. “Sure you did.”

  Gideon laughed. “Okay, okay. Guess I did. But why didn’t he settle for playing sugar daddy?”

  “Wish I knew the answer to that question. My take on it is Gramps was too much the gentleman for that.”

  “Damned shame.” Gideon carried his mug over to the coffeepot and poured a fresh cup. He held it up to Cash. “Sure you don’t want some?” He looked increasingly uneasy.

  “Nope. Lay it on me, pal. There’s something else, isn’t there? You’re about as nervous as a June bug in a henhouse.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m afraid there is more. Another reason I called you in today.”

  Cash let out a loud sigh. “Oh, boy. I can hardly wait. It must be a real doozy.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Another of Grandpa’s stipulations?”

  “I don’t know. He left a letter for you. I was only supposed to deliver it if you were nearing the six-month mark unmarried.”

  “And in six months and three days, I turn thirty. Grandpa’s deadline for me to march down the aisle.” He dropped back into the chair and scrubbed his hands down his face. “Okay. Hand it over.”

  Gideon went to a safe and withdrew the letter. Without another word, he passed it to Cash. “I’ll mosey out and keep Staubach company. I’m assuming you left him in the outer office like always.”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll leave you alone with this, but I’ll be right outside if you need to talk.”

  With a sinking feeling, Cash took the envelope. His name was scrawled on the front in his grandfather’s chicken-scratching. The office door closed.

  He tapped the envelope on his forehead. What would happen if he simply threw it away without reading it? What was the penalty for that? Might be a hell of a lot easier.

  Then he looked at it again, at his grandfather’s familiar handwriting. A band of pressure wrapped itself around his chest and made it hard to breathe. God, he missed the man. Tears blurred his vision.

  He slid the envelope back and forth between his fingers. Wasn’t the letter really like an unexpected gift in some ways?

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  Blowing out a huge breath, he slipped a finger in the corner of the seal and slit it open. After another deep breath, he withdrew the paper and unfolded the single sheet.

  Then he simply sat there and gave himself a full minute to compose himself before moving his eyes to the paper. The familiar handwriting alone was enough to bring a lump to his throat.

  I’ve got a feeling, Cash, that you’re probably none too happy with your old grandpap right about now, because if Gideon’s given this letter to you, I’m dead and you’re not married and have no prospects. Hell of a note.

  I loved your grandma Edith more than the air I breathe. Breathed, I guess, since you’re reading this.

  Edie and I want you to have someone special to share your life, too.

  And damn it all, seems neither of us are there to nudge you along, boy. I’m almost glad Edie didn’t live to see what a durned old fool I turned into. Of course if she’d lived, none of that—and by that, I mean Vivi—would have happened. I’d still have been sitting out on the porch of a summer evening, holding hands with my best girl.

  Cash smiled. Every evening when it was warm enough, his grandparents had sat in their red rockers and enjoyed dessert and iced tea. He hadn’t thought about that in too long. It was a good memory.

  He returned his attention to the letter.

  Vivi—well, I don’t know. Guess I got lonely. She made me feel young again. Then, she made me feel like the old fool I am.

  Your grandma chewed me out well and good for that one, don’t you worry. She came sometimes at night to visit, you know. We had a humdinger of an argument over that other woman, as your grandma called her.

  Cash laid the note down in his lap and stared out the window. More than once in the last year or so, he’d seen his grandfather confused. Heard him talk about his Edie as though she was still alive. Reality had obviously become blurred for him. Cash forced himself to read on.

  Anyway, getting back to the reason for this letter. The thing is, your grandma says you’
re gonna get your back up and not marry because of the will. I don’t want that. Don’t want you getting all stubborn and defying me on principle.

  Cash snorted. “Me get stubborn, Gramps? Oh, that’s rich,” he muttered.

  If you do, Cash, you’ll break both your grandma’s heart and mine. Love can’t be rushed or forced. We know that. But my guess is you’re not even looking. If this backfires, I’m damn sorry. That wasn’t our intention.

  You’re too hard on yourself. Loosen up. Open those eyes of yours and start looking around. My guess is that love is staring you straight in the face, and you’re too cussed ornery to latch on to it.

  Annie’s blue eyes, full of hurt, swam into his mind. Damn! He blinked, rid himself of the image.

  Let go, Cash. It’s time to move on to the next stage of your life. Give your mama and daddy a new daughter. Give them some grandbabies.

  Make us all proud.

  With much love and affection,

  Grandpa

  Leo Hardeman (I’m only adding this to get Gideon off my back. He insists it’s not legal without my signature. I told the old goat you knew who Grandpa was, but he says the courts might not. What difference that makes is beyond me. I wrote this letter to you, not the courts.)

  God, that was his grandfather. He could hear him and Gideon arguing over the proper signature. He missed the old man.

  The clock on the wall ticked off the minutes and still Cash sat, hands in his lap, the letter gripped tightly. His jaw ached with unshed tears. An overwhelming sense of loss nearly suffocated him. He couldn’t imagine a lifetime without Gramps.

  And Grandma Edith. It had been over eight years now, but he could still see her in the kitchen making oatmeal and raisin cookies, standing by the corral while they broke a new horse, carrying gallons of ice water to the hands. She’d worked hard, but she’d always had time to kiss a scratched knee all better or to read a book with him.

  He stood, folded the letter into its envelope, and tucked it in his back pocket. Time to let Gideon go home.

  He opened the door and stepped into the outer office. His dog scrambled to his feet and came over to meet him. “Hey, Staubach.” He rubbed his head.

  “We’re gonna get out of here so you can finish up. I appreciate your time.”