A Father's Stake. Mary Anne Wilson

quickly as you can!” She would understand immediately that “the land” was the Wolf Ranch.

      Jack really didn’t remember most of the drive to the old ranch, except for the car that he’d impatiently gunned past. Just before he’d driven through the gate, Maureen had called to tell him the property had changed hands in August, deeded from Charles Michaels to a Grace Anne Evans. She couldn’t find any money trail.

      Now he was looking at Grace Anne Evans, and when he could finally speak around the tightness in his throat, he said, “I was in a hurry.” And he’d been stupid and totally taken off balance, he should have added. All these weeks he’d planned to deal with a man, someone he’d researched and knew very well on paper. Now he was facing a stranger, maybe midtwenties, with a few freckles dusted across her small, straight nose. And those eyes. He actually wondered if that violet color came from her DNA or tinted contacts.

      She lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the slowly sinking sun behind him. “How long have you been here?” she asked.”

      “Just a few minutes before you drove up.”

      “No, I mean, here, on the ranch?”

      He shook his head. “When?”

      Now she was looking confused. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be getting everything ready for me, aren’t you?”

      “Sorry, no.” Why did he keep telling her he was sorry?

      “Then why are you here?” she asked, trying to stand taller, but failing.

      “I told you, waiting for you, as long as you’re Grace Evans.”

      She shook her head, as if nothing was making sense to her at that moment. “I don’t have a clue who you are, if you’re not a handyman or a caretaker.”

      “Sorry,” he said, inwardly cringing at that word again. “Neither. I’m Jack.”

      “Okay, Jack. I need to know what this is about, or I’m going inside and I hope, for your sake and the other drivers on the road, that you’ll drive slower on your way back to wherever you came from.”

      He was a bit surprised at how such a tiny woman had no problem standing her ground. She’d had an edge from that first moment he’d approached her. He understood being careful with strangers, but she seemed to have an added toughness, despite her delicate appearance.

      “I was told that someone named Grace Evans was coming here.” He paused a moment. “And I’m pretty sure you’re Grace Evans.”

      “You spoke to Mr. Vaughn?” she asked.

      In this whole mess he’d never come across anyone named Vaughn. “No, I didn’t.”

      “I don’t get it, then,” she said, cocking her head to one side. He’d run out of time. He was an attorney who could figure out a million ways around a legal case, and yet he was losing this woman. She was ready to kick him off the ranch, so he gave up any sort of attempt at finesse and simply spoke the blunt truth.

      “I came to meet you and find out how you got this land and what you intend to do with it.” That was simple enough, he thought, and actually felt a bit relieved to get it out there.

      * * *

      GRACE DIDN’T ANSWER his question. She stared up at him, then took a step back. “I don’t know who you are, or why you think I’d share my personal business with you, but one thing I learned growing up was not to talk to strangers.”

      She knew she was bordering on rudeness, but she didn’t even know his last name. And she was edgy, and tired from sleepless nights, then the flight out and the drive to the ranch. And she still hadn’t eaten much more than a few French fries. And she felt a bit light-headed.

      “I’m Jack Carson,” he said without preamble and held out his hand to her.

      Carson. He had to be a relative of the man who had owned this land before her father got it. Okay, she could deal with this. She met his grip, which was warm and firm. “Grace Evans. Not that you don’t already know that.” She drew her hand back. “And this is my land. I own it.”

      “You purchased it from Charles Michaels?” he asked, tucking the tips of his fingers in the pockets of his Levis.

      “He’s my father.” She saw a flash of something like surprise cross his face, then it was gone. “And I didn’t buy it from him.”

      “You’re not the legal owner?”

      “Yes, I am. He signed it over to me.”

      “Why?”

      “He’s my father, I told you that. He gave it to me. He said he didn’t have any use for it, so I should have it.”

      “Where is he now?”

      That seemed an odd question, but she didn’t mind answering it truthfully. “I don’t know. All of the land business was done through an attorney in Los Angeles, Mr. Vaughn.” And that was all she was going to say. She would never tell anyone that her father hadn’t even wanted to see her or Lilly.

      “And he has no legal interest in this land anymore?”

      He has no interest in anything, period, except what he wants to do, she thought. Bitterness didn’t sit well with her, but she couldn’t seem to get beyond it. And she sure wasn’t going to tell this man about her father. “No, no interest at all.”

      “That’s it? He just gave it you?”

      “Yes,” she said.

      * * *

      SHOCKED WAS THE only way to describe how Jack felt. Michaels hadn’t wanted this ranch, so he gave it to his daughter? Just like that. Still, there had been something in her expression when she spoke about her father. Maybe sadness. Jack wished he understood her just a bit. He had to make her see it his way about the land. He had to know Grace Evans and what made her tick.

      All he really understood was that Grace Anne Evans was the one with the prize. Charles Michaels was out of the picture. His daughter stood between Jack and what Jack wanted. And if he’d thought to recheck the deeding of the land before he came, he wouldn’t be standing here figuring out things on the fly.

      “I’ve got a question for you,” Grace said, crossing her arms and shifting slightly to use his shadow to block the sun from her eyes.

      “What’s that?”

      “You said you were told I was coming here. So, who told you?”

      That was a simple question and he didn’t hesitate. “Willie G. at the diner let me know.”

      “You’re kidding me!” she said. “He told you about me?”

      “Absolutely. He’s an old friend, and he thought I’d like to know someone was claiming to own this place. He’s very protective of this land and his people. Just ask him about the new entertainment center.”

      She brushed at her hair, the tendrils that had escaped the high ponytail lifting in the gentle breeze. “I should tell you that he asked me if I was going to sell this place, and if I decided to, to let him know so he could make an offer on it.”

      That didn’t surprise him. Willie G. saw the land as the peoples’ land, not possessed by individuals. They were just the caretakers. Since he’d found out about the ranch being lost, he hadn’t spoken to Jack’s dad. But finding a woman who claimed to own it, a stranger, must have set off all sorts of warnings in Willie’s head. “And what did you tell him?”

      “That I wasn’t considering selling.” He saw her look around, her gaze taking in the house and outbuildings, then skimming the distant hills. “I don’t think I would ever sell it,” she said in a near whisper.

      And it was legally hers. When Maureen had confirmed that Grace Anne Evans was indeed the owner of record, Jack had known right then that his quest