Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife (7 page)

“Congratulations, it’s yours. Osborne will provide you with the authentication. If you decide to sell, I suggest you go through him since he is the foremost expert on Michelle Rousseau.”

If Michelle had wanted her to have that particular painting, there must be a reason. “I’d never sell a keepsake like that.”

“I wasn’t aware that you and your great-aunt were so close.”

His condescending tone bordered on a sneer, and she figured that Fox was another person who didn’t approve of the way she had treated her great-aunt. His judgment was unfair. After all, Michelle had been the adult and Gabby the child during most of their relationship. And Michelle was the one who had abandoned Brooklyn. Definitely unfair, but Gabby wouldn’t defend herself. She wished things had been different between Michelle and herself, and she didn’t owe the attorney an explanation of her family dynamic.

When Kevin showed Zach into the office, she almost cheered. At least, she had one person on her side in what was beginning to feel like a war between her and Fox. Zach made an impressive ally. Not only was he a big guy but he was cool enough to be intimidating. In his white, Western-style shirt with pearl buttons and his navy blue sport jacket, he was the very picture of cowboy chic. Instead of sitting beside her on the sofa, Zach took a position beside the desk that kept him from facing the glare from the window.

“I’d rather stand,” he said. “I’ve been sitting in the truck all the way over here.”

“Very well.” Fox scowled as he returned to his chair and turned to her. “Shall we start with the insurance policies?”

“It’s going to take a while to go through all this paperwork. I’d like to hear about the terms I’ll be required to fulfill.”

“Of course.”

Curious, she asked, “Why didn’t you explain these terms when we first spoke on the phone?”

“I was bound by the will. Your great-aunt forbade the mention of her requirements until you were here in Colorado.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say that she had some unusual ideas.” Though she couldn’t clearly see Fox, she heard a smug tone in his voice, and she sensed that the ax was about to fall.

Bracing herself, she said, “I want to know.”

“Your great-aunt had a strong sense of her heritage, and she wanted the Roost to remain in the hands of a Rousseau. She arranged for a monthly stipend to be paid from her estate for the care of the property. I can’t give you an accurate statement of the amount because we haven’t determined the final figures.”

“How about a ballpark number?” Gabby asked.

“It would be sufficient to pay monthly bills and provide for basic living expenses.”

So far, so good. Even if she didn’t stay at the Roost, a caretaker would need that stipend. “What else?”

“In order for you to inherit the estate, Michelle stipulated that you and/or your brother, if we can ever locate him, must agree to live at the Roost for the period of three years. You cannot be absent for more than two months per year.”

She’d never heard of anything like this. “Can she do that? Tell me where to live? When I can come and go?”

“The will is very specific. Of course, you can fight it. These terms are odd, somewhat Draconian. But a legal dispute would take years to work through the court system.”

Confused, she looked toward Zach for some kind of reassurance. He shook his head. No help from that direction. “What if I refuse?”

“If you choose not to live there, you forfeit your claim on the estate. It will be sold, and the proceeds will go to Sarah Bentley’s Forest Preservation Society.”

“Who?”

“Ms. Bentley runs a nonprofit organization dedicated to protecting and managing the local flora and fauna.”

And why should she receive the bulk of the estate? What was going on here? “I don’t understand.”

Fox rose from his chair and joined her on the leather sofa. When he took her hand and held it between both of his, she felt trapped and threatened at the same time. Maybe she should walk away before it was too late. Rule number three when confronting a mugger: run like hell.

“It’s all right,” Fox assured her. Like his nephew, his teeth were exceptionally white; she imagined those fangs sinking into her neck and sucking her blood. “I’ll do all that I can to help you.”

“Can you rewrite the will?”

“I’m afraid not. I promise that you won’t walk away empty-handed. However, in order to participate financially in the bulk of your great-aunt’s legacy, you must live at the Roost.”

She didn’t like it. But she didn’t have much choice.

Chapter Seven

On the street outside the attorney’s office, Zach sucked down a breath of fresh air. He’d been stifling while he watched Fox use his wiles to manipulate Gabby into a corner. The lawyer was like a rattlesnake that had cornered a baby rabbit and was playing with his prey. “I don’t trust that guy. He’s up to something.”

“Like dictating the terms of my life,” Gabby said. Her arms were filled with the fat legal file and the portfolio with the inventory of artwork. “Is it possible that Fox invented those crazy terms? It doesn’t seem like something Michelle would do.”

He wasn’t so sure. “She was really interested in the Rousseau family heritage. I know she did research online to trace your ancestors. Did you know there was a famous artist named Rousseau?”

“Henri Rousseau,” she said, shifting her burden from one arm to the other. “He was a Postimpressionist. And there was also a famous philosopher. Those are the names that pop up when you do a search for Rousseau, but our family isn’t related to either of them. I guess that Rousseau is a fairly common name in France, like Russell.”

Taking the hefty file and portfolio from her, he directed her to the right. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Kevin offered me a strong drink as soon as I came into the office. I wish I’d taken it.”

Getting drunk wasn’t a solution, as he well knew. But he understood her desire to escape from the complications that had been literally laid at the doorstep of the Roost. “I don’t blame you for being overwhelmed.”

“Here’s the crazy part. I was seriously considering moving here. Michelle’s old studio at the Roost would make a perfect workroom for my designs and sewing. And there really isn’t any reason to go back to Brooklyn. No boyfriend. No job worth keeping. And I gave my share of the apartment I was renting to my roommate, whose fiancé moved in with her.”

“This might be the time for you to change location.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, but not anymore.” She dug into her purse and took out a pair of sunglasses. “When Fox said living at the Roost was mandated by the will, I wanted to run, to be anywhere but here. I hate being told what I have to do.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Midway down the next block, they entered a casual restaurant that featured thirty-two varieties of burger, ranging from tofu to steak tartare. At half past three in the afternoon, there were only a few other patrons, and Zach chose a table for four where there was room enough to open the file folder and take a peek inside. His suspicions of Fox made him wonder how the attorney might benefit financially based on Gabby’s decisions.

After they’d ordered—a portobello mushroom sandwich and draft beer for her and a cheeseburger and soda for him—he flipped through the papers until he found a copy of the actual will. The document was over twenty-five pages, single-spaced and written in lawyer language that made it difficult to skim. He noticed that Michelle’s initials were on every page.

Gabby took off her sunglasses and leaned across the table toward him. “What are you looking for?”

“An indication of what Fox hopes to gain.”

“If he sells the place, there’s probably some kind of commission.” She tilted her head as though she could read the fine print upside down. “He might have made some kind of side deal with the Forest Preservation lady.”

“Sarah Bentley? Not likely.” He’d met Sarah on a committee that planned local rodeo events. Her concerns matched his own: making sure the animals were treated humanely. “She’s not the kind of person who would get involved with shady business.”

“What was her connection with Michelle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Michelle ever talk to you about this plan to make me live at the Roost?”

“Not in so many words.” He remembered many evenings when he and Michelle sat on her porch and watched the sunset. The subject of family seldom arose. Zach had cut all ties with his parents back in Wyoming, didn’t know if they were dead or alive and didn’t really give a damn. Michelle had confided a secret he wasn’t ready to share with Gabby.

“Did she ever say why she settled here?” she asked.

He pieced together other bits of conversation into a narrative that didn’t reveal too much. “She used to talk about being a rebel—an artist who lived to express herself. Then she’d laugh and say, ‘We all did crazy things in the sixties.’”

“I don’t think Michelle ever stopped doing crazy things, and I guess that served her well as an artist.” Gabby sipped her beer and licked her lips. “But it doesn’t explain why she set up these conditions for me to live at the Roost.”

He saw hints of Michelle in the way she cocked her chin and the intensity in her dark eyes. But Gabby wasn’t a rebel who would take off across the country on a whim. “Maybe she wanted to give you a chance to follow your dream.”

“Then she should have consulted with me first. My dreams start with getting more schooling. Then I’d take an internship in Paris or Milan.”

“Exotic places.”

“The fashion capitals of the world,” she said, “but I can’t complain about not being exposed to the latest trends. I lived so close to Manhattan, twenty minutes away on the subway. During Fashion Week, I sneaked into more events than most people see in a lifetime.”

“Did you ever think about being a model?”

“Not possible,” she said. “I’m a few inches too short and definitely not a size zero.”

“You’re pretty enough.”

A huge smile spread across her face. “So are you. You’d make a terrific model.”

Parading around in dress-up clothes sounded like the worst kind of punishment. “I’m just a cowboy.”

“That’s why you’d be great. Women love cowboys.”

He was saved from further speculation when their food arrived. As he dug into his burger, he watched her. You could learn a lot about a woman from how she ate. Gabby had ordered a feminine choice with the mushroom sandwich, but she wasn’t afraid to pile on the pickles and tomatoes, pick up the whole thing and open her mouth wide to take a chomp. She attacked her food with the kind of gusto he’d seen in her before. She definitely wasn’t shy. As she chewed, she moaned with pleasure. It was an animal sound that he associated more with the bedroom than the lunch table. Not particularly ladylike. She swabbed her French fries through a glob of ketchup and popped them into her mouth. Not ladylike at all.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“I like to see a woman who enjoys her food.”

“My manners aren’t the greatest. Back in Brooklyn, I usually grab something from a corner bodega or a fruit stand and eat on the run.”

“Do you cook?”

“Not without setting fire to the dish towels.” She washed down the fries with a swig of her beer. “That’s one of the great things about living in a big city. You’re never far from a place that serves something yummy. And there’s so much variety—Italian, Asian, Mexican, Greek. I love all the different tastes. How about you?”

He looked down at his cheeseburger. “I’m a meat-and-potatoes guy. On occasion, I’ll try something different.”

“And I like nothing better than a big juicy steak.”

He could tell she was fibbing, trying to fit in with her new surroundings. He doubted she could change that much. She came from a different world. At her core, Gabby was a city woman who dreamed of visiting Paris and ate sushi with chopsticks.

Despite their differences, he wasn’t willing to step aside and let her get railroaded. If anything, she needed his protection more than a cowgirl who was born and bred in the mountains. Glancing over at the file folder, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure out what Fox is after.”

She wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I barely had a chance to check out the numbers, but I noticed in the art portfolio that Michelle’s work was selling for big bucks. The real wealth in her estate might not be the property. It could be her paintings.”

“You’re right.” He hadn’t considered the artwork. Living so close to Michelle and watching her work, he’d come to take her art for granted. “While we’re in town, we should pay a visit to her agent.”

Their meeting with Fox couldn’t have been much worse. He hoped Osborne would be more helpful.

* * *

T
HE
O
SBORNE
G
ALLERY
wasn’t easy to find. Instead of being located among the high-rent retail boutiques, the gallery was on the outer edge of town. If there hadn’t been a sign by the edge of the road, Zach would have thought this place was a private residence with an overabundance of weird lawn sculptures. He parked the truck in a small gravel lot where there were two other vehicles.

Gabby unsnapped her seat belt and peered through the windshield at a huge gray-ish statue that must have been ten feet tall. “What do you think that’s supposed to be?”

“Looks like a tree with wings.”

“Four sets of wings,” she said. “Maybe it’s supposed to represent motion, like a tree springing into the air.”

Either way, the thing was damn ugly. He shoved open his door. “Let’s get this over with. Bring the portfolio.”

“Don’t forget to lock the doors to the truck. Fox made me promise that I wouldn’t lose the legal papers, even if these are only copies.”

Under his breath, he muttered, “And we wouldn’t want to disappoint Fox.”

He’d never been good at dealing with people in authority, especially those who enjoyed lording it over everybody else. More than once, he’d turned down a client who had plenty of money but a nasty attitude. People like them didn’t deserve to own horses.

He followed her along the flagstone pathway that wound through several other odd statues to a wide deck outside a good-sized house with a shake-shingle roof. In this area, a property like this would be worth millions. Selling other people’s art must be profitable. Rather than walking right in, he pressed the doorbell.

The double doors swung open, framing a tall, thin man with a gray ponytail and a fringed vest that hung down to his knees. He wore shapeless pants that draped over the tops of his sandals. The front of his loose-fitting shirt was open to the waist, showing off a necklace that reminded Zach of a dream catcher.

When Gabby introduced herself, he wrapped his arms around her. “My dear, I’ve been expecting you.”

“Did Mr. Fox tell you I might visit?”

“In my morning meditation, my spirit guide said I would connect with Michelle. I’m Harrison Osborne. Welcome.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said as she detached herself from his embrace. “And this is Zach Sheffield.”

He stuck out his hand to avoid getting hugged. Osborne’s eyes were too bright, his palms were sweaty and he kept licking his lips—all symptoms of drug use. Zach had to wonder if the art dealer might have an addiction problem.

Osborne led the way into his gallery, which was bright, well lit and divided with partitions allowing more wall space for hanging paintings. The artwork ranged from detailed landscapes to bold splashes of color. Osborne regarded each with a genuine fondness as though seeing it for the first time. He grabbed Zach’s arm and dragged him over to a large canvas filled with zigzag lines. “Do you feel it? The ocean?”

Zach shut him down before he could launch into a sales pitch. “I’m not in the market, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t afford any of these paintings.”

Osborne dropped his arm and turned to Gabby. “I don’t have any of your great-aunt’s work on display because I’m prohibited from selling it until the inventory is complete.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Gabby went to a seating area beside a window and placed the portfolio on the coffee table. “What can you tell me about paintings that haven’t been listed?”

“No time to talk,” Osborne said with an extravagant wave of his hands. “I’m dreadfully busy.”

As far as Zach could tell, there was no one else in the gallery and no sign of pressing business. Osborne’s claim to be busy was a ruse. He wasn’t going to let this guy hustle them out the door without answers. “You probably know that Gabby is Michelle Rousseau’s heir. If you want to continue handling her artwork, you might want to make time for us.”

“Where are my manners? Would you care for tea?”

Gabby nodded. “That would be lovely.”

When Osborne darted through the partitions and disappeared into another part of the house, she whispered, “Did Michelle ever mention him to you?”

“Never.”

She flipped open the neatly inventoried portfolio. “It’s hard to believe anybody so scattered could put together these tidy lists. He must have an accountant or something.”

And they weren’t going to learn anything by sitting politely and waiting for Osborne to make another flamboyant appearance. Zach knew better than to let an addict take control of the situation. “Let’s see what he’s doing.”

They picked their way through the artwork to a door in the rear wall that opened into a room with a dining table and chairs. Unlike the bright, clean display area, this was a place where someone lived. On the opposite side of the room, there appeared to be a kitchen. Hearing voices, Zach paused to eavesdrop.

Osborne was talking to another man. His words were rushed. “Why did they come here? I don’t need this kind of pressure. It’s too much for me.”

“Deal with it,” the other man said.

“It’s so easy for you. If I lose my reputation, I lose everything.”

“Then get rid of them.”