A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (8 page)

Dakota fought unexpected tears while Chance voiced his gratitude. Why weren’t her emotions following her orders today? She finally found her numb place and once more looked Andy in the face.

“I met with J.C. at the hospital the morning he passed.”

Hope quickened her pulse. Was there a chance J.C. might've actually left the farm to her?

Andy continued. “He requested a codicil to his will concerning the farm Dakota's grandfather willed to him. Under his current condition, J.C. also requested that we draw up the paperwork right then and there so it could be signed, witnessed, and notarized.” He paused, a sad smile on his handsome face. “He sensed the end of his earthly life was near.” Andy slid the document across the table to Chance. “I think you’ll find everything in order.”

Chance studied the pages for just a second, then nodded and passed them back to Andy.

Just as quickly as hope arrived, it departed and took another piece of her heart with it. J.C. had probably just added special instructions to his will to insure that Chance legally received the farm. They’d simply brought her here to make sure she understood the will, so she wouldn’t cause any problems down the road.

Andy looked directly at Chance. “Chance, your grandfather left you the farm.”

Shards of glass, thin and fatal, pricked her heart. Dakota's eyes closed at the ensuing pain, but she quickly re-opened them to salvage what self-respect she had left. It was for the best. God would take care of her wherever she landed. She stole a forbidden look at Chance.

He at least had the decency to appear shocked. “But—”

Andy held up both hands. “Let me finish, please.”

Dakota lowered her head, wishing she were anywhere else.
Lord, hurry up and get me out of here.

“Dakota, J.C. also left the farm to you.”

She jerked her head up, eyes wide. Surely she hadn't heard him correctly. “But I don’t understand.”

Beside her, Chance shifted uncomfortably, shook his head from side to side, and chuckled uneasily. “This is never gonna work.”

Andy ignored the comment for the moment and focused his attention on her. “It was J.C.’s desire for you to inherit the farm with Chance, with each of you owning an equal share.”

Chance was right. Not only would this not work, it was much too dangerous to be in such close proximity to him on a regular basis. “I’ll forfeit my half and give it to Chance.”

His mouth agape, Chance yanked his head her direction. “You would do that?”

She didn’t make eye contact, but nodded. Yes, she would do that. For him. And for her confused and bruised heart. Under the conditions of the will, it was the best alternative.

Andy exchanged a knowing glance with Grace, then leaned back in his chair. “J.C. thought that might be your response.”

A bucket of shame rained down on Dakota’s head. The kind old man had known her better than she knew herself. He'd known her tendency to run when her heart was at stake, and had guessed she’d make a run for it again. What was it he’d said during their almost-lunch together? Something about not giving her the farm until he was satisfied she wouldn’t run away.

She looked into Andy’s ocean-colored eyes. To her right, Chance’s intense gaze continued to bore a hole in her. At least Grace Tyler had the graciousness to look down at the table to spare her further embarrassment.

Andy sent a reassuring smile. “He made a contingency in the will that if either of you opted to forfeit your portion of the farm…” He shifted his gaze to Chance. “…or the financial responsibility that goes along with it, the property would immediately be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

The blood drained from her face, then resurged to a furious boil. “Over my dead body.”

Andy laughed out loud, his dimples pronounced. “J.C. called that one, too.” He lifted his face to the ceiling. “Atta boy, J.C.” He chuckled again and then returned to lawyer mode with a straightening of his tie--and his smirk. “Anyway, where were we?”

“I think we just co-inherited a dilapidated farmhouse and overgrown farm.” Chance’s tone was devoid of inflection. “A money pit if there ever was one.”

“Money shouldn’t be an issue.” Confidence flowed from Andy. Your grandfather left plenty for the work on the farm. If you’re frugal, you might even have some left. Chance, in addition he left you some extra money and a letter, which we'll discuss after Dakota leaves.”

Chance leaned forward, eyes bulging from their sockets. “Let me get this straight. I inherit money I could use to pay off my student loans and get the family drugstore up and running again, and I have to spend it on a farm I don’t even want?”

Andy cleared his throat and swallowed. “That  pretty much sums it up. Of course, Dakota will be expected to contribute as well, as she can afford to, that is.”

The room grew both quiet and chilly. If it weren't for the cold glares Chance lobbed her way, Dakota was sure her cheeks would’ve been flaming red. “I’ll do what I can.”

Chance pounded a fist on the table, effectively drawing her attention. His face contorted with anger. “You don’t even have a job!” Each word grew louder and louder, until she actually heard the exclamation point.

She flinched at the blast of hot air that hit her face, then stared him down. “You don’t know anything about me.” Had never really tried to know her actually, especially since the night that forced them apart. He’d formed his opinion, right or wrong, and adhered to it religiously. Like a Pharisee.

His eyes searched hers with such intensity she felt she would melt, but at last he blinked and backed down.

“As I was saying, you'll both contribute as much time, effort, and resources as you can. At the end of all this, one of you can purchase the house from the other if you so choose. And the sooner the house is marketable, the sooner you can go your separate ways.” His voice trailed off momentarily and then he chuckled outright. “That is, if you don’t kill each other first.”

Even the very self-controlled Grace Tyler bit her lips to keep from smiling, but Dakota wasn’t amused even the least little bit. Based on his closed off body language, neither was Chance.

Andy brought his dimpled grin under control and pulled another paper from the light blue file folder. “Hmm, anyway, here's the title. If you’re both in agreement with the contents of the codicil, you need to sign the back of the title to transfer ownership to yourselves.”

Chance signed first, an angry scratch that barely resembled his name, then pounded the pen to the table.

Andy slid the document and pen to Dakota.

She sat back for a moment, still troubled by Chance’s response to all this. Even in spite of how he’d hurt her, she didn’t want to make a decision that was wrong for him. “If I sign now, can I still change my mind later?’

“Only if you're willing for the farm to be put up for auction.”

Dakota cast a glance at Chance, who glared into thin air, his chin at rest on his right fist. Then she looked back at Andy and Grace. Both sent encouraging smiles. She picked up the pen with shaky fingers and located her place to sign.

Andy stretched a hand out over the paper at the last minute. “Oh yeah, almost forgot. You'll need to sign your legal name since this is a legal document.”

Now the pen began to shake in earnest, but Dakota focused all her effort on signing the name of a person she no longer knew or resembled. A person she had hoped to leave behind. A person who had somehow followed her back to Miller’s Creek where she now owned a farm with the man who, unlike Kane, had not left scars on her body, but on her heart.

Chapter Seven

C
hance placed the heavy barbell back on the braces, his muscles pumped to the limit, then stood and pulled a sweatshirt over his tank top. A Saturday afternoon jog was just what he needed right now, the perfect cure for what ailed him--in this case, a green-eyed redhead with a hot temper, a checkered past, and a tendency to run away whenever the urge struck. But the prognosis for his recovery was slim to none, especially if he decided to honor Grampa's final wishes.

In spite of her past, there was something about Dakota he couldn’t quite define. Something that drew him in. One corner of his mouth lifted wryly. Drew him like a moth to a scorching flame.

He stepped out onto the concrete porch of the stone house that now belonged to him, immediately struck by the fragility of life. Just one week ago today, Grampa had passed to the next life. He soaked in the thought and jogged down the steps into his neighborhood near downtown Miller’s Creek.

The fall day was picture perfect, not cold, but with a crisp coolness that typified the fall season in central Texas. The Bradford pear trees, maples, and red oaks had all begun their annual display to see which could outdo the other for the accolades of those who lived in the area. Across the street, one of the twin sisters who owned and operated Granny’s Kitchen burned pecan leaves in her front yard, while the other stooped to pick up pecans which she dropped in a plastic ice cream bucket. Both waved as he passed.

“Sorry about your grandfather,” one yelled.

“J.C. was a great man,” called out the other.

Chance smiled and waved, but continued his jog. He wound his way through the neighborhood, travelling his normal route, but when he reached Creekside Park he veered from his regular routine, the beautiful afternoon begging him to linger longer. To catch his breath, he slowed to a walk, tramping toward the gurgling creek across the Bermuda grass of the city park, already browned from cold nights. Tufts of green winter ryegrass dotted the ground in a few places.

He reached the creek. Though it held some water, it ran much lower than normal because of the recent drought. It always fascinated him how one year the creek would flood and the next be dry as a bone, but that was the weather in this particular part of the world--beautiful, but unpredictable.

Just like Dakota. He released a sigh and lowered his head with a shake. What was he going to do about her? If he went forward with this whole farm deal, how would he ever have enough time to help her with his crazy work schedule?

He puzzled over the situation for several moments, then as bewildered as ever, broke into a full sprint and headed toward the picturesque downtown area of Miller's Creek. He passed Granny’s Kitchen, full of old men shooting the bull over an afternoon cup of coffee. Passed the peaceful town square with its gazebo and park benches. Passed City Hall where Steve Miller still presided as mayor.

Chance didn’t stop his full-out run until he reached the century-old building which once housed the family drugstore. He peered up at the beige and brown two-story. Barely visible above the doorway from the paint that had peeled away, he could still make out the words, Watson’s Drugstore. It had long been a dream of his to add the drugstore to the long list of renovated buildings and thriving businesses in Miller’s Creek. The downtown area had become a mecca for city dwellers longing for a simpler life, and the local chamber of commerce had done a great job of organizing events which pulled people and their much-needed business into the little country town year-round.

Stories from his grandfather’s childhood floated to his memory, like the bar lined with happy teenagers as they sipped away at their cokes and root beer floats. The town needed this place. Anyone with a prescription had to travel all the way to Morganville to get it filled. What a great way to use the inherited money and honor Grampa’s memory at the same time.

An elderly man tottered up. Chance immediately recognized him as Otis Thatcher, known throughout town for his caustic tongue and argumentative grouchiness.

“Aren’t you J.C.’s grandson?”

“Yes sir.” He extended his right hand. “And you’re one of his old geezer buddies. Mr. Thatcher, right?”

The man stayed true to his reputation. “Hmphf! Always hated that name, old geezers.” He shook a bony finger inches from Chance’s nose. “Mighty disrespectful if you ask me.”

“I meant no disresp—”

“Oh, I know the whole town calls us that.”

Yeah. That and town grouch. Did he know about the less-than-flattering reputation?

“Whatcha doin’ just standing here looking up at this old building?” Otis scrunched up his nose, his chin in tow, to peer at Chance through the bottom of his bifocals.

“Well, I’m actually considering renovating the building and re-opening Watson’s Drugstore.”

“Ha! That’s the best idea I’ve heard in years. Tried to talk J.C. into many times.”

“Really?”

“Yup, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” Otis’ head shook, his sagging jaws and under bite reminiscent of a bull dog. “Said there were better ways to spend the money.”

A frown puckered Chance’s forehead as phrases of Grampa's last letter trickled through his brain. “Did he happen to mention any of those better ways by any chance?”

Otis shook his head, his lower lip jutted out. “Nah. Just wanted to spend it on himself, I guess. Well, I’m glad you got to see me. Best be gettin’ on before the wife gets her feathers all ruffled.” Without another word, he tottered off down the street and climbed in the old 70’s model Cadillac he’d probably driven since the day he drove it off the showroom floor.

Chance took one last look at the old building, then scratched his head and took off for the house in jog mode. The only way to solve this quandary was to get the advice of friends. But other than Mama Beth, all the others had families, with weekends rightfully reserved for family activities.