to that mine. He didn’t steal anything.”
“Is that what he told you?” Scarlett asked, her smile tight now as she walked around the car and stood facing him. “My grandfather would turn over in his grave if he could hear him saying that. Grandma always knew Colin Jacobson was a no-good, low-down thief. Now it seems he’s a liar, as well.”
“My grandfather is a good man,” Hunter protested. Despite everything, he believed that. “I’m sure your grandmother didn’t mean—”
“She also said he was handsome as sin and twice as charming,” the woman acknowledged with a look that measured Hunter with a calm objectivity. “Said it was a family curse of the Jacobson men.”
“Well, thank her—”
Hunter was beginning to think he might be able to resolve any problem here.
“I don’t see it myself,” Scarlett said abruptly.
Hunter rocked back on his heels.
“Well, I never claimed to be particularly good-looking.” He paused in case she wanted to protest out of politeness. She didn’t. “But you must know my grandfather owned that mine. He had it recorded official and everything.”
She put her hands on her hips. “He only had the right to half. He stole the rest when he filed the claim with only his name and left my grandfather off it. They were partners.”
“Yes, but—” Hunter had never asked about the claim. He’d seen the paperwork when he was a boy, though. His grandfather had always called Murphy his partner, but there was just one name on the claim: Colin Jacobson. Hunter had never given it much thought until now.
“My grandfather died from a broken heart after he lost that mine and the gold they’d sent to be assayed,” Scarlett continued with some heat. “‘Never should have trusted a weasel of a Jacobson,’ he said.”
“I’m sorry.” In all of his grandfather’s stories, the man had never mentioned his partner was dead. “What happened?”
Scarlett glared at him. “My grandfather couldn’t believe what yours had done. He was sick with a fever, but he insisted on going out to the mine so he could see for sure. I think he expected to find a note saying it was all a joke nailed to the claim post. The day was bitter cold and he fell, cracking the ice on the creek. Got his feet wet. He barely made it home. My grandmother buried him ten days later in the graveyard on the hill above the mine so he could look down on it. Pneumonia had set in. By then your grandfather had already left the state.”
“He didn’t know,” Hunter said, his voice stumbling. “I don’t think he even knew.”
His grandfather had talked his share of people out of money to finance some purpose or the other, but he’d never deliberately harmed anyone. Not like that. Given the date today, though, Hunter was wondering if the old man was taking care of every bit of bad business in his life.
“My grandmother had to take in washing to support her and her baby,” the woman said, her voice full of reproach. “Even now she claims that’s what caused her arthritis.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean for that—” Hunter started and then stopped. He was going to have to stop defending his grandfather. Even if the man meant well, it never worked out that way.
Everything was silent for a moment.
“My grandmother didn’t think he could have known, either,” the woman finally admitted.
“I’m sorry.” Hunter didn’t say anything else. He had no other words. It had happened long ago, but he could see it was like yesterday for the Murphy family. Sort of like the car accident in his family. Something no one ever got over.
Then Scarlett faced him directly.
“I understand your grandfather has buildings on the property he’s giving us,” she said as though she didn’t expect any further answer to her grief.
Hunter nodded. He understood the desire to keep heartache to oneself. Talking didn’t always help. He knew that himself.
“The house isn’t much,” he admitted. No one had lived in it for seventeen years. They had left the furniture there when they’d moved out, but they hadn’t maintained the place. There could be rats in the cupboards for all he knew. The cats had gone to the new place. “The barn is serviceable.”
Right now the house and barn were the only things not leased to Mr. Cleary. His grandfather had pointed out numerous times that the house should be fixed so he’d have a place to move when Hunter brought a bride home to the new place. Not that there was a wedding in sight. Until his grandfather stopped his schemes, Hunter was stuck. If he did marry, he had no intention of kicking his grandfather out of their home. But he couldn’t ask anyone to put up with the old man’s schemes, either, especially now that they were back in full force. That pretty much tied everything in a nice uncompromising knot.
“You won’t want the house,” Hunter said when he saw that Scarlett wasn’t weakening. “It’s almost falling down. Needs new electrical. Plumbing. Paint. The works.”
“You’re just as bad as your grandfather,” she said with a grin. “You can’t stop me, though. He warned me about you.”
Hunter blinked.
“He what?” He almost couldn’t speak, he was so astonished. “He warned you about me?”
He was the good grandson. Always had been. The one who had stayed. The one who fed the cats warm milk when the snow was knee deep outside and the wind was howling. The one who gave everyone back their money, even if they had lost their receipt. He’d half raised his brothers, made sure they got to school on time and washed behind their ears. And his grandfather had warned her about him?
“Yes,” Scarlett said emphatically. “And my family needs that house—and the land. It’s going to be our new home. We have your grandfather’s promise in writing and we’ll sue if that’s what we need to do to get what should be ours.”
With that threat, she turned back to the car, clearly dismissing him.
Hunter did the only thing he could. He turned around, climbed the steps and stomped into the café. He had to wait a minute for the cat to slip through the open door first, but they both finally made it inside with their dignities intact. As he suspected, his grandfather was calmly sitting at a table in the back —a cup of coffee and a half-eaten piece of apple pie in front of him. Hunter noted that, as usual, the waitress had removed the salt and pepper shakers from the table. His grandfather had a history of putting them in his pocket when he left. Hunter had finally gotten tired of bringing them back so he’d asked the owner, a nice woman by the name of Linda Enger, if she would just have them taken off the table when his grandfather came in. She’d not only done that, she’d preserved the old man’s dignity by telling the waitresses it was to cut down on his salt intake.
“What are you up to with the Murphy family?” Hunter demanded to know as he sat at the table. The cat curled itself under his chair. His grandfather had given up shaving these days in favor of a short white beard that made him look deceptively jolly. He’d lost some height in his old age and was a little more round than he should be. He still wore his trademark long-sleeved denim shirts, though. He said the ladies liked them because their color matched his eyes. Red suspenders held up the black wool pants he preferred. Hunter suddenly wondered if his grandfather wanted to look like Santa Claus so he could fool people easier.
“Why today of all days?” Hunter continued, working to soften the steel in his voice.
His grandfather shrugged. “It’s time we moved on.”
“And why would you warn someone about me?” Hunter added. He needed to be calm if he expected to learn anything. “I’m the good guy here.”
The old man just looked at him.
“Scarlett Murphy isn’t a fool,” Hunter said, trying again.