know,” he said. “And I’m sorry for that.”
“He has papers for me to sign.”
Hunter pulled his wallet from his shirt pocket and took out half a dozen fifty-dollar bills. “I’ll cover your travel costs.” He turned his wallet over and got more bills from the inside flap. “Just give me a minute. I’ll send a check for the rest.”
Paying her now would be cheaper than what his grandfather had in store. Hunter always paid back the victims even if his grandfather had already spent the money. With the drought, he couldn’t keep doing it, though. It was time to end his grandfather’s mischief before they went broke.
“You most certainly will not stop me,” she protested. “I came to see Colin Jacobson and that’s what I intend to do. I’m not returning to Alaska until Monday.”
It was Saturday now.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not available.”
At least he wouldn’t be in two minutes, Hunter told himself. He’d take his grandfather back to the ranch if he had to tie him up and put him in the pickup. Sheriff Carl Wall would come and help him if he needed to make it official. The sheriff had been a good friend to Hunter over the years and knew more than most about the trouble surrounding the Jacobson family.
“But it’s the fifteenth of August,” the woman insisted. “We have an appointment.”
The realization shot through Hunter like a bullet and left him just as dazed. For the first time in all these years, he’d forgotten. Today was the anniversary of the accident that had killed his parents. It all came back in a heartbeat. He had been ten years old and had been riding in the front seat with his father. His mother and two younger brothers, in the rear, had been thrown free of the vehicle when it turned over. His grandfather, although widowed and not in the best of health, had taken him and his brothers into his home. The old man hadn’t slept those first few nights, instead going from bedroom to bedroom keeping watch over them. Hunter still remembered the sound of his grandfather’s slippers shuffling across the floor. It had made him feel safe.
Hunter was speechless. No one in the family ever talked about that day. They couldn’t.
This time he glanced down at the cat almost involuntarily and she, perhaps sensing his mood, abandoned her battle stance and stared at him with calm sympathy. His grandfather had gone out to the barn the morning after the accident and brought the ancestor of this cat into the house. He and his brothers had been mute in their grief, hugging the poor mother cat until Hunter was surprised she hadn’t scratched them and demanded release. He’d never figured out how each generation of cats knew when they were needed, but they did.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Scarlett Murphy demanded of him as she took a step forward. “Are you a real-estate agent?”
“Of course not.” Hunter came back from the past and protested automatically. He bent and scooped the cat up to his chest. This time she did not try to avoid it. He dragged his hand over her mottled orange fur to calm her. The feline was still tense, ready to bristle at the woman. No one needed to make this confrontation worse.
“Well, you’re not getting part of the property, no matter who you are.” She glared at him. “No commission. No finder’s fee. We Murphys don’t fool easy. So I’m asking again. What are you doing here?”
Hunter had his breathing under control and the cat was relaxing.
“I came to, uh, make sure no one takes advantage of you,” Hunter managed to say even though he knew it was stilted.
“You came to rescue me?” The woman focused on him even more intently. She made it sound as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “I’m not paying you for that, either.”
“Look, I don’t want any money from you,” Hunter said impatiently. “Not a dime. Just, whatever you do, don’t sign anything.”
The pink was returning to the woman’s face and with it some red. Her face was alive with indignation. She pressed her hands down on the front fender of her car and studied him as she leaned forward. “Who are you, anyway?”
“The man’s grandson.”
His full name was Colin Hunter Jacobson, but he sure didn’t want to hang that first name around his neck. Not with his grandfather’s reputation. He’d changed to using his middle name when he was eighteen. His grandfather had accepted the change without asking for an explanation.
Hunter started to turn away. It was time he called the sheriff.
But the woman wasn’t through.
“Which grandson?” she asked.
“The oldest one. Hunter.”
He turned back, wondering why she’d want to know that.
His brothers were both following the rodeo circuit, taking more risks than they should as they won all their prize money. Cash, the one next closest in age to him, rode broncos and Kurt, the youngest, took his chances on the back of raging bulls. Hunter worried about them both. He should have done more to convince them to stay home. They had both tired of their grandfather’s behavior and had left the ranch a couple of years ago. They’d said they had wanted to live someplace where they could hold their heads up high and not wonder what the problem was every time the phone rang. Hunter hadn’t blamed them for leaving once he’d heard that. He was the oldest, though; he had an obligation to the man who had raised them. Besides, he loved his grandfather.
The woman nodded then as if she understood something. A small self-satisfied smile grew on the sides of her lips as she stood straight. Not a full smile, just the hint of one forming. “You’re the one who helps him with the ranch work?”
He nodded. It was more than he could do himself, but he couldn’t afford to pay an experienced hired hand. If his brothers came back, they’d be able to make a go of it. They’d all grown up working the land and he suspected from their letters that they were almost ready to return. The shine had worn off the rodeo belt buckles and his grandfather had been well behaved lately. His brothers missed ranching. Of course, this latest scheme might change everything.
“Well,” the woman said, her voice as melodious as a bell, “I can see what the problem is then.”
Hunter’s mind snapped back to the present. “Really?”
Tiny drops of moisture were falling, but it wasn’t enough to count as rain.
She nodded. “Your grandfather thought you might be opposed to him giving my family the old place.”
Hunter frowned. “The old place? You mean the land my grandfather bought when he came down from Alaska?”
That’s what they had always called it—the old place. Where they lived now was the new place. But Scarlett Murphy wouldn’t know that.
Hunter knew for sure something was going on now. First the anniversary date and then this. His grandfather loved that piece of land. That was the house he’d brought him and his brothers to after the accident. He’d never give it up. Most of the eighty acres was currently leased to Mr. Cleary who ran a herd of sheep on it. But Cleary was retiring this fall and Hunter had plans to plow the fields and get them ready to plant into wheat next spring. That was the crop he was counting on to keep the ranch out of debt.
Hunter walked closer until he was almost at the woman’s car. He bent and let the cat go. He knew the animal wouldn’t leave his side. Not now. He took a deep breath to try to reassure the feline. When he looked up, the woman was talking.
“I’m sure that’s the land he meant.” She pressed her lips together slightly, as though she was thinking. Then her eyes flashed. “It’s what he bought after stealing the gold mine from us sixty years ago. He wrote my grandmother last month and said he would deed it all over to our family if we came and signed for it. ‘Clearing his conscience’ is what he called it—his land for us saying he didn’t steal the gold mine. Switching the deeds. So here