Open Skies
(Open Skies #1)
By Marysol James
© 2014 by Marysol James.
All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design: www.doc2mobi.com
Cover photo: © Coka/Fotolia
Dedication
For Angie & Ruby, lovers of eye crinkles and all things JA. Thanks for the giggles, gifs, and glitter.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Excerpt from Open Arms (Open Skies #2)
About the author
Chapter One
“I’m sorry. I just inherited a what? From who?”
Julie Everett stared across the desk at the lawyer in the very expensive and conservative gray suit. Her normally cool green eyes were now widened in shock as the news hit her like a ton of bricks.
For his part, Lyle Hawkins stared back in equal confusion: he had had no idea that the young lady would be so woefully uninformed about the terms of his client’s will. He quickly back-tracked as the full situation became clear.
“Ms. Everett,” he said gently. “My apologies for my lack of delicacy. I thought you were well aware of how matters stood.”
Julie fought to keep the panic and confusion from rising in her chest and throat. She felt her heart rate speed up and her breath get shallower; soon she’d see the black spots in front of her eyes.
Years of practice and adaptation rushed to her rescue now. As she always did in a situation that threatened to spin out of her control, she imagined herself in a clear, calm blue room. It was almost like being deep under water, with no sound and no movement. Just blue.
Come on, Julie. Deep breath. Don’t show how shaken you are. Calm, calm. He only sees as much as you let him see. Hold it together now, girl. You can do this.
“I’ll start again, shall I?” the lawyer said.
The hard, cool rails of control were back under her feet now. Her breath was even, measured; her hands were steady, relaxed.
“Yes, please.” Julie offered him her usual crisp smile. “Why don’t you do that?”
Hawkins picked up the papers off his desk. “Ms. Everett, our client, Mr. David Reid – your biological father – died one week ago yesterday. According to his will, which he updated almost one year ago, just after the death of his wife, the bulk of his estate is to go to St. Michael’s Hospital. This is where his wife was treated for cancer before succumbing to that illness. He did stipulate, however, that you, Ms. Julie Magdalene Everett, are to be given the deed to his horse ranch in Colorado.”
The words made no more sense to Julie the second time that she heard them. First, who the hell was Mr. David Reid? According to her mother, her father was long gone and good riddance. Second, what the hell was she supposed to do with a horse ranch?
The first matter was too huge to think about right now, so she focused on the second one.
“What am I to do with the ranch? I mean, I hate horses.”
The lawyer blinked. He thought about his boyhood summers at Cowboy Camp, when he and his cabin mates sat around the campfire making s’mores after a day of riding the trails. His favorite horse was a gray-spotted Quarter Horse named Daphne; she had the biggest, gentlest brown eyes. They were some of the best memories of his life. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Dirty, smelly, disgusting brutes. How anyone can haul ass on top of one and ride it around is beyond me. Urgh.
“I see.”
“Mr. Hawkins… I’m quite curious about something. How did my – my – your client even know about me? Where to find me?”
The lawyer leaned back and studied Julie Everett. She was thirty-three and presented herself impeccably – a perfect little suit of forest-green set off her eyes and complexion, and caught the highlights in her glorious hair. She was wearing high heels and heady perfume and her left hand glittered with a large engagement ring. She looked every inch the successful interior designer that she was reputed to be: polished, packaged, professional.
Before meeting her, Hawkins had gone over all the information that David Reid had collected about his long-lost daughter over a period of five years, off and on. What came through, clear as a bell, was Julie Everett’s need for organization, predictability, and planning. From the top of her elegant chignon to the tip of her pale pink designer shoes, Ms. Everett was a young woman who had total control over her life. Despite her speedy recovery, Hawkins could tell that his news had just shaken her deeply, and he felt himself softening towards her: it wasn’t her fault that Reid had thrown this bomb in to the middle of her orderly existence.
“Mr. Reid hired a private investigator just over five years ago,” Hawkins said with some reluctance. He had objected to that course of action, he remembered, but Reid had insisted.
Not that Warren Kowalski was some kind of sleazy gumshoe PI in a trench coat and surrounded by a fug of cigar smoke. Hawkins had, in fact, been taken aback when he met Kowalski for the first time: his suit had been bespoke, and his shoes too. The investigator had been soft-spoken, intelligent, even kind. Hawkins had stared in astonishment across his desk at the man, feeling like Kowalski was actually a fellow attorney and not some guy who spent his time hanging out in cars with a long-range lens and intruding on people’s private lives.
“He – he – what? He hired someone to follow me around? To poke in to my life? And he did this for five years?”
“I believe so, Ms. Everett.”
“But that’s despicable.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I want anything from this man. If I don’t want to accept the inheritance, can I do that?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, can I leave here today and refuse the terms of the will?”
“Well, in a way. But it’s complicated.” Hawkins glanced down at the will. “It’s far faster and easier to accept the deed and to then simply rid yourself of the responsibility of the property in some other way.”
Julie stood up and walked over to the window. From the lawyer’s office on the nineteenth floor, she watched the yellow taxi cabs crawl through the morning crush. God, was it really just 9:30 a.m.? She felt wrung out and exhausted. Her usual three coffees weren’t going to cut it today, that was for sure.
She raised her eyes and gazed farther in to the distance. Hawkins had a glorious view of Central Park from his office, and she stared at the autumn colors: blazing reds and burnt oranges and vibrant yellows. When she’d left her building this morning, she’d pulled her collar up against the slight chill and inhaled deeply. September was her favorite month; always had been. But this September was turning out to be not so positive.
She turned back to Mr. Hawkins. He was looking a bit anxious.
“Madam, I truly thought that you had had some relationship with Mr. Reid… I assumed that the whole reason he hired that man to find you was so that he’d make contact. He never told me that you were still estranged.”
“We weren’t estranged,�
� Julie said, her eyes blank. “That implies a previous relationship. I never knew him. I never saw a photo of him. He was a total stranger to me.”
“My apologies,” Hawkins said. “It must be an awful shock, in many ways.”
Julie nodded, then took a deep breath and focused on the most relevant matter at hand. “OK, Mr. Hawkins. So, tell me a bit more about this ranch.”
“Well, it’s here, about four miles away from a small town called Clarity.” He pushed a map of Colorado across his desk. She saw an ‘x’ almost half-way between Denver and Colorado Springs. “The ranch is called Open Skies Ranch, and it’s right at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. It’s meant to be a stunning spot. It offers horseback riding lessons, I believe, and also has accommodation for guests.”
“Wait.” This was turning in to an irretrievable nightmare at warp speed. “You mean, it’s a hotel?”
“Yes. There are five cabins that can be rented. Very popular with families in the summer, I understand.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a restaurant, a tennis court and riding trails.”
“So, you’re saying that I actually own a hotel. One with horses.”
“Yes, madam.”
“But I can’t own a hotel. With horses.”
“And yet, you do.”
“But I know nothing at all about running a hotel. Or about horses in general. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And frankly, I’m not the slightest bit interested in learning about either of these sectors.” She thought for a second. “How hard would it be to arrange a sale? I mean, I can sell it, right?”
“Well, yes. That’s an option. It’s even mentioned in the will, that if you do not wish to reside at the ranch or retain any ownership of the ranch, you have full authority to do with it as you wish. You may appoint a manager to act on your behalf, or sell it, or tear it down and hang on to the land, or sell the land to a developer.” Here the lawyer hesitated.
“What is it?” Julie asked.
“Those are all possibilities, but the will does put a timeline on all these options.”
“I’m sorry. What does that mean?”
Hawkins sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to this part. “The thing is, Ms. Everett, the will states that you may not sell the ranch until six full calendar months after you take up its ownership.”
“So, wait. You mean that I can sell the ranch – but I have to wait half a year?”
“Yes.” The lawyer was having some trouble meeting her eyes now. “You must own it for six full months. After that, you may do as you wish.”
“That’s insanity,” Julie protested, a spark of anger starting to rise. “Why should I be stuck with a ranch that I don’t even want, and I have no intention of going to, and I lack the skills and interest to run?”
“I cannot say what Mr. Reid was thinking when he wrote the will that he did. But the fact is that it may take a while to arrange a sale and find the right buyer. It’s not something that can just be wrapped up in a week or two. If you’re serious about selling it, you can take your time over the next six months and make sure that you get the best offer.”
“And do you think that there would be any interest in buying it?”
Hawkins nodded. “I’m sure you’d have any number of buyers lined up around the block to purchase it. It’s very successful.”
“It is?”
“Oh, yes.”
The conversation had now turned to practical matters, and she was totally at-ease with these kinds of things. She sat down again. “How many staff?”
“I’ll have to check, but between the hotel staff, restaurant staff, horse trainers, and instructors, I think it’s about twenty-five people. Some live-in on the premises, but most of them are day workers and they commute in for work every day.”
“Twenty-five?” she said. “So, it’s quite a small business.”
“Yes.”
“And is it profitable?”
“I’ve just given the accounts a cursory look, but the balance sheet is very healthy.”
Hmmmmm. Now that’s quite interesting, actually. A small nest-egg when I sell it?
“If you’ve read this investigator’s reports on me, then you know I have a high-profile job here in New York, Mr. Hawkins. I have a fiancé. I’m just not in a position to drop my whole life for six months to go run a hotel. With horses.”
“I understand your position, Ms. Everett. May I suggest, though, that you take a bit of time to think things through? Maybe you want to go visit Open Skies and see it for yourself… you may decide to keep it in the end. Perhaps you’ll even start to like horses?” He offered her a small smile.
Julie stared at him, her head tilted in an arrogant manner intended to show the full extent of her disdain for Hawkins’ asinine suggestion. God, how she wished that she’d postponed this meeting. She wished that she’d never answered her phone when the lawyer called. She wished that her supposed father had just forgotten about her in his will, just neglected her in death. He’d done so in life, right?
“Mr. Hawkins, I think the best thing is for me to take all these papers and look them over. I’d also like a full overview and summary of the accounts. I’ll get back to you in the next few days, if that’s alright.”
“Of course. I’ve already had copies of everything made for you. My assistant has compiled all the documents, and she’ll give them to you on your way out. Look through everything at your leisure, and I’m available if you have any questions.”
They both got to their feet and Julie nodded and smiled at him as she shook his hand and thanked him. Despite the shock of the news and the young lady’s hard-edged coolness, it was a radiant smile in a lush, beautiful face. Hawkins wished that he were thirty years younger. He’d consider asking her out; he’d always been partial to redheads.
**
Julie left the office building and walked straight to the closest Starbucks. She ordered a large Cappuccino and a cinnamon bun. She sat down at a table by the window and looked at the street outside for a while. None of this made any sense. How could this be happening?
She picked up her phone and called Tammy, hoping that she wasn’t in one of her endless meetings with her boss about rationing toilet paper for the staff, or how to make sure the women’s high heels clicked less loudly up and down the hallways.
“Hey, Jules! I was just thinking about you. How’d the meeting go?”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“Yeah? So who was this lawyer? What’d he want?”
“To let me know that I am the proud owner of a hotel in the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. Oh, and a horse ranch.”
Silence.
“What?”
“You heard me.” Julie rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee.
“But – but how?”
“Oh, this is the best part. My father left it for me in his will.”
More silence.
“What?”
“Uh-huh,” Julie said.
“But you hate horses.”
“I know, right?”
“You always have.”
“Indeed.”
“And who’s your father?”
“Some guy named David Reid who decided that I needed a hotel with horses.”
“My God, Jules.” Tammy looked over her shoulder to make sure that nobody was listening, most especially Creepy Paul. “Are you OK? This must be one hell of a shock. I mean, for your father to just appear out of nowhere like this.”
It was a surprise to Julie when tears stung her eyes, and she quickly wiped them on a napkin before anyone could see them. She assumed her coolest voice. “It’s fine, Tammy.”
Tammy stuck her hand on her hip. “Oh, come on, now. You’re not fooling me. Play the ice queen with everyone else on the planet, but not with me. Clear?”
Julie paused. Tammy was a disorganized mess and had appalling fashion sense and terrible taste in men, but she was Julie’s oldest friend. Her only friend, actually. They had grown up together, g
one to school together, and become as close as sisters when Julie’s life fell apart at the age of fourteen.
Eventually, their lives had taken them in completely different directions – Julie had fought tooth-and-nail to get through college on scholarships, while Tammy had shacked up with one loser after another and bounced from secretarial job to waitressing job to retail job – but none of that mattered. When the chips were down, Tamara Jenkins always came through. Loyal, brave, street-smart, tough, and funny, nobody could make Julie laugh the way that Tammy did. She was a true friend. Julie knew that she could tell Tammy the truth about how shocked, and hurt, and confused she was. Tammy wouldn’t use it against her, or hold it against her. Tammy would have her back.
“You’re right,” Julie said. “I do feel a bit thrown.”
“I’ll just bet,” Tammy said, not even a bit fooled by her friend’s calm tone. “OK, this calls for an emergency lunch. One with wine. I’ll call Marco and cancel with him, and meet you at Freddie’s at one-thirty?”
“Oh, hell, yeah. I’ll be there.” Julie glanced at her watch. “Urgh. I have to get to the office. I said I’d be there by ten and it’s half-past now.”
“Where are you?”
“Starbucks.”
“For a stress-relieving cinnamon bun?”
“You know me so well.”
Both women laughed and Julie started to feel better. “How’s it going with you today, Tammy?”
“Oh, the usual.”
“What’d Reggie get up to this morning?”
“Today, the boss decided that we need to lock up all the pens in the office.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah. He read an article about how much money the average office loses every year to staff stealing pens and computer paper and post-its and the like. So now my job description includes monitoring coffee consumption, toilet paper usage and being the guardian of office supplies. Everyone hates me, Jules. God, I hate me.”
“Maybe today’s lunch is a Margarita lunch.”
Open Skies Page 1