Summer Days. Susan Mallery

part of what he didn’t own to a woman with a very angry son.

      * * *

      RAFE PULLED IN NEXT TO HIS mother’s car and parked. The ranch looked worse than he’d remembered—the fence lines more theory than substance, the house sagging and in need of paint. He could think of a thousand places he would rather be than here. Leaving wasn’t an option. Not until he got this mess cleaned up.

      He climbed out of his car and looked around. The sky was blue—typical for California. That impossible color movie makers loved and songwriters sang about. In the distance, the Sierra Nevada mountains rose toward heaven. When he was a kid, he’d stared at those mountains, willing himself to be on the other side. Anywhere that wasn’t here would have been better. At fifteen, he’d been trapped. Funny how all these years later he was back and just as stuck.

      The front door to the house opened and his mother stepped out. May Stryker might have been in her mid-fifties, but she was still beautiful, with shiny black hair that fell to her shoulders and a tall, lithe build. Rafe had inherited his height and coloring from her, although, according to his mother, his personality came from his father. May was a softhearted nurturer who wanted to take care of the world. Rafe would rest a lot easier when he’d conquered it.

      “You came,” May said, crossing to him and smiling. “I knew you would. Oh, Rafe, isn’t it wonderful to be back?”

      Sure, he thought grimly. Maybe later they could stop by hell for a marshmallow roast. “Mom, what’s going on? You weren’t very clear in your message.” What he meant was she hadn’t explained how she’d gotten in this situation in the first place.

      All she’d said was that she’d bought a ranch, and that the man was now telling her she couldn’t have it. Mostly because he didn’t own it. Fraud before noon. Or grand theft. Either way, it was going to be a long day.

      “Everything is fine,” his mother said, moving toward him. “Glen and I have been talking and…”

      “Glen?”

      The smile widened. “The man who sold me the ranch.” She gave a little laugh. “Apparently he had a friend who was sick and—”

      “I’ve heard this part,” he said, interrupting.

      “From who?”

      “Heidi.”

      “Oh, you met her. Isn’t she wonderful? She raises goats here on the ranch. They’ve been here nearly a year, and they’re just wonderful people. Glen is Heidi’s

      grandfather. She lost her parents when she was little and he raised her.” May sighed. “They’re a wonderful family.”

      He didn’t like the sound of that. “Mother,” he began.

      She shook her head. “I’m not one of your unruly clients, Rafe. You can’t intimidate me. I’m sorry I called you and asked you to come all the way out here, but I have everything under control.”

      “I doubt that.”

      Both eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

      “You’re not the only one involved. I signed the paperwork, too. Remember?”

      “You can unsign it. I’ll take care of this. Now, go back to San Francisco.”

      Before he could explain there was no “unsigning” a legal document, the front door opened again and an older man stepped out. He was taller than May, with white hair and sparkling blue eyes. He winked at May, gave Rafe a charming smile and hurried forward.

      “There you are,” the man said, holding out his hand as he approached. “Glen Simpson. Nice to meet you. I understand there’s been a mix-up with your lovely mother here, but I want to assure you, we’re going to work it all out.”

      Rafe doubted that. “You have the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars you stole from her?”

      “Rafe!”

      He ignored his mother and continued to stare at Glen.

      “Ah, not exactly,” the older man admitted. “But we’ll get it. Or work out something with May. There’s no reason for any of this to be difficult, don’t you agree?”

      “No.” Rafe drew his phone out of his shirt pocket and turned away from his mother and Glen. Before pushing the number, he loosened his tie. Then he hit speed dial.

      “I told you not to go there,” a familiar voice said by way of greeting.

      “I pay you for legal counsel,” Rafe muttered. “Not to say, ‘I told you so.’”

      Dante Jefferson, his lawyer and business partner, chuckled. “You get the ‘I told you so’ for free.”

      “Lucky me.”

      “How bad is it?”

      Rafe looked around at the familiar acres of land. He’d grown up here, at least until he was fifteen. He’d worked his ass off here, had gone hungry here.

      “It’s bad. I need you to drive over,” Rafe said. He’d filled Dante in on what he knew before he’d left town that morning. “There’s no money to pay her back and, from what I can tell, the old man isn’t the owner of the ranch.”

      Dante snorted. “Did he think she wouldn’t notice she wasn’t getting a ranch after paying two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and agreeing to a schedule to pay the rest?”

      “Apparently.”

      “I’ve never been to Fool’s Gold,” Dante said.

      “Everyone’s luck goes bad eventually.”

      Dante chuckled. “Your mother loves the town.”

      “My mother also believes there are space aliens in Area 51.”

      “That’s why I like her so much. Did I tell you signing documents without reading them would get you into trouble? Did you listen?”

      Rafe tightened his grip on the phone. “This is you helping?”

      “In my own way. I’ll call the local police and have…” There was the sound of rustling papers.

      “…Glen Simpson picked up. He’ll be in custody before I hit town. I should be there by six. Between now and then, don’t do anything I’ll regret.”

      Not a promise Rafe was willing to make, he thought as he hung up. He turned, only to find his mother rushing toward him.

      “Rafe! You’re not arresting Glen.”

      The old guy looked less charming and more pale. As Rafe watched, he swallowed and started backing toward the house.

      “Mom, this guy took money from you by making you think you were buying a ranch. He doesn’t own the ranch, so he stole your money and he has no way to pay it back.”

      May’s mouth twisted. “If you’re going to make it sound like that—”

      He cut her off. “It is like that.”

      “I don’t understand why you have to be this way.”

      He glanced back at the house, expecting to see Glen slinking inside. But the old guy had only made it as far as the porch. Maybe he was going to try and bluff his way out. Rafe didn’t mind a good fight, but he preferred a more formidable opponent.

      His gaze moved from the building to the yard. There were flowers—different from the ones his mother had planted, but just as colorful. A big sign offered goat milk, goat cheese and goat manure for sale. He fleetingly hoped they were kept in separate containers and on different parts of the property.

      Speaking of goats, he could see a couple beyond the fence by the house. There was a big horse by the barn. No steers, he thought, remembering having to deal with them when he was a kid.

      There had been good times here, he admitted to himself.