Hidden Hills (26 page)

They agreed to keep the engagement a secret while tying up the loose ends of the partnership, but it didn't stop Charlotte from thinking of his boys as her own. She'd always wanted a son — now she'd have three. The possibility of more children hadn't been discussed, but enough to fill Hidden Hills would be nice. A wisp of a smile drifted across her face… maybe not so many, since they wouldn't have the luxury of living there, but at least one or two more.

No insurance was risky, but she couldn't work both jobs and concentrate on lining up suppliers for the bed and breakfast. She'd handed her notice in at Milner's the following week and booked customers at the Beauty Boutique for mornings only, freeing her afternoons to work from Jake's computer.

Rain moved in on Friday, getting heavier throughout the day. She left home early to get the kids from school, but dark clouds seemed to open up, wrenching the umbrella from her hands when she ran to the car. Winds whipped the trees limbs, rocking the car and setting her nerves on edge. Lightning flashed, momentarily blinding her to the drenching rains hitting the windshield, and the wipers cut deeper into the glass with each swipe. The storm wasn't letting up, and the visibility dropped to less than a car length when she pulled into the parking lot along with other worried parents. She sat in line, waiting with her foot on the brake until a car parked directly behind her, removing her fear of being rear-ended. Rain continued falling in heavy sheets on the flooded parking lot, and she knew school would be held until the storm passed.

Cold water dripped under the dash, pooling around her shoes. She moved her feet to the console and noticed more rain trickling down the window inside the passenger door. Reaching under the seat, she found the paper towels kept there for emergencies. Part of the roll went to the floorboard, and the rest were scrunched into a wad to use for wiping until they were saturated. Her faithful old hatchback was falling apart, but she didn't care anymore — being alone sucked. Soon, she would be married to Jake, and even though his warm, strong arms couldn't make her problems ago away, they made her feel a lot better.

She was lost in thought, trying to come up with tonight's sitter when her cell phone rang. The name, William Grant, popped up on the screen. For a moment, everything went blank. Why would Grandpa's attorney be calling, unless he'd found another mortgage? What else could it be? Mr. Grant's voice came through loud and clear, above the pounding rain. His tone brooked no argument — he wanted to see her
today
.

School let out shortly after the storm passed, but the heavy rain started again when she pulled up to Jake's house to let the kids out. Jeremy opened their back door, and Bruce and her girls followed, getting soaked to the skin. Charlotte had to get to the lawyer's office before four, but she waited until the kids were safely inside, then took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and put the car in reverse. It was time to face the music.

William Grant had been a close friend of Charles Wills and topped her short list of lawyers to read the contracts Ralph was working on. In his late seventies, he had a lifetime of legal experience and could be trusted. The rain stopped again when she pulled into the small parking lot on Oak Street. She stood by her car to watch squirrels playing chase around one of the giant oaks the street had been named for, but nothing could erase the feeling of dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

Leaded glass doors loomed in front of her, and she shrank from thinking of their cost. The wealth spent on the building was nothing compared to the worth of the man inside. Pausing long enough to wipe her feet, she entered the office where, to her left, a tall mahogany bookcase lined the wall. Each shelf held an assortment of law books enclosed behind glass doors. An aroma of rich leather filled the air, and she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The room hadn't changed since the reading of Grandpa's will, but the same couldn't be said for her life.

She remembered sitting next to Mitch, with his parents and Mark occupying the other chairs. All had been calm until the reading of the will. The moment Mr. Grant had read the part saying Mitch inherited everything, Tom McGregor had shot to his feet, shouting at the lawyer until he was red in the face. “I told you Charles was crazy. There was no way I could stop him from wasting the money on his useless renovations, but that house belongs to Ellen! And if I have to move heaven and earth I'll see she gets it!” Having seen the judge lose his temper before, she'd cringed in her chair while he stomped around the room, building a hot head of steam. Mitch had been quiet through it all, never once revealing the hurt he must have felt toward his father.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Grant?”

“Charlotte,” he said, his bald head glowing in the watery sunlight coming through the window behind his large desk. “It's good to see you.”

He stood, indicated the chair he wanted her in, and sat back down. “Sorry to have to bother you, but this has to do with the final bequeath of Charles Wills. Since you're the sole surviving heir, I think we can clear this up without any problems.”

She eased into the leather wingchair across from the mahogany desk, dread consuming every fiber of her body. William Grant did everything by the book, and she'd forgotten how formidable he could be. He pulled a manila folder with Grandpa's name on it from a drawer to his right, and a cold sweat trickled down the center of her back. There was no way she could ask anyone to invest in Hidden Hills if there was a second mortgage. She'd used the money from leasing her mineral rights and borrowed the rest from Jake to pay the judge. Now she'd have to pay his money back, or else he might feel he'd bought himself a wife.

“Charlotte,” William Grant began, and her breath caught in her throat. “I would like you to meet my brother-in-law, Oscar Reynolds. He's a financial advisor from Birmingham. Between the two of us, we've handled Charles' legal and financial matters for the past forty years.”

“Ms. McGregor,” he said, nodding. “It's nice to finally meet you. Call me Oscar.”

“Oscar,” Charlotte repeated, shaking his outstretched hand. He must have been in the room, but she'd failed to notice him. Was it taking both men to drop the death blow?

“We've called you here at the final request of Charles Wills. It was his stipulation we wait three years to the day, and… if, you're still the owner of Hidden Hills… you are still the owner, are you not?”

She nodded. At least she was until they told her how many more mortgages she was responsible for. Jake might be willing to stick with her, but Ralph and Shelby would bail, and she couldn't blame them.

Mr. Grant's bald head gleamed in stark contrast to the bushy-haired gentleman she'd just met. Looking at the elderly men, she could only imagine the kind of knowledge they shared. Oscar Reynolds stood behind the desk, removing a piece of paper from the open folder. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

Charlotte's nails clamped the arms of the wingchair. Her mind raced. Forget the politeness.
Why
don't you just say it? This is it. The house is gone. It's finally over.

Her prayers had been answered, but it wasn't the answer she'd asked for. God, in His infinite wisdom, had given her what she needed instead. In place of Hidden Hills, He'd brought Jake and his boys into her life, taken away the worry and dread, and given her love. She breathed again, feeling at peace for the first time in almost three years.

“Go ahead, Oscar. You can explain it better.”

He removed his glasses, wiped the lenses on both sides, and adjusted the frames on his nose. After scanning the paper one more time, he took a deep breath. “Ms. McGregor, as of this morning your net worth, including but not limited to certificates, stocks, bonds, gold, silver, and oil holdings, is totaled at four-point-five million dollars. This excludes your home and any real estate you may own. I have a few documents you'll need to sign and then… Ms. McGregor… Ms. McGregor?”

“I'ba, I'ba, I'ba.” She stammered at the swaying man in the darkening room. A hand pushing her head between her limp knees was the last thing she remembered, until she awoke to the sight of the polished, hardwood floor inches from her nose. She sat up, and the room swirled before her eyes, a cold cloth pressed against her forehead. Someone kept calling her name.

“I—I—I,” she tried again before a brown paper bag clamped onto her mouth.

“Breathe, Charlotte! Breathe. Take deep breaths.”

The room stilled, lights brightened, and her breathing slowed to the point where they removed the paper bag. Only the trembling remained. “Is this a cruel joke?”

Both men smiled, sitting down on either side of her in matching chairs. “This isn't a joke, Charlotte. It's Charles' way of insuring his legacy will live on. He knew surviving the first three years would be the hardest for you and Mitch, but he was betting you could do it. After Mitch died, I wanted to pass the second part of your inheritance on to you, but my hands were tied. We had to wait three years, to the day, from when the will was read.”

“I can't believe it. This isn't happening.”

“Pinch yourself.”

She did, her eyes growing round at the sharp prick.

Oscar Reynolds chuckled. “Now do you believe me?”

“What's to stop Tom McGregor? He'll file every lawsuit known to man to get Grandpa's will overturned, even claim he was crazy,” she said, still unable to comprehend everything.

William Grant tossed the wet cloth into the trash. “Tom's already tried, but I've known Charles Wills for more than fifty years, and I can assure you, he was of sound mind when he wrote the will.”

“You mean the judge can't get his hands on Grandpa's estate or his money?”

Oscar Reynolds patted her shoulder. “No one, other than the IRS, can touch your money.”

She swayed, the enormity of the amount becoming clear. “How do I… I mean… there's a payment due on Hidden Hills. Can I have enough money to cover it?”

He laughed. “I'll call the bank and get the pay-off. By this time tomorrow, the debt will be history.”

The smile on Mr. Grant's face offered a calm assurance. “It's okay, Charlotte. We'll explain everything. Oscar and I will continue to handle your legal and financial matters, if you want us to. Each month, an amount designated by you will be deposited into your bank account. Any time you need extra, you're to let Oscar know. He'll also file your tax returns and answer any investment questions you may have.”

“And all I'll have to do is spend money?”

“Sounds like fun, doesn't it?” he said. “There is a bit of advice I'd like to offer, if you don't mind. The fewer people who know about the money, the easier your life will be. I would definitely keep the information from the McGregors, including Mark. Charles gave Ellen a large sum of money before he passed away.”

“So the judge finally gets his hands on some of Grandpa's money?”

“I'm afraid I can't say.” Charlotte caught the mischievous gleam in his eyes. She'd been privy to several conversations with Mr. Grant and Grandpa. The money most likely had gone into an account for Mark's future.

It made sense. Ellen would leave everything to her only remaining son after she was gone, and in the meantime, Mark needed to know he could make it on his own.

There was something bothering her. “Mr. Grant, can you tell me why Grandpa left all the debt? Was it to test us?”

His relaxed smile reminded her of the close friendship he'd shared with Charles Wills for longer than she'd been alive. It was easy to picture them with their coffee cups, sitting in front of the rock fireplace, passing the time of day.

“Nothing so simple. You see, Charles borrowed the money to make Tom think he was in financial trouble. He got a kick out of watching Tom plot to get his hands on the estate. Him dying, before he paid it off, was just bad luck for you and Mitch. The wording of the will wouldn't allow Oscar to take care of it.”

Another thought hit her. “What about the plans Grandpa and I worked on, the ones for turning the house into a bed and breakfast? He claimed he didn't have money to do it.”

“You were such a pretty young thing. Charles said you were the sweetest girl he'd ever met, smart, too. He'd never had anyone hang on his words like you, not even Ellen. Those plans were just a way to keep you coming back with the baby.”

“I would've gone anyway,” she said. “I loved him.”

“You've lived alone out there, Charlotte. It's a lonely life when you don't have anyone to care about you. Oh, he had Eli, but they were like two peas in a pod. You brought a clean freshness into his world. He was an old man, and he felt like one, but you and the baby girl gave him a reason to enjoy life again, made him want to live.”

“So I'm not blocking Ellen or Mark from getting it?”

“Not a dime,” he said. “Charles had a few projects he funded, and they'll continue at their present rate for the next five years. When the time comes, you'll have the option of continuing or canceling on an individual basis.” He stood, offering her a pen to sign the papers lined up in a neat row on his desk.

She put pen to paper with a shaky hand. This was actually happening.

“Rest assured, Charlotte,” Mr. Grant said, after the papers were signed, notarized, and filed away. “Charles' money is right where he wanted it to be.”