Gift of Fortune (2 page)

''what? Would you read that again?" Aileen Bolton
asked. "Please," she added, trying to moderate her tone,
which had risen to a faint squeak.

The attorney, whose voice had faltered and then stopped,
cleared his throat. He started to read the beginning of the
document again.

"No, no. Just the last part," she said, fidgeting with impatience.

"All right. `To my natural son I leave my half of the
Triangle B Ranch.'" He stopped and looked at the young
woman.

"My father had an illegitimate son?"

"Seems that way."

The attorney glanced at the page again. "His name is
Quinton Fernandez."

Aileen shook her head. "That can't be. Are you sure you
have the right Jack Bolton?"

Wordlessly the attorney slid the document toward her.

Aileen pried her fingers from the straps of her purse. She
picked up the last will and testament. It listed her father's name, address, and birth date. She stared at it for several
seconds before she pushed the paper back across the desk.
"Mr. Evans, did you know about this...this Quinton Fernandez?"

"No. Not until five days ago when Jack's Cheyenne attorney contacted me. I thought about calling you in Washington, but this isn't the sort of thing you spring on a person
over the phone."

"Thank you. I appreciate your waiting." Puzzled, she
looked at the attorney. "I don't understand why my father
hired an outside attorney to draw up his will. Didn't you
handle his legal affairs?"

"I did. My guess is he didn't want anyone to know about
your half brother."

Aileen jumped up. "He's not my half brother. I'm
adopted, remember?"

The attorney blinked. "I'd forgotten that. When Ruth and
Jack brought you to the Triangle B, you
were...what? Two days old?"

Aileen nodded.

"I've always thought of you as their own. Their only
child."

"I did too. Until now." Aileen walked to the window and
stared out. For a moment she leaned her forehead against
the glass pane, which felt cool and soothing. She closed
her eyes, trying to focus, trying to come to terms with what
she had just learned.

"When? I mean, how old is this Quinton?"

"Twenty-eight."

Aileen stared at the attorney. "He's three years older than
I am!" The implication made her reach for the chair and
sit. Did her mother know about Quint? What had happened?

"Can I get you something? A glass of water?"

Then another realization hit her. "If he's twenty-eight,
then my father," she paused, having a hard time getting the
words out. "My father cheated on my mother." Aileen
jumped up again. She paced the length of the office. "How
could he? My mother was such a fine woman. A real lady.
Tender. Gentle. Loving. Generous. Never said a mean thing
to anyone or about anyone. Did she suspect? Oh my goodness. She would have been so hurt." Aileen's voice broke.
She slumped into the chair again.

The attorney filled a glass of water from the carafe on
his desk and handed it to her. "Drink this. Then take a
couple of deep breaths."

Aileen took the glass. She pressed it against her left temple, where the first throbs of pain hinted at the beginning
of a migraine. She reached for her purse. If she took two
pills now, perhaps she could head off a full-blown attack.

"I'm all right," she told the attorney, who was hovering
over her. She handed him the empty glass.

"If you're sure-"

"Please go on, Mr. Evans."

"There isn't much more. I can paraphrase it. Bob Williams, the foreman, and his wife, Martha, are given the right
to stay rent-free at the ranch for as long as they want. Jack
also set up a retirement plan for them. We all knew that.
Jack just added it to make it legal and binding."

Aileen nodded. "Good. They're nice people who have
been at the ranch for as long as I can remember."

"That's it. And, of course, you keep the half of the ranch
your mother left you when she passed away."

"Does this Quinton Fernandez know about his inheritance?" Aileen asked.

"Yes. The Cheyenne attorney contacted him."

"So, my adoptive father knew all along where his illegitimate son was?"

"I don't think so. He asked the other attorney to locate
him when he made out this will."

"When was that?"

"A year ago."

"When he learned his cancer had spread." Aileen thought
for a moment. "All those years, did he know he had a son?"

The attorney lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I have no
idea."

"Mr. Evans, will you answer a question truthfully?"

"I'll try."

"Did my adoptive father have a reputation for philandering? Did he have other women besides Quinton's
mother?"

"Not that I know of. Until I read this will, I'd have sworn
that Jack Bolton had led a blameless life. As you know, he
was a member of the county commission, the Cattle Breeders' Association, an elder in the church, a-"

"A pillar of the community."

The attorney sighed. "I know the young can be so unforgiving, but try not to be too hard on him. One youthful
indiscretion-"

"I know. If there's nothing else, I need to go." Her hand
touched her left temple again.

"Shall I have someone drive you to the ranch?"

"No, thanks. I can manage."

When Aileen reached the ranch, she hardly remembered
anything of the trip. She had maneuvered the miles on autopilot. She did, however, notice the blue pickup with the
horse trailer attached to it parked in front of the barn. Did
she have an appointment with a horse buyer? She hoped
Bob remembered and took care of it. The afternoon's
shocking disclosure had erased everything else from her
mind.

Entering the house, she heard the murmur of voices from
the kitchen. Not a horse buyer, she decided. Bob would
have taken him into the den. Aileen hung her coat in the
hall closet before hurrying to the back of the house.

Martha, coffeepot in hand, greeted Aileen.

"Hi, honey. This gentleman has business with you," Martha said, gesturing toward the man who was rising politely
from his chair. "And since it's such a cold, drizzly day, I
asked him in. You want some coffee? I just made it."

"Yes, I'd love a cup. Thanks." Aileen tossed another
glance at the stranger. Her first quick, assessing look had
given her an impression of broad shoulders, a slim waist,
and dark hair, all handsomely packaged. Her impression
had been right. This time their eyes met. His were green,
and when his lips curved into a smile, she knew without a
doubt that a woman's toes could actually curl inside her
shoes.

"I made the coffee good and strong, just the way you
like it," Martha said. "It'll warm you up."

"Thanks." Aileen was glad to be distracted from that
green-eyed gaze.

"Well, I'll leave you two to discuss business. If you need
anything, I'll be in our quarters. Nice to have met you,
Quint," Martha said. "Oh, where are my manners? Aileen,
this is Quint. I didn't catch your last name, Quint."

"It's Fernandez."

"I better go," Martha said.

Aileen steadied herself by holding onto the back of the
nearest chair. To make sure her ears weren't playing tricks
on her, she asked, "You're Quinton Fernandez?"

"Yes. And you're Aileen Bolton."

"You didn't waste any time getting here, did you?"
Aileen saw his smile fade, saw the jade-green eyes narrow, and felt her face grow warm. She was rarely, if ever, rude,
so why now with this man?

"Wrong. I wasted a whole week, waiting for you to get
back from your vacation."

"It wasn't a vacation. Two colleagues and I took a group
of juniors to Washington, D.C., over spring break. We do
this every year so the kids get a better idea about our national government."

"What are you? A teacher?"

"Yes. I teach English at Abraham Lincoln High School."

"Well, what do you know. A schoolmarm."

His voice had assumed a soft drawl. Studying his face
and that lazy smile that curved his finely drawn mouth,
Aileen couldn't tell for sure if he was being sarcastic, but
she refused to be baited.

"I never dreamed that I'd end up with a pretty half sister
who's a schoolteacher."

"Your relationship with teachers wasn't that great?" she
asked, her voice subtly ironic.

His smile broadened. "That's putting it mildly. But then
I never had an English teacher who looked like you."

"Let's get something straight," Aileen said. "We're not
related. Jack and Ruth Bolton adopted me when I was a
baby." His smile didn't seem to falter, but she had the distinct impression that the warm gleam in his eyes had grown
cold. She wondered how much it bothered him that she, an
adopted child, had enjoyed the comforts and advantages
offered by the Triangle B, while he had been denied them.

"That's too bad. I'd looked forward to having a family."

Slowly his gaze wandered over her in that typical male
fashion that Adam had probably used with Eve. Aileen
managed to stand without fidgeting.

"Then again, maybe it's better that we're not related," he said softly. He picked up his cup and took a sip of
coffee.

Put a leather jacket on him, a motorcycle beside him,
take ten years off him, and he could be the poster boy for
the original teenage rebel without a cause: irreverent,
charming, good-looking, wild and...dangerous. She
quickly dismissed the last adjective. She was a grown
woman, immune to the charms of the bad boy. She'd come
across too many of them in her teaching career to be fascinated by them.

"So, what happens now?" Quint asked.

"Pardon?" Had he somehow guessed where her thoughts
had wandered?

"You obviously know about the will. Are you going to
contest it?"

"No. That never even occurred to me. If my adoptive
father wanted you to have his half of the ranch, so be it."

"If?" he demanded with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean, he obviously wanted you to have it."

"Which half is mine?"

"Pardon?"

"The will said that Jack Bolton's half of the Triangle B
was mine. Which half?"

"I don't know. Nobody ever drew a line across the land.
I'm sure we aren't supposed to interpret that literally."

"No, I don't suppose so. I'm curious. How did it get to
be his half to begin with?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it happened when he married
my mother. The ranch was hers."

"That explains a lot," Quint murmured.

"Explains what?"

"Nothing." He took a sip of coffee. "The B in Triangle
B doesn't stand for Bolton?"

"No. It stands for Bristow, my mother's maiden name." She watched him nod slightly, as if confirming something
in his mind. What was he thinking? Whatever it was, he
dismissed it. He fixed her with his intense green-eyed stare.

"So, what do you want to do?" Quint asked.

Aileen blinked. "About what?"

"The ranch. Want to sell it?"

"No! The land's been in my mother's family for over a
hundred years." Aileen took a couple of steps toward him,
her hands raised as if in supplication. When she realized
what she was doing, she dropped them. She squared her
shoulders. "This is my home. I'd rather die than leave it."

"You really mean that," he observed. "Do you want to
buy my half?"

For a second, joy flooded through her. Then she realized
what that meant. Sadly she shook her head. "I can't. I don't
have the money."

"Okay. You don't want to sell the ranch or buy my half,"
Quint said, as if restating her position.

Aileen nodded. "You don't sound disappointed."

"I'm not. Land is a good investment. I just wanted to
find out where you stood."

Relief made her knees weak. She sat down. The idea that
she would have to leave the ranch hadn't even occurred to
her. It should have, and it would have, if she hadn't been
so shocked by the will. Aileen drank some coffee. She
needed time to think. Also, coffee usually helped her headache, which was showing no signs of going away. She
rubbed her temple.

"You have a headache?" Quinton asked.

"Yes."

"Migraine?"

She nodded.

"Ever tried applying pressure?"

"No.'

"Here, let me show you." Quint stood behind her chair.
Placing two fingers against her left temple, he pressed gently. "I used to do this for my mom when she got migraines."

Aileen closed her eyes. The skin of his fingers felt rough.
Obviously he was a man who worked with his hands. What
did he do for a living? She'd ask him, but not now. The
pressure against her temple felt too good, and magically,
the pounding pain dulled.

"Better?" Quint asked, leaning toward her.

He was so close that Aileen felt his breath against her
forehead. She merely nodded, as her mouth was suddenly
dry. His breath was warm and smelled of coffee. She also
caught the faint, cool scent of his aftershave and the familiar smell of leather and horse. It reminded her of her
father. She felt the sharp pain of loss, until she remembered
that he had kept a stunning secret from her. She could understand his silence while her mother was alive, but why
hadn't he confided in her later? That's what hurt the mosthis lack of trust.

"Do you get these headaches often?" Quint asked.

"Not really. Mostly they hit me when I'm stressed out."
She hadn't meant to admit this.

"My existence stresses you? Well, darlin', I suppose anyone learning that they'd just lost half their inheritance
would feel stress."

"Don't call me darlin'. It's condescending," she said,
moving away from him. "Thanks for the headache treatment."

"Any time. So, how do you want to arrange this division
of property?" Quint asked.

"I thought you didn't want to divide it."

"I don't. Cattle ranching only has a chance of making a profit if there's enough land. I was thinking in terms of the
house."