Why didn’t he think she deserved half of this farm? Sam had been her “father” for nine years. And after he left them, neither she nor her mother had ever received a dime from him.
Hannah recalled the humiliation of those years post-Sam. Constantly short of money, living with a mother who, after her nervous breakdown, couldn’t work. In spite of that, and with the help of the occasional trip to the food bank, she managed to keep a home.
“When did that first will change? And why?” Ethan’s expression hardened. “I’m going to contest this. I’ll be talking to Jace tomorrow.”
Dan leaned back in his chair. “We’re not discussing this in front of Hannah,” he said quietly. “Suffice it to say this letter was witnessed and notarized and at the time of writing Sam was declared in his right mind. The official will states exactly what I just read, but Sam wrote this letter to explain what he called ‘the dry lawyer language’ in the will.”
“What if I don’t want the farm?” Hannah asked.
Dan looked toward her, as if remembering she was there. “Then you don’t get anything, I’m afraid.”
Hannah tapped her thumbs together, remembering her and her mother’s life with Sam. She didn’t have anything from Sam now other than memories. This family had everything.
She had no right to the farm, and yet to walk away with empty hands from a family who didn’t even acknowledge their presence in Sam’s life…
Memories piled upon memories. Whispered telephone conversations Sam had with family members back here. The way he retreated from her and her mother afterward.
Hannah looked down, her emotions coloring her thoughts.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“Of course not,” Dan said, his soft voice sounding as if he understood. “You should give yourself some time to think about this.”
“Uncle Dan…”
Dan held up his hand, forestalling any more comments from his nephew.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan said. “I’ve been out of line. It’s just…Sam…” His voice broke. Then he strode past the desk to the window and braced one hand on the frame, the other on his hip as he stared out into the yard. He stood in profile to Hannah and for a moment she saw a flash of genuine sorrow on his face.
In spite of his previous antagonism, she found herself feeling bad for him. He had just lost an uncle he’d worked with side by side for so many years. And then to hear this same uncle, out of the blue, had promised a complete stranger half of the farm—well, if she’d just had a shock, she was sure he’d had a bigger one.
“I don’t want you to make this decision lightly,” Dan said, holding Hannah’s regard. “I would really like it if you would come with me to the farm and have a look at Sam’s place.”
For the briefest moment she felt a tug of emotion.
That was silly. She was a city girl. That wasn’t going to change.
She had her plans. When the salon she and Lizzie were buying generated enough money, maybe then she could look at a place with a real yard. But for now, she had to be satisfied with what she could realistically afford.
“I thought you might like to at least see where Sam lived before you make your decision,” Dan continued. “He took over the farm from our parents. He grew up there, as did we.” The wistfulness in Dan’s voice landed a gentle hook in Hannah’s heart. Roots. Stability. Something she and her mother had never really had.
“I’m sure it’s lovely….” She couldn’t think of a proper rebuttal, so she just let the sentence hang between them.
Dan scratched his temple with one finger, then sighed. “I would like you to think about this. Sleep on it.” He gave Hannah a careful smile. “In fact, I’m not going to listen to any decision today.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll wait.”
Dan smiled. “I’ll be praying you make the right choice.”
When she was younger, Sam would pray with her. Over time, that eased off. She missed it.
Hannah ducked her head to hide the sudden prickling in her eyes. Dear Sam, now your brother is praying for me, too. The thought gave her a peculiar warmth and comfort.
She waited until the thickness in her throat eased, as the silence in the office created its own urgency. She picked up her purse and stood. “So, I guess that’s all you need for now?”
“For now,” Dan repeated. “When you decide what you want to do, I want you to call me and we’ll take things from there.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” She slipped her purse over her shoulder.
“When does your flight leave?”
“Sunday evening.”
“Then why don’t you meet me after church on Sunday. Just to give yourself enough time.” He rested his fingertips on Sam’s letter.
“Okay. Sunday morning after church, I’ll tell you what I decide.”
“Do you have a cell phone? Maybe you could give me your number. Just in case.” Dan handed her a pen and a piece of paper. She bent over and scribbled the number down. As she straightened, she chanced another look at Ethan at the same time he turned to face her. He was attractive, she conceded.
But that wasn’t enough to induce her to live out here for half a year. Not near enough.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Dan said, holding out his hand across the desk.
Her mother had always told her that Sam’s family didn’t care for them, so she doubted the sincerity of his comment, but she gave him a polite smile and shook his hand.
“Goodbye, Hannah,” Ethan said, turning away from the window. “Thanks for coming.”
And she doubted his thanks, too.
“It was nice meeting you.” While they were exchanging pleasantries, she figured she might as well add a few of her own. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. Sam must have meant a lot to both of you, as well.” She felt a sudden need to explain. “I need you to know, this is as much of a shock for me as it was for you.”
“I understand,” Ethan said quietly, though his tight expression told her otherwise. “Thanks for coming.” He reached out to shake her hand. She hesitated, then took it.
His rough and callused palm was a surprising contrast to the pressed khaki pants and golf shirt he wore. His eyes held hers as she shook his hand and a frisson of awareness flickered within her.
She pulled her hand away. Definitely time to go.
She gave Ethan a smile, then walked out of the room.
Chapter Three
“So no money? Just half a farm?” Lizzie sounded frustrated, as if hoping Hannah had called to tell her the cash amount of her supposed inheritance. “And what are you going to do with that?”
“I don’t know. Sell it, I guess.” Hannah let go of the steering wheel of her rental car, downshifted, grabbed the wheel again and turned her car into the parking lot of the motel.
“In six months.”
“I know. I don’t know what to do.”
“You can’t negotiate?”
“With a dead man? Lizzie, this was written out by Sam, signed and sealed in front of a lawyer. I guess this trip was a waste of money.”
“I really thought you’d get money up front. Too bad you didn’t take up the family on their offer to pay for your ticket.”
“I