Travis turned his concentration to the attorney. He needed all the facts before he took action.
“So, as things stand, in order for Lindy to inherit the farm, I’ve got to move in with her for a period of one hundred and fifty-four days?”
Warfield nodded. “Correct.”
Roughly five months. Long enough to earn her forgiveness? Maybe. Maybe not.
“Do we have to sleep together every night?” he asked.
“Ex-cuse me?”
Neither man acknowledged Lindy’s outburst, but Travis rephrased his question. “Do we both have to be in residence on the farm every night during that time period? I have a business to run. What if I need to travel?”
Warfield rubbed his chin as though contemplating the question, but Travis noticed the smile he fought to hide. Apparently the old man was beginning to enjoy Travis’s dilemma.
“While short business trips are a common component of married life these days, the intention is for the two of you to spend time together. Therefore, you must limit yourself to no more than three nights away per month.”
“Darned fool,” Lindy grumbled from across the room. Travis wasn’t sure exactly which one of them she referred to.
“Does ‘husband and wife’ imply anything other than living under the same roof? Presenting ourselves as a couple in the community?” Travis wouldn’t put anything past Lindy’s grandfather at this point. Not even manipulating their sex life.
“No. The wording was chosen to ensure you both reside at the farmhouse without any other live-in guests.” The attorney leaned forward in his chair, stacking his forearms on the desk. “I know this is hard for the two of you to believe, but Lionel thought he’d be doing you a favor by arranging this.”
“Bull—” Lindy reentered the conversation with a very unladylike comment. “If Pops thought I’d be grateful for this little scheme, he wouldn’t have kept it secret. He knew I’d be pissed. He also knew I’d consider it if it was my only way to keep the farm.”
“It’s not the only way, Lindy,” Travis said, but he knew it was. She’d never endorse petitioning for Lionel’s incompetency.
“Yes, it is. I won’t ruin his reputation. Not for anything in this world. And that includes the farm.”
“Final question.” Travis readdressed the attorney. “What happens after we serve the hundred fifty-four days?”
Warfield no longer bothered to hide his smile. The old man was definitely getting a kick out of this.
“That’s between you and your wife, Mr. Monroe.”
Chapter Three
The next morning, Lindy stood before her closet, surveying her wardrobe. Did she really own two dozen pairs of jeans? Yep. And five sets of overalls? Yep, again.
Where were her girl clothes?
Bypassing her extensive denim collection, she dug far in the back of her closet and unearthed the most feminine thing she owned, a periwinkle-blue dress with a full skirt and three-quarter-length sleeves. Ah, yes. This should do just fine.
Not bothering with the back zipper, she tugged the dress over her head and smoothed the fabric over her hips until the hem fell to her midcalves. The lightweight jersey knit clung to her curves. And the color certainly set off her eyes.
She fluffed her curls, dabbed on her favorite floral perfume, and pulled out her only tube of lipstick. Pursing her colored lips, she twisted in front of the mirror, surveying herself from every direction. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she looked ready to handle today’s mission.
She’d tossed and turned all night, struggling to find a way out of this mess. Around one in the morning, a crazy idea had popped into her head. By the time she got out of bed this morning at five-thirty, the idea had grown into a full-fledged plan. Now, she just had to find the courage to see it through.
Once she refused to honor the will, she’d be on her own. If she wanted to make a success of Country Daze without involving Travis in her grandfather’s crazy scheme, she needed cash.
This morning’s trip to the bank was the first step. She refused to let her dreams slip through her fingers again. Making Country Daze a reality had saved her sanity over the past year. She’d lost Travis, their child and now Pops. Her dream was all she had left.
Down on her knees, she rummaged through the boots and dirty sneakers on her closet floor, digging up a comfy pair of sandals. Before she lost her nerve, she slipped them on and dashed downstairs, ducking into the kitchen to grab her keys just as Alice Robertson let herself in the back door.
Her neighbor let out a wolf whistle that would’ve made any construction worker proud. “Lord Almighty. You look like a girl.”
“I sure hope so.” Despite the heaviness in her heart, Lindy put her hands on her hips and struck a runway pose. “Girls are the best bait for a manhunt.”
Alice raised one red brow. “Gracious, child, no need to set out the bait. You could have any man in Holcombe County with just the wiggle of one finger.”
Yeah, right.
“I think I’ll stick to my plan.” She bussed her lips across Alice’s cheek. “Wish me luck.”
“Whatever you’re up to, that dress oughta be all the luck you need.”
Lindy grabbed a sweater off the hall rack and raced outside to Pops’s old truck, anxious to get this charade behind her. Her stomach felt like one huge ball of nerves. At three o’clock this morning, she’d been sure her idea was foolproof. Under the bright lights of morning, though, doubts crept in. Pressing her foot against the accelerator, Lindy increased her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and did her best to block out her second thoughts.
At precisely nine o’clock, she parked her old truck in the front row of the People’s Bank Building. More than ready to escape the close confines of the cab, she snatched her purse off the bench seat and quickly hopped down.
Pretending to rummage through her purse, she stood at the curb for a minute, gulping in fresh air and willing her heart rate to settle. She hated this whole weak-kneed, churning-stomach feeling she got every time she forced herself to drive.
With a final loud exhale, she walked through the double glass doors and entered the bank’s lobby. Pinning a confident smile in place, she approached the woman who’d been the bank’s receptionist for over twenty years.
“Good morning, Mrs. Carstairs.”
“Good morning, Lindy dear. I sure was sorry to hear about Lionel.”
Lindy’s face curved into the same grateful expression she used every time she heard that sentiment. Pops had been such a popular man, she knew she’d still be accepting condolences a year from now.
“Thank you. How’s Lucy doing?”
“She’s carrying low. Sure sign the baby’s a boy.”
Lindy
