Jake (17 page)

Meg and Cory sat on either side of Judge Kirby Bolton’s desk in his small, cramped chambers.

Stepping from the courtroom in his judicial robes, he looked every inch a wise magistrate. Dark, lively eyes were magnified by the thick, wire-rimmed glasses that added to his air of importance. Meg was startled to see that he was actually no more than five and a half feet tall, and thin as a stick.

Once he was seated behind his desk, he became once again a force to be reckoned with. He folded his hands atop his desk and studied the woman and boy with obvious interest.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Especially you, Cory. I know how much your father meant to you, son.” His deep, theatrical voice resonated in the small room, causing Meg and Cory to sit up straighter. Despite the stern-eyed gaze and forceful tone, there was a softness in his eyes when he directed his words to Cory. “I hope you know that I’ll do anything I can to make this an easy transition. But nothing can take the place of a father.”

Cory nodded before lowering his head.

“I’ve been Porter’s legal advisor for more than forty years. There are few surprises in his will. He was a very straightforward man. He wanted the fruits of his labor to be given over to those who would appreciate the sacrifices he’s made for a lifetime.” Kirby Bolton peered at the two of them. “Despite the fact that Porter liked the ladies and enjoyed living the good life, he worked as hard as he played. As he was fond of saying, nothing was given to him. He had to earn every penny the hard way.”

The judge opened a file and studied the top page. “There are no debts on your father’s estate. He saw to it that all taxes were paid in a timely manner. He recorded every wage that he paid to his wranglers. Whenever possible, he did business with locals. He saw it as his duty to keep his money circulating in the community in which he lived. And he hoped that his heirs would do the same.”

Meg’s chin jutted slightly, but she held her silence.

Kirby began to read from the will. “Two of my three wives received generous settlements at the time of our divorce and therefore are not entitled to any portion of my estate. My first ex-wife, Virginia, and my third wife, Arabella, rest her soul, predeceased me. Neither Virginia nor Arabella had extended family. Therefore, there are no other claimants to my estate but my two children, my daughter, Meghan, and my son, Cory. I desire that my estate be divided equally between them, with Cory’s portion held in trust until he reaches the age of majority, with my trusted friend and legal counsel, Judge Kirby Bolton, as executor. I charge my heirs to see to it that the ranch and all its holdings, including the wranglers, the herds, the vehicles, and ranch implements continue to operate as they always have, as a working ranch.”

Meg clenched her teeth and fisted her hands in her lap, the only sign of her agitation. It would appear that Porter Stanford had hoped to dictate even from the grave.

Kirby Bolton looked over his spectacles. “Are there any questions?”

Meg tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. “I’d appreciate your clarification on a point of law.”

The judge raised his brows. “Of course. Your reputation as a criminal lawyer has preceded you. I certainly respect your knowledge of the law. What would you like to know?”

“Regarding the ranch…the estate,” she corrected. “Was my father merely stating his preference, or are these terms legal and binding? In other words, do I have the right to dispose of the ranch and everything on it as I see fit?”

Judge Bolton folded his hands. “Your father had very strong ideas about how his estate should be handled after his death. Having said that, I would add that he was stating his preference; therefore it would not be legally binding in a court of law. His heirs have the right to dispose of the estate in any manner they happen to choose. I would warn you, however, that I have been appointed executor for Cory’s portion of the estate until he reaches the age of majority, and I have been charged with the duty to see to it that his best interest is being served. Since I would cast my vote in his stead, I would have to be persuaded that anything that veers from Porter’s stated preference is in the best interest of Cory’s future.”

Meg’s eyes narrowed. “His best interest meaning that you believe he should be raised here, on our father’s ranch?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m certainly open to suggestions as to where and how Cory should grow into manhood.”

Meg studied the judge. “Do you plan on taking physical custody of Cory?”

Kirby Bolton smiled. “This was discussed at some length with Porter, when he dictated the latest version of his last will and testament, shortly after Arabella died. He wanted assurance that Cory would be taken care of, both physically and psychologically. We both agreed that it would be in the boy’s best interest if he could live with family.” Kirby Bolton gave her a long, appraising look before glancing down at the papers on his desk. “In the event that isn’t possible, I will oversee his physical care and education until he reaches the age of eighteen.”

Meg could feel Cory looking over at her, but she kept her gaze averted, wondering at the strange rush of emotions. She ought to feel relief that her father had given her an out clause. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Why then, this feeling of dejection? Was it because her father had already decided that she would be unwilling to take on the responsibility of a half brother? Had he already written her off as too selfish, too self-centered, to care more about a seven-year-old boy than she did about her precious career, her freedom, her comfort?

Her temper flared.

How dare her long-absent father judge her and label her?

Or would it be more honest to admit that she was the one judging her own selfish motives?

She shot the judge a challenging look. “Have you heard about the vandalism that occurred at my father’s ranch?”

Kirby nodded. “Police Chief Fletcher came by to ask if Porter had any enemies that I knew about. I’ll tell you what I told him. Every man probably acquires a few enemies over the course of his lifetime, especially a man like Porter, who lived life to the fullest. I’m sure he stepped on his share of toes over the years. Irate husbands. Unhappy businessmen who felt that he’d taken advantage of them. And probably more than a few pretty women who hoped they could be the next Mrs. Stanford. But I don’t know of anyone who would want to break into his home or to vandalize his daughter’s vehicle. Along with enjoying the good life, Porter looked out for the folks in this town. Despite what his ex-wives may have thought of him, he was a good man.”

Meg stared hard at her hands to keep from letting this man see the depth of her feelings. Right now, she wasn’t in the mood to hear about her father’s success, when she was achingly aware of his many failures.

She looked up and realized the judge was speaking to them both.

“Porter was, however, withdrawn since the death of Arabella. The day before his death, when I ran into him as he was leaving the bank, he seemed depressed. I attributed it to the sense of loneliness and self-imposed isolation. Instead of getting better, he seemed to be getting much worse. When I asked him about it, he said he was trying to stay focused on what was best for his boy.” He turned to Cory. “I hope you’ll always remember how much your father loved you, son.”

His tone changed from observant to businesslike. “I’ve enclosed a copy of your father’s will, along with whatever information about his estate that I had in my file.” Standing, he came around the desk and handed a large manila folder to Meg. “Because of your knowledge of the law, I’m sure you’ll want to go over everything carefully. If you have any questions, please feel free to call me.” He indicated his card, stapled to the corner of the folder. “Speaking of the law…” He seemed to think about what he was about to say before charging ahead. “If you should decide to stay here, our town has a desperate need for good legal counsel.”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

He shook his head. “I’m juggling too many balls and finding that I can’t keep them all in the air. I was a lawyer before I became a judge. Now I’m a full-time judge, and a part-time lawyer to those in need, but I can’t really give my clients the time they deserve. This town needs a smart, compassionate expert. They need a Meghan Stanford. They would welcome you with open arms. And so would I.”

His gaze met Meg’s. In his eyes she thought she saw kindness and understanding. “Your father was a friend. We didn’t hunt together, or play poker, or do any of the things most friends do together. But I considered him a man of his word. He knew it was the same for me. I gave him my word, as his friend, as his lawyer, that I’d do whatever necessary to see that his wishes were carried out.” He offered his hand. “I’d like to be your friend, too, Miss Stanford.”

“Meg,” she corrected.

“Meg.” He smiled. “And I’m Kirby. You should know that your father followed your famous trial, and he was as proud as a peacock.”

She fought to keep the pain from her voice. “It’s too bad he didn’t bother to let me know how he felt.”

“He didn’t want to intrude on the life you’d made for yourself.” When Meg said nothing, he added, “If I can do anything to ease this transition, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you. And thank you for contacting me so quickly about my father’s death.” Meg stood and waited until Cory shook the judge’s hand.

Kirby Bolton dropped an arm around Cory’s shoulders. “I know you miss your father and mother, son. I hope you can trust that both your sister and I will do everything in our power to ease your pain.”

The boy nodded.

Meg headed for the door. She couldn’t wait to get out of this place. Her father’s words were still rolling around in her mind, challenging all the neat, tidy plans she’d already put into motion.

She felt as though she could barely breathe.

Chapter Fourteen

As Meg and Cory walked from Judge Bolton’s office, Jake stepped from his truck, which was parked at the curb. He took one look at Meg’s face and turned to Cory, dropping an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“You have to be starving. Neither of you ate a thing this morning, and dinner will be over by the time we get back to the ranch.”

Cory shot a glance at Meg. “I guess I could eat something.”

“Good.” Jake squeezed his shoulder. “So could I. How about stopping at Flora’s Diner for some supper before heading back?”

Meg nodded. “I’m not sure I could eat a thing, but I could really use some strong, hot coffee.”

“Flora’s place is just down the street, but with all this rain, I’ll drive.” He paused to hold open the door to his truck.

When they were seated, he walked to the driver’s side and climbed in. Within minutes they were stopping in front of the diner with its gaudy pink and purple letters. They made a dash through the rain and stepped into the tiny restaurant, where a crowd had already gathered.

“Looks like we’ll have to sit at the counter.” Jake indicated the long counter with its round, shiny red stools.

Framed behind the pass-through window was Flora, the eighty-something owner and cook, flipping burgers, lifting fries from vats of hot grease, slathering thick slices of home-baked bread with mayo, mustard, or ketchup, as she turned out more than a dozen different sandwiches, and all of it done while she kept an eye on every customer who walked through the front door.

Her white hair was held back in a hair net that resembled a spider’s web. Her familiar white dress and apron bore the smudges of the many meals she’d prepared since putting them on early this morning.

Her daughter, sixty-year-old Dora, moved between the tables and the counter, tending to everyone and everything with an efficiency that made her mother proud. The two plump women, as wide as they were tall, were fixtures in the town of Paintbrush, and everyone agreed that they fully expected to see them still here, and still working, twenty years down the road.

“Well, well. Look who’s here.” Flora’s face was beaming. “Jake Conway. And with a pretty woman, I see. Not that I’m surprised. I’m guessing there isn’t a beautiful female for a hundred miles around that hasn’t been part of your herd.”

“Herd?” Meg arched a brow.

“Don’t mind Flora. That’s just her way of teasing.”

“Uh-huh.” Meg watched as the old woman waddled out from behind the kitchen to grab Jake by the shoulders and plant a big, wet kiss on his mouth.

“Now my day is complete,” Flora said with a deep rumble of laughter.

“Mine, too.” Jake framed her face and kissed her again, much to her delight. “I needed your sunshine on a gloomy day like this.”

“Oh, you.” She slapped his chest and stepped back behind the counter before glancing at Cory. “Aren’t you Porter Stanford’s boy?”

Jake answered for him. “Flora, this is Cory Stanford.”

Flora leaned over the counter to touch a hand to his cheek. “I heard that the funeral was this morning. I’m sorry, sweet boy. Your pa was a good man.”

Cory lowered his head and stared hard at the counter.

“And this is Porter’s daughter, Meg Stanford.”

At Jake’s words Flora studied Meg and Cory. “Of course. Now that you say that, I can see for myself, though I should have known right away by that pretty red hair.” The old woman extended her hand. “My apologies on your loss, Meg. You and your daddy used to come in here when you were a little girl.”

Meg nodded. “I remember. I never dreamed you’d still be here.”

“You mean still alive, don’t you?” Flora cackled at her own joke. “That’s what everybody says. But I’m still standing. So’s my daughter, Dora.” She turned to include the woman who had walked up to take their orders. “Dora, do you remember Porter’s daughter, Meg?”

Dora nodded. “I sure do. Every time you came in, even before you ordered, Ma would start making an extra-thick chocolate shake and a burger with no onions.”

Meg knew her jaw had dropped, but she couldn’t hide her surprise. “You remember that from all those years ago?”

Dora shrugged. “I’m getting more and more like Ma. It’s easier to remember things from years ago than from yesterday. But you were easy. Whenever you came in here with your pa, the two of you always ordered the same things, with no exceptions. And you’d ooh and ahh over those chocolate shakes like you’d just died and gone to heaven.”