widower, Morton had remarried at the age of seventy-five and moved in with his new wife’s family in Amarillo, leaving his cabin in Haven unoccupied for a couple of years.
Compassion filled Bea’s eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, my dear. We didn’t know. My deepest condolences.”
Carolina’s throat grew tight and tears burned the backs of her eyes. She’d known coming into the meeting that this was going to be difficult for her to talk about, with her own grief still so fresh, but with all the added emotions brought on by encountering Wyatt, her sorrow was almost more than she could bear.
“Thank you,” she scraped out, tears making a slow line down her cheeks. “He died in his sleep. His wife said it was peaceful. I—m-miss him,” she stammered.
“Of course you do,” said Bea. “Poor darling.”
The office suddenly felt twenty degrees warmer and all the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the room. Her head spun and she clutched her throat, wavering.
Carolina blinked rapidly, trying to regain her equilibrium, but it felt as if she were in a narrow tunnel and darkness was edging out the light.
She gasped for breath and held out her arm, grateful when she felt a stabilizing hand at the small of her back. It was only when he pressed a handkerchief into her hand that she realized it was Wyatt by her side, silently urging her into the only other chair in the room.
She couldn’t speak or even compose a smile, but she nodded her appreciation.
His eyes widened and his worried frown hardened to rigid planes, his dark eyebrows dropping low and his lips pressing into a firm, straight line. His eyes appeared almost as black as his hair.
Her heart took a wild ride, leaping into her throat and then plunging back down again to lodge uncomfortably in her sour stomach.
Three years hadn’t changed Wyatt. Not where it really counted. He was ever the gentleman, even when it went against his own better judgment. He’d taken care of her even when he was beyond furious with her, which he had every right to be. After all that had been said and done, no matter what had happened between them, he hadn’t let her fall.
The attorney cleared his throat. “I don’t want to sound insensitive here, but we need to address the issue of the will and Morton’s part in it. Cyrus specifically indicated that all four original members of the boys ranch had to be present at the seventieth-anniversary party or the land will be forfeited.”
Gabe frowned and tapped his Stetson against his thigh. “This new development certainly throws another wrench in our plans.”
Another wrench? Carolina wondered what other complications they’d already encountered, but she was still too shaken up to be able to formulate any questions.
Bea steepled her fingers under her chin, clearly deep in thought. “So what do we do now, Harold? Can you tell us if Cyrus considered any such contingencies, or should we just call a halt to this whole investigation? We’ve already put so much effort into finding the original men that it would be a real shame if we have to end it so abruptly. Frankly, I’m terrified that we may have jumped the gun in taking on twelve extra boys, no matter how desperate the need may have been. I don’t know what we’re going to do if we have to give up this ranch after all we’ve done to expand the program. It just breaks my heart to even think about it.”
Harold riffled through the files in his briefcase, at length removing one that contained several manila envelopes. He flipped through them and withdrew one near the bottom.
“Ah. Here we are.”
Carolina’s breath caught as she waited, although she didn’t know for what. She felt nauseated. She hadn’t realized in coming here that she wasn’t just delivering the awful news of her great-uncle’s passing, but apparently, she’d just put the final torch to the plans to expand the boys ranch. She’d assumed, when she’d read the letter requesting her great-uncle’s presence in Haven for the anniversary party, that informing Bea and the other leaders of the boys ranch about Uncle Mort’s death would simply put an end to any obligation he might have had in the matter. She’d never dreamed this information would create what now appeared to be an insurmountable difficulty to the whole process.
Harold picked up a letter opener from his briefcase, made a neat slice across the top of the manila envelope and then pulled out a single sheet of paper. He leaned his hip against the side of the desk and shook the paper to open it fully.
“I was instructed to open and read this letter in the case of this particular—er—contingency,” he said, flashing Carolina an apologetic look. “It’s addressed to next of kin. Would you like to read it, Carolina?”
Carolina shook her head. She couldn’t yet find her voice, much less control her emotions. “No, thank you. This letter involves everyone here. Please read it to all of us.”
Harold nodded gravely. “Of course.”
He cleared his throat and began.
I, Cyrus B. Culpepper, being of sound mind and in front of witnesses, add this addendum to my will. It occurs to me that one or the other of the four fellows I’m requiring to be at the seventieth-anniversary party might have gone to meet their maker even before I do. Should you discover that to be the case, then I hereby declare that the next of kin may represent the family legacy at the celebration, assuming the next of kin is willing to attend the party.
Yours,
Cyrus B. Culpepper
Silence shrouded the room as each person ruminated over the new contingency. Then all eyes lifted and turned expectantly to Carolina. Would she stay and represent the Mason family?
“The next of kin would be Morton’s wife, yes?” Bea asked.
Carolina shook her head. “Unfortunately, my aunt Martha died just a few weeks after Morton. Since my parents have also both passed away, I believe I am all that’s left of Uncle Morton’s legacy.”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed.
On one hand, she was pleased that she would be able to help keep the boys ranch going and that she hadn’t been delivering a literal death blow.
On the other hand, that meant she had to stay in Haven. It was the beginning of February, which meant she was looking at two months, before the party in March. If things went downhill between her and Wyatt, which well they might, she wouldn’t have the option to pack up and be on the next bus out of town, away from Haven and away from Wyatt, for good.
As tempting as the idea was of cutting out of town without having to deal with Wyatt at all, there was no question about her staying. Not really.
It wasn’t enough that she didn’t have anywhere else to go. She couldn’t leave the boys ranch in the lurch. She simply couldn’t. It meant too much to too many people, especially all the boys it had helped over the years—and would assist in the future, especially if they were able to keep the larger facility.
Seventy years of helping young men find a better way. She couldn’t put her own needs and desires over something as amazing as that.
But more than that, when she stopped to truly examine her feelings, she knew in her heart that she couldn’t
