Phoebe’s Fate
Burnt River Book Nine
by Amelia C. Adams
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Other Books in the Burnt River Series:
Book 1 – Shane’s Burden by Peggy L. Henderson
Book 2 – Thorn’s Journey by Shirleen Davies
Book 3 – Aqua’s Achilles by Kate Cambridge
Book 4 – Ashley’s Hope by Amelia Adams
Book 5 – Harpur’s Secret by Kay P. Dawson
Book 6 – Mason’s Rescue by Peggy L. Henderson
Book 7 – Del’s Choice by Shirleen Davies
Book 8 – Ivy’s Search by Kate Cambridge
My thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Jeene, Joseph, Laurie, Lorena, Mary, Matt, and Meisje. Also, thanks to my sister Leigh for answering my questions about real estate. If you ever want to buy a house, give her a call …
Copyright©2017 Amelia C. Adams
Cover Design by Colin Henderson
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Phoebe Glenn pulled up in front of Mr. Weiker’s house and cut the engine. She didn’t want to do this—she really didn’t want to do this. As a real estate agent, selling the home of someone who had recently passed on was always difficult, but this was the Weikers—people she’d known her whole life. This was going to be like saying goodbye to family.
How many times had she visited here over the years? Mr. Weiker’s wife, Eileen, had been close friends with Phoebe’s mother, and Phoebe had spent quite a lot of time at the kitchen table coloring and eating cookies while the women talked. Mr. Weiker was often outside mowing the lawn or pruning trees or taking naps in the hammock. When she went into high school and became Mr. Weiker’s student, it was kind of weird to see him in that totally different environment, without his floppy gardening hat.
She pulled in a ragged breath. She wouldn’t be the person she was today without Mr. Weiker. If it hadn’t been for his support and encouragement, she would have disappeared, another faceless person in a crowd, crawling further into her shell with each passing day. He’d given her courage to stand up when something needed to be said. He’d helped her find her voice. She would never be able to repay him for that.
Well, now she could do something nice for his wife—she could help get the very best deal for their property, even though she didn’t want to help sell it at all.
She grabbed her leather briefcase from the passenger seat and climbed out of her car, forcing herself to smile and look professional. She was here to help Mrs. Weiker settle on an asking price for her house, not to drown herself in memories.
Eileen Weiker threw the heavy wooden front door open before Phoebe had even stepped onto the porch. “There you are! It’s so good to see you, dear. Please, come in.”
Phoebe gave Eileen a quick hug before walking inside. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to the memorial service, Eileen. I had to work and couldn’t get out of it.”
“That’s all right, dear. It’s better this way anyway—we can sit and talk.” She led Phoebe into the living room and motioned toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I don’t want to leave Gertie alone too long, so I’ve been doing all my visiting in here instead of the kitchen.”
Phoebe glanced over at the other couch and saw the Weikers’ cocker spaniel curled up in a crocheted afghan. “What’s the matter with Gertie?”
“She’s been depressed ever since Mike died. At first, she was waiting for him to come home, but after about three days, she seemed to realize that he wasn’t, and she’s been in this funk ever since.” Eileen sat down next to the dog and played with her silky ears. “She’s kept me distracted from my own grief, so maybe she’s doing me a favor in her own way.”
Gertie looked up at Eileen with liquid eyes so mournful, Phoebe had to blink a few times. She’d never known a dog as devoted as this one—it was no surprise to her that the poor little animal was having such a hard time.
“I hope you know, we’re going to miss you in Burnt River,” Phoebe said after swallowing hard. “Are you sure you can’t stay? If you sell the attached land, you could pay off the house and tuck some away. You’d be set.”
Eileen sighed. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about it. I came here as a new bride, I had children here, I cooked thousands of meals in that kitchen. I thought I’d never leave. But I should probably tell you—I have multiple sclerosis. I was diagnosed about two years ago, and Mike helped me hide it because we didn’t want all the sympathy that goes along with something like that.”
“If I try very hard not to sound sympathetic, may I tell you how truly sorry I am?” Phoebe asked. She could hardly believe that this woman, who had been so vital and active her whole life, was being faced with something like this. It hurt her heart to think about it.
Eileen laughed. “Of course, dear. It’s not the end of the world, you know—it just means that my world is going to be a little different now, and that means moving in with Deanna.”
“Because she’s the oldest?”
“No, because she has the most room.” Eileen finally stopped playing with the dog’s ears and moved to playing with the wedding ring on her finger. “Getting old is the pits. Just remember that when it’s your turn.”
“Any advice for me?” Phoebe asked, striving to keep this conversation light. She knew that’s what Eileen would prefer, but they kept teetering on dangerously sob-inducing subjects.
“Yes. Enjoy every single minute of the life you have. And I don’t mean that crazy YOLO thing where you go bungee jumping wearing a kangaroo suit or whatever—I actually saw someone do that on YouTube the other day. I mean, make the most of each minute. Give your time to others. Watch your favorite movies. Stand in the rain. Make it all count.”
“Okay,” Phoebe said, tucking that away to think about later. It was said cheerfully, but there were so many sad undertones, she couldn’t study it out right then. Maybe later, when she had a mug of hot chocolate and she was all alone. “So, shall we get down to this nasty business of selling your house?”
“Yes, please.”
Phoebe reached into her case and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “This is a preliminary estimate based on my memories of the house. We’ll walk through together and you can show me any special details I forgot and also tell me about needed repairs, okay?”
Eileen took the pages, but didn’t look at them right away. “Thank you for doing this, Phoebe. There isn’t anyone else I trust as much.”
“Well, you might have to keep a sharp eye on me because I don’t want you to go at all. I might sabotage your sale or something.”
Eileen nodded. “No. You’d never do that. That’s why I chose you.” She slowly pushed to her feet. “Shall we start in the kitchen? We put in a new dishwasher last year—it almost loads itself, it’s so modern.”
***
Bryce Davidson studied the carpet and counted how many squares were between the main counter and his chair. Then
he multiplied to see how many were in the whole room. He was going nuts. Finally, he stood up, but that didn’t relieve much of the pressure in his back.
At last, the receptionist returned to the desk and motioned for him to come over. “I’m sorry about the wait. Dr. Stone had something else to take care of, but he just called the specialist and consulted on your case. Here’s the phone number.” She passed a business card across the desk. “Best of luck.”
“Thank you,” Bryce replied, taking the card and sliding it into his pocket “Tell the doc thanks for placing the call, too.”
“He was pleased to do what he could.”
Bryce gave another nod and left the office, heading for his truck. He just needed to get back to the hotel and lie down. He couldn’t take another minute of this pain.
He unlocked his door, let it close by itself, and stretched out on the bed, not even bothering to take off his boots. He could do that later. He just had to change the pull of gravity on his back. The trick was getting the clenched muscles to relax. He took some deep breaths and concentrated on those muscles, using the self-hypnosis techniques his pain management counselor had taught him. They never took the pain away entirely, but he was able to breathe a little easier after a minute, and he’d take what he could get.
At sixteen when he’d said he wanted to go into the rodeo, his uncle, a retired rodeo cowboy himself, had tried to talk him out of it. “Son, you’re just asking for trouble,” he’d said. “You have no idea how one split second can change everything.” Bryce had pretended to listen because he respected his uncle, but in the end, he’d gone after it anyway as soon as he graduated from high school.
He’d always been like that, though—the kid who had to try it for himself. He’d touched the hot stove and he’d put his finger in a light socket and he’d stuck his tongue to frozen metal—didn’t matter how much his mother tried to warn him. As he grew older, he got pulled over for speeding and ticketed for drunk driving. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone. All that changed for him, though, when he went sailing through the air and landed on the floor of the rodeo arena with a crunch that reverberated through his entire body. He’d been too reckless, and he’d learned his lesson. He’d learned it well.
And now he was back in Burnt River to create a new life for himself. The rodeo circuit had taken him all over the country, but this was home—always would be, even though his father had died and his mother was in a rest home in Butte. He laughed ruefully, thinking that maybe he and his wild ways were what landed her there, but it wasn’t as funny as it might have been because it was likely true.
Now that his back had stopped cramping up, he pulled himself to a sitting position and thought about dinner. A burger from Evie’s Diner sounded good, and then maybe a drive around to reacquaint himself with the place. The next day, he’d call the specialist Dr. Stone had recommended, and he should probably call a real estate agent, too. He wanted a real home here, one he could call his own. And then he’d go get Rocky and they could see what life held for them next.
Chapter Two
“I’m telling you, Ash, I don’t know if I can do it.” Phoebe wiped the tears from under her eyes. “Watching Eileen go through that house—she’s obviously not ready to let it go. I think she’s feeling pressured into it.”
Ashley Wright, Phoebe’s best friend in the whole world, handed her a tissue with one hand and a dish of M&Ms with the other. Phoebe took them both.
“Did she say who was pressuring her?” Ashley asked.
“No, not in so many words. But Deanna—you remember her, right?—really wants her to move in as soon as possible. She’s got all this mother-daughter bonding stuff planned out.”
“Oh, no. Spare us from mother-daughter bonding stuff.” Ashley rolled her eyes. They’d both been subjected to their fair share of things like that over the years, and when Ashley’s mother died, Phoebe’s mother had tried to fill in. That wasn’t awkward at all.
“I can’t believe no one in the family wants the house,” Ashley said. “I’ve always loved that classic Craftsman style.”
“Me too. Eileen mentioned one relative, a nephew named Devon, but she’s already spoken to him and he’s not interested in it. I’d so much rather sell it to family than a complete stranger, but it is what it is.”
Ashley reached out and touched Phoebe’s shoulder. “You know what you need?”
Phoebe saw that look in Ashley’s eyes and immediately became suspicious. “What?”
“Caramel highlights. Right now. Come on.” She bounced off the couch, ready to go.
Phoebe wasn’t nearly that excited. Or excited at all, for that matter. “Caramel? Really? And this late at night?”
“Sure—why not? Aunt Vi’s already in bed, Josh is gone overnight testing out a tent for Gray Wolf’s new line, and you need a change.” Ashley grabbed Phoebe’s wrist and half dragged her to the door. “It’ll be just like old times. Remember how I used to practice on you?”
“Of course I remember. It’s burned into my brain, just like all those stinky chemicals. I burped peroxide for weeks.”
Ashley laughed. “Yes, but now I have my own salon, so your sacrifice wasn’t in vain.” She led Phoebe down the path to the outbuilding that housed her salon, even though Phoebe knew the way there perfectly well. Little lights on motion sensors flicked on as they approached, almost making the path look like it was lined with fairies. That didn’t make her any less apprehensive, though.
“I really should be finishing my paperwork,” she said, slowing her feet. “I told Eileen I’d be back tomorrow around noon.”
“And so you shall be,” Ashley said. “And don’t you think she deserves a real estate agent who looks her very best? Won’t you represent her more effectively if you have a little more light around your face, some depth and tone and pizazz?”
“People buy houses because they like the house—not because they like the agent’s hair color,” Phoebe pointed out.
“Then do it for me because I’m always bored when Josh is gone.” Ashley put on her wheedling voice. “Please, Phee? For me?”
Phoebe sighed. She’d do just about anything for Ashley because Ashley had always done anything for her. “You newlyweds. Can’t be separated for five minutes without going all whiny.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. So, what do you say? Let’s do your hair.”
“Fine.” Phoebe shook her head as Ashley unlocked the salon door and flipped on the lights. “But you’ll owe me. I don’t know what and I don’t know when, but you’ll owe me.”
“Of course.” Ashley grabbed a cape from a drawer and held it up. “Now come sit down and be a good girl.”
***
Gina, the receptionist at Burnt River Realty, stuck her head into Phoebe’s cubicle. “You got a minute? There’s a guy out here who says he’s interested in the Weiker property.”
“What? That’s not even listed yet. How did he find out about it?”
Gina shrugged. “No idea.”
Phoebe looked down at the paperwork she still needed to finish before her noon appointment with Eileen. Playing makeover with Ashley had kept her up half the night, and she was running seriously behind. “Show him in, please,” she said. If this was an offer, she could hardly send whoever it was away.
A handsome dark-haired guy in his early thirties stepped into her cubicle, a broad smile on his face, but it froze when his gaze landed on her. “Phoebe?”
“Bryce.” She’d risen halfway to greet him, but now she was just as frozen as he was. She forced herself to come all the way to her feet, even though memories were washing over her like a tsunami. “What brings you by? Last I heard, you were traveling with the rodeo.”
“Yeah, well, I got injured and decided it was time to retire. I thought Burnt River was a good place, so here I am.”
There was more to his story than what he was saying, but she appreciated his need to keep things on the surface. She felt exactly the same way.
“Please, have a seat. I understand you’re interested in the Weiker property. I’m curious how you heard about it—I haven’t even finalized a suggested asking price yet.”
“I ran into Del Macklin at the diner last night, and he caught me up on what’s been going on around here. Sure was sorry to hear about Mr. Weiker. I would have liked to come to the memorial, but I was a little laid up at the time.”
Phoebe nodded. Word did have a way of spreading in a small community, especially one where everyone was so interconnected. “The house is two thousand square feet, so it’s nice and big for a single man—I’m sorry. I just assumed you’re single. I don’t see a ring.”
Bryce looked down at his hand and chuckled. “Yeah, no ring. It’s hard to find a girl who wants to tie herself to someone with such a dangerous job.”
“I imagine. Now, the property that’s being sold with the house is ten acres. The Weikers kept a few animals and grew a garden, but it wasn’t a ranch or anything like that. What exactly are you looking for?”
“Something with a decent-sized house and about ten acres. I want a place where Rocky can roam around a little bit.”
Phoebe’s curiosity was instantly piqued. “Is Rocky your son?”
Bryce laughed again. “No, he’s my horse. He was getting a little long in the tooth for the rodeo, and when I retired, I retired him right along with me. He deserves to spend a little time relaxing and being pampered after the hard life he’s had.”
Phoebe smiled. “He sounds like a good boy.”
“He’s the best.” Bryce rubbed his hands on his pant legs. “So, what do I need to do? To buy the house, I mean.”
“Do you have the funding you need?” Phoebe always hated asking about money. It seemed like an invasion of privacy, but that was part of the job.
“I have a little bit set aside, but I’m sure I’d need a loan to cover the rest. Depending on the cost of the property, of course.”
“Well, like I said, I don’t have the final numbers figured out, but we’re in the ballpark of four hundred thousand. Location, outbuildings—they all add up.”
Phoebe's Fate (Burnt River Contemporary Western Romance Book 9) Page 1