Chapter One
“You must have a baby before you turn thirty or Clover Hill Farms will be turned over to charity.”’
A baby? In ten and a half months?
Twenty-nine-year-old Emily Kingston stared in awe across the highly-polished mahogany desk into the somber face of the young lawyer. Lawrence Tippens recited the conditions of the codicil to her father’s five-year-old will as if he’d just told her to put on fresh lipstick.
“Why didn’t someone tell me this five years ago, when my father’s will was read?” She felt her eyes widen. “If I have a baby that means I have to…to…”
A red blush suffused Lawrence’s face. “Yes, well, the codicil doesn’t stipulate how you have the child, only that you have one by the time you turn thirty.”
Despite this emotional upset, Emily had to hide a smile. Lawrence would never change. He was as much a prude now as when he was in high school.
“Now, as to why you weren’t told about the codicil at the reading of the primary will—” He brushed imaginary lint from his navy, pin-striped lapels and avoided her gaze. Obviously, he hadn’t counted on her asking about the delay in the notification, or he’d hoped that she wouldn’t ask for details. “I regret to say that my father’s memory wasn’t too acute in his last years, and he did not employ the best filing system. In fact…ahem…he didn’t really have a system to speak of at all. He did most of his work at home and failed to transfer it to his town office so his secretary could put it in the proper place.”
Emily leaned toward the embarrassed man. “Exactly what are you trying to tell me, Larry?”
He bristled at the use of the nickname. “Last week, while cleaning out the closet in my father’s home office, my mother found a box of legal papers. My secretary discovered the codicil in that box. Since my father passed away only a week after your father, I doubt anyone knew about the codicil other than the two of them. As it was, if you recall, because my father was so gravely ill at the time, it took two weeks to locate the original will.”
“But this doesn’t make sense. When my father told me about the terms of his will, he gave me the impression that I would have sole ownership of Clover Hill Farms. He never said anything about a baby or the farm reverting to charity.”
Lowering his wire-rimmed spectacles to the bridge of his bony nose, Lawrence stared at her. “I cannot speak to your father’s reasoning or his decision. I can only relate what the codicil says. The terms of the original will were just as you say. The farm went solely to you—however, the codicil changes all that.”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
The young lawyer sighed impatiently. “Let me explain.” Lawrence straightened the papers on his desk, lining them up like soldiers at a dress parade. “When your father originally had my father draw up his will, the terms were as you’ve stated them. This codicil applies conditions to that original document and to your continued ownership. You must meet these terms in the allotted time or lose the horse-breeding farm to the charity your father has designated here as his new beneficiary.” He used his forefinger to push his glasses back in place, then shuffled through the papers. “The Horseman’s Benevolent Association.”
Emily sighed, leaned back, then took a deep fortifying breath. The smell of lemon oil, leather-bound books, stale smoke and Larry’s expensive, overpowering, cologne assaulted her. The combination turned her already queasy stomach. “Is it legal? Could he do that?”
“Yes, he had every right to put additional stipulations on the distribution of his estate. I’m afraid you will have to produce a child in ten and a half months or you’ll lose your horse farm.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, I’m sure he assumed that marriage would precede the blessed event.”
“That’s impossible.” Emily wasn’t about to tie herself to any man.
He eyed her over his glasses, his gesture making him look older than his thirty years. “You mean you don’t have a young man who’s pressing you to marry?” Lawrence leered. “Of course, you didn’t date all that frequently in high school, but you’ve turned into an attractive woman. There must be men lined up on your porch.” His leer deepened. “If I can be of any help with the…uh…baby problem, don’t hesitate to ask.”
His condescending tone caused Emily’s anger to churn inwardly. Whatever made this pompous ass think she’d resort to asking him to father her child? She’d spent four years in high school avoiding his amorous overtures. Why would she change her mind now? Not in this lifetime. She’d rather walk over hot coals than climb into bed with Lawrence Tippens.
And as far as her personal life went, she wasn’t about to share with this stodgy legal machine that the Sahara Desert had a better chance of getting a torrential rain than she did of getting a date. She couldn’t be expected to run a business like hers and still play the social butterfly. The only nursery she should be planning to furnish should be one with hay on the floor.
“Thanks but no thanks, Larry. This idea needs getting used to. I’m a horse breeder—I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
He bristled at her rejection, just as he’d done in high school, then became all business again. “Am I to assume then that you’re willing to let the farm go to charity?”
“No, certainly not.” The smug—Emily fought to remember she was a lady.
“In that case, short of contesting this, I see no other alternative for you except to comply.”
A dim ray of hope rose in Emily. “Contesting? You mean I can fight this legally?”
“You can.” Lawrence jogged the papers, papers that had changed her life, into a neat stack, then returned them to the manila folder from which he’d taken them a half hour ago. “However, since your father was of sound mind, your chances of winning are slim at best.”
Standing, Emily walked to the window overlooking the main street of the small town of Bristol, New York. She’d lived here all her life. Everyone knew everyone, along with their business. The thought of having to face people with the news of what had gone on here today made her want to crawl off in a corner and hide. And it would spread beyond these doors, she had no doubt. Larry could never keep a juicy little tidbit like this to himself.
A movement in the windowpane drew her attention from the lazy activity of Main Street. Reflected in the window, she could see Larry fingering a cigar, no doubt in anticipation of her leaving. He was much too proper to light it with her there, but the stale smell of predecessors to the cigar he held already clung to the legal books and drapes. Little did he realize that the cigar didn’t fit his professional personae any more than being a mother fit hers.
She knew nothing about raising babies. What could her father have been thinking? Larry had described Frank Kingston as being of sound mind. An arguable description from her standpoint.
She shouldn’t be shocked at this turn of events. Frank Kingston had either been breaking promises to her, her sister Honey and her brother Jesse all their lives or running other people’s lives. He’d known how much the breeding farm meant to her. He’d promised it would be hers. Hers. Why the change of heart? She shook her head. It didn’t make sense.
However,
