Upon finding his residence in Oregon, Henry debated sending Thane a letter. In the meantime, he bequeathed everything he owned to his brother, surprising Weston. It certainly came as a shock to those in Henry’s household when he read the will to them upon the man’s death more than a month ago.
“Do you have any questions, Mr. Jordan?” Weston asked, resting his arms on the top of the desk as Henry’s brother continued to stare at the papers without touching them. Curious if the man could read, he contemplated how best to broach the question. “Would it provide assistance to you if I read the documents aloud?”
Careworn, Thane sat back in the chair with a sigh. “My belly’s as empty as a forgotten post hole and I can’t sit here for a couple of hours listening to you read all that legal mumbo jumbo. I’ll take the papers with me and review them this evening, but why don’t you tell me the important points right now.”
Weston’s eyebrows rose toward his snowy white hairline, but he nodded his head.
“It is my understanding that you and your brother have not communicated in a dozen years. Henry was beside himself when he realized you left South Carolina and moved on. He managed to hire someone who finally located your whereabouts in the spring. At that time, he came to me and changed his will, leaving you everything.”
“What, exactly, does everything include?” Thane leaned forward with his elbows propped on his knees, staring inquiringly at his brother’s lawyer.
“Your brother owned, both outright and as a partner, more than a dozen successful cotton mills in Bolton, where he resided. In addition to his home there, he owned a lovely vacation home in Bath. He also recently engaged in a partnership with several shipping business here in Liverpool.”
“I thought he lived here in Liverpool.”
“No. He moved to Bolton after he became a partner in his first cotton mill. He stayed with me when he had business to attend to here in the city and I hope you’ll do the same.”
Intently gazing at the man across the desk from him, Thane slowly nodded his head. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Weston. It’s very kind of you.”
Weston rose to his feet, gathered the papers he’d set on the desk and placed them in a file then enclosed it in a leather satchel similar to the school bags many children carried. After handing the bag to Thane, the solicitor motioned toward the door.
“Shall we proceed to my home? I’d like to think my cook might be able to provide a filling meal for that fence post hole you mentioned.”
A smile worked at the corners of Thane’s mouth and he again nodded his head. “Thank you, sir.”
“Please, call me Weston. Now, I’d like to hear all about your life in the west. Is it as untamed and wild as the stories I’ve read, that sort of rot?”
Thane grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “Depends on what you’ve read.”
“Rightly so, my good man.”
After a hot bath and a good meal, Thane spent the evening visiting with Weston and his wife, Margaret, at their well-appointed home. The next morning, Mrs. Weston handed a basket of food to her husband as he climbed into a comfortable coach, taking a seat opposite their guest.
“I must say, I think it best if you spend a few days acquainting yourself with Henry’s holdings in Bolton before you make any decisions,” Weston said when Thane questioned the need for making the day-long trip to the northeast.
“Can’t I read the papers and sign them here?”
“There are affairs there that require your personal attention, sir. I’m happy to provide assistance and advisement as needed. You didn’t seem of a mind to speak of matters last evening, but I believe it would behoove us to discuss the details of your brother’s will whilst we journey to his home today.” Weston waved to his wife as the coach pulled onto the street.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather wait. I’m still trying to resign myself to Henry’s death. You say he fell off his horse while he was riding home from his office?” Henry was the one who taught Thane to ride. He had a hard time believing his brother could take a spill for no reason and break his neck.
“From what I know, Henry left his office, riding fast and hard, as he so often did on his way home. It was raining that night, already dark. No one knows if the horse slipped, stepped in a hole, or spooked, but the end result was the same. The doctor said Henry didn’t suffer, that the end came quickly.”
Thane barely nodded his head in acknowledgement of the statement and focused his gaze out the coach window. He’d suggested riding to Bolton horseback but Weston quickly assured him they needed to travel by coach. At least it was a private coach and Thane had one side all to himself. It gave him the ability to stretch out his long legs. He still felt cramped from the days of confinement on the ship due to his illness.
The few times he’d felt well enough to venture from his room on the ship, he’d joined a group of men who conversed about everything from the first electric chair execution that took place a few weeks prior in New York to the admittance of Idaho and Wyoming to the union earlier that summer.
Discussion of a new ship in the popular White Star Line, reputed for its speed and attention to detail, stirred his interest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t due to sail out of Liverpool for three weeks. By then, Thane planned to be home at his ranch.
“May I inquire, sir, have you ever met any Indians?” Weston asked from his seat across the coach, hungry for more news from the American West. The previous evening, his guest had offered several stories appropriate for genteel ears since Margaret sat with them, enraptured by the tales Thane shared.
“A few. We don’t have too many in the Baker City area, but there’s a reservation near Pendleton, north of where I live. The Indians are just trying to survive, like a lot of the rest of us.”
“Have you witnessed any of them performing something called the ghost dance? I read in the newspaper that many of the tribes are engaging in the ritual at the urging of a man named Wovoka.”
“No, I haven’t seen any ghost dancers. While many of the tribes believe it will bring a return of their old ways, the dance mostly has a bunch of white folks in a panic, worried about uprisings.”
“Surely you jest.”
Thane glanced at his traveling companion and shook his head. “Nope. Personally, I think they ought to leave the Indians alone and let them do their dances. It’s bad enough we’ve shoved them off their lands onto reservations; we shouldn’t forbid them from honoring their traditions.”
Weston continued asking questions about life in the West and on a ranch. While working through the basket of food Mrs. Weston provided, the men maintained a lively conversation that stayed far away from discussions of Henry or his passing.
The afternoon moved toward evening as the coach slowed and turned down a lane, rolling to a stop in front of a large stone home resembling a miniature castle with gables, turrets, and multiple chimneys gracing the roofline. Ivy and climbing roses trailed over the arch around the doorway while a profusion of blooming flowers and green lawn completed the pastoral scene.
“We made jolly good time,” Weston said, smiling at the coachman as he opened the door to the conveyance. “Welcome to Breckenridge Cottage.”
Henry’s cottage looked nothing like Thane imagined. It was vastly different from the small, humble cabin he called home.
Curious, he followed Weston down the cobblestone path to the front door. Thane took a deep breath, inhaling the cloying aroma of the flowers.
Rain began to fall as they stepped beneath the overhang covering the door. Between the dreary skies and perpetual dampness, he couldn’t wait to return to the somewhat arid conditions of eastern Oregon.
Though he expected Weston to produce a key and open the door, Thane hid his surprise when the man knocked and turned to him with a smile.
“I thought this was Henry’s place?” Thane asked, confused.
“Indeed, it is.”
“And someone lives here?”
“They most certainly do.
I planned to discuss further those details with you today on our journey, but you made your preference clear on that topic. I rather enjoyed our conversations about your life in the West. Regardless, by deferring to your wishes, you shall meet the occupants without forewarning.”
“Forewarning? Now, wait just a dang minute, Weston. I’ve got…”
The door opening forced Thane to clamp his mouth shut, although he continued to glare at his traveling companion.
“Weston! How nice to see you.”
The feminine voice floating out to Thane caused him to shift his gaze from the solicitor to the beautiful woman standing in the doorway, smiling in greeting. Light from inside the house highlighted her auburn hair and created a soft glow around her shoulders. Ladylike and elegant in appearance, Thane wondered if she had royal blood pumping through her delicate veins.
“My dear, I do so hope you received my correspondence explaining our arrival.”
“Indeed, I did, kind sir. Please come in.” She stepped back to allow her guests entry. “You’re just in time for a spot of tea.”
“Wonderful. I’m glad we arrived when we did,” Weston said, removing his hat and coat and hanging them on the mahogany hall tree in the entry.
Thane removed his Stetson and jacket, leaving them beside Weston’s things before turning to the woman.
Weston thumped him on the back as he made introductions. “Thane Jordan, I’d very much like you to meet Jemma Bryan, Henry’s sister-in-law.”
Thane clenched his jaw and curtly tipped his head to the woman. Her smile slowly melted as his annoyance pounded between them with a palpable force.
Weston stood rooted in place when Thane pinned him with an angry glare. “Henry was married?”
Available on Amazon!
Pendleton Petticoats Series
Set in the western town of Pendleton, Oregon, at the turn of the 20th century, each book in this series bears the name of the heroine, all brave yet very different.
Dacey (Prelude) — A conniving mother, a reluctant groom and a desperate bride make for a lively adventure full of sweet romance in this prelude to the beginning of the series.
Aundy (Book 1) — Aundy Thorsen, a stubborn mail-order bride, finds the courage to carry on when she's widowed before ever truly becoming a wife, but opening her heart to love again may be more than she can bear.
Caterina (Book 2) — Running from a man intent on marrying her, Caterina Campanelli starts a new life in Pendleton, completely unprepared for the passionate feelings stirred in her by the town's incredibly handsome deputy sheriff.
Ilsa (Book 3) — Desperate to escape her wicked aunt and an unthinkable future, Ilsa Thorsen finds herself on her sister's ranch in Pendleton. Not only are the dust and smells more than she can bear, but Tony Campanelli seems bent on making her his special project.
Marnie (Book 4) — Beyond all hope for a happy future, Marnie Jones struggles to deal with her roiling emotions when U.S. Marshal Lars Thorsen rides into town, tearing down the walls she’s erected around her heart.
Lacy (Book 5) — Bound by tradition and responsibilities, Lacy has to choose between the ties that bind her to the past and the unexpected love that will carry her into the future.
Bertie (Book 6) — Haunted by the trauma of her past, Bertie Hawkins must open her heart to love if she has any hope for the future.
Millie (Book 7) — Determined to bring prohibition to town, the last thing Millie Matlock expects is to fall for the charming owner of the Second Chance Saloon.
And don’t miss Nik’s story coming in 2017!
Can forbidden love blossom amid the constraints of war?
“Strong characters, historical authenticity, and unique twists of fate blend with details of a wounded soldier's love.”
Jane Kirkpatrick
Award-winning author of This Road We Traveled
Garden of Her Heart (Hearts of the War, Book 1) — The moment the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, life shifted for Miko Nishimura. Desperate to reach the Portland Assembly Center for Japanese Americans, she’s kicked off the bus miles from town. Every tick of the clock pushes her closer to becoming a fugitive in the land of her birth. Exhausted, she stumbles to her grandparents’ abandoned farm only to find a dying soldier sprawled across the step. Unable to leave him, she forsakes all else to keep him alive.
After crashing his plane in the Battle of the Atlantic, the doctors condemn Captain Rock Laroux to die. Determined to meet his maker beneath a blue sky at his family home, he sneaks out of the hospital. Weary and half out of his mind, he makes it as far as a produce stand he remembers from his youth. Rather than surrender to death, Rock fights a battle of the heart as he falls in love with the beautiful Japanese woman who saves his life.
A poignant, sweet romance, Garden of Her Heart proves love can bloom in unlikely places even under the most challenging circumstances.
Books by Shanna Hatfield
FICTION
HISTORICAL
Baker City Brides
Tad’s Treasure
Crumpets and Cowpies
Thimbles and Thistles
Corsets and Cuffs
Pendleton Petticoats
Dacey
Aundy
Caterina
Ilsa
Marnie
Lacy
Bertie
Millie
Hearts of the War
Garden of Her Heart
Hardman Holidays
The Christmas Bargain
The Christmas Token
The Christmas Calamity
The Christmas Vow
The Christmas Quandary
CONTEMPORARY
Learnin’ The Ropes
Love at the 20-Yard Line
QR Code Killer
Grass Valley Cowboys
The Cowboy’s Christmas Plan
The Cowboy’s Spring Romance
The Cowboy’s Summer Love
The Cowboy’s Autumn Fall
The Cowboy’s New Heart
The Cowboy’s Last Goodbye
Holiday Brides
Valentine Bride
Rodeo Romance
The Christmas Cowboy
Wrestlin’ Christmas
Capturing Christmas
Barreling Through Christmas
Silverton Sweethearts
The Coffee Girl
The Christmas Crusade
Untangling Christmas
The Women of Tenacity
A Prelude (Short Story)
Heart of Clay
Country Boy vs. City Girl
Not His Type
NONFICTION
Farm Girl
Fifty Dates with Captain Cavedweller
Recipes of Love
Savvy Entertaining
Savvy Autumn Entertaining
Savvy Holiday Entertaining
Savvy Spring Entertaining
Savvy Summer Entertaining
Hopeless romantic Shanna Hatfield spent ten years as a newspaper journalist before moving into the field of marketing and public relations. Sharing the romantic stories she dreams up in her head is a perfect outlet for her love of writing, reading, and creativity. She and her husband, lovingly referred to as Captain Cavedweller, reside in the Pacific Northwest.
Shanna loves to hear from readers. Connect with her online:
Blog: shannahatfield.com
Facebook: Shanna Hatfield’s Page
Shanna Hatfield’s Hopeless Romantics Group
Pinterest: Shanna Hatfield
Email: [email protected]
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Tad's Treasure (Grandma's Wedding Quilts Book 12) Page 12