Seeking Shelter. Angel Smits
when the phone rang. She answered automatically, with words she’d said a million times. “General Store. Can I help you?”
“Is this—” The man cleared his throat. “Is this Amy Grey?”
“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”
He was quiet for so long she thought maybe they’d lost the connection. “My name is Stephen Haase.” His voice changed. It was stronger, deeper. “I’m with the firm of Bailey, Whitberg and Haase in Los Angeles. I was wondering if you’ve been contacted by a man named Jace Holmes.”
Amy pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a long second. “Why do you ask?”
She didn’t like strangers any better over the phone than in person. This felt weird.
“I’m calling because I’m not comfortable with Mr. Holmes’s intentions.”
Intentions? What century was this guy from? And people thought Rattlesnake Bend was the backward small town? “Who are you?” Something nagged at her memory. What kind of company had a name like that? It sounded almost like—she turned to the pile of mail on the desk and rifled through it—a lawyer. It had to be.
She tried to find the legal papers that had arrived several weeks ago. She knew they were here somewhere. She’d meant to give them to Hank, to go with the rest of the files he kept of her mother’s. Realizing the man was still on the line, she repeated the question he hadn’t yet answered. “Hello? Who are you again?”
“I’m here, Miss Grey. Sorry. I’m an attorney. You probably don’t remember me, but you used to come to my office with your mother.”
“You knew my mom?”
“Years ago, yes. She used to be one of my clients.”
Used to be, as in she’d fired him? Or her death had severed the arrangement? “I’m sorry. I...I don’t remember. And I don’t know much about my mother’s business.” She was telling the truth. Mom hadn’t had much business sense, but she’d had the ranch. Was that what this was about? Amy couldn’t think of what else it could be.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Haase.” She wished for a customer—anything—to give her an excuse to hang up. “You’ll need to talk to Hank Benton. He handles all my mother’s business.”
“No, Miss Grey. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear. I worked mostly with your mother, but this is actually about your father’s estate.”
If her heart had faltered before, it seemed to completely stall now. “His...what?”
Jace had known her father. He’d said so. “Estate” meant her father was dead, didn’t it? Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Maybe she should have opened the letter sooner.
She glanced unseeingly at the front window of the store, in the direction of the garage where Jace was working on his motorcycle. Then something else clicked in her mind.
This man knew Jace as well? What did that mean? What the hell was going on?
“Mr. Haase? Why are you calling me?” A part of her didn’t want to hear this, but she knew there was no avoiding it.
“I...I’m sorry, Miss Grey. Your father passed away a couple of months ago. I sent you and your mother a letter—”
“My mother’s been gone for nearly ten years.”
The silence was heavy with the man’s shock. “I’m...I’m so sorry. I liked Madeline.”
What kind of friend hadn’t known she had died? Amy didn’t know what to say to him, what to ask next.
“Have you been able to read through the documents I sent you?”
“Uh, not yet.” She really needed to find those papers and read them.
The man cleared his throat. “I can give you the basics. Your father named Mr. Holmes as his sole heir. I was checking to see if you plan to contest the will.”
“I... Do you think I should?” Jace hadn’t mentioned a thing about it. Was he hiding the information, or did he assume she’d read the papers and knew?
The attorney paused for another long moment, as if considering what to say. “I can’t advise you on that, as I represent your father’s estate. I was just trying to close up the files.”
She didn’t know anything about her father, not even what he’d done for a living. She cringed, knowing she sounded shallow, but she had to ask. “What exactly did he leave him?”
“There wasn’t much, I’m afraid. Your father was homeless for over ten years. The few things that were with him when he died barely fit into his old shopping cart.”
The image of her father finding her in the shopping mall collided with this image, shattering them both.
“Then why would I contest the will?” Wouldn’t that cost money, at least in attorney’s fees? Yeah, like she had extra cash just lying around.
“He was your father, and it is your right.”
It sounded more like the attorney was trying to drum up business for himself rather than help her. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
Curiosity, and something else she couldn’t quite identify, made her start walking. She didn’t remember hanging up the phone. She didn’t lock the front door of the store. She didn’t really care right now.
But she most certainly cared about Jace’s explanation.
This had better be good.
* * *
THE AFTERNOON SUN blistered the desert, but here in Rick’s garage, a huge fan helped move the ungodly heat. Jace rummaged around in the toolbox, trying to focus on the task at hand. Easier said than done.
He kept forcing himself not to look down the street at the store, wondering what Amy was thinking about this morning’s conversation.
The loud snap of the screen door still rang in his ears. What had he expected, telling her about Mac like that? The idea that Amy wouldn’t want to know about her father had never crossed his mind, though it probably should have. He thought of his own dad. He still missed him. If someone came to tell him about his father, he’d take everything they had to offer.
He could tell her about the money. And what? Buy her interest in Mac? No, that wasn’t why he’d come here. If that were the case, he could have sent her the safety deposit box key with a note, or maybe simply a check, and been done with it.
No, he’d come here to finish Mac’s dream. Jace wanted her to know the Mac he’d known.
He’d been tempted to follow her through the open door, but he’d hesitated long enough for a bit of common sense and self-preservation to take hold. He’d go back later. Give her time to digest the knowledge that her father hadn’t forgotten her.
Jace looked down the street at the store again. When was later?
Rick appeared in the doorway just then, thankfully distracting him.
“Hey. You hear anything from Gilcrest?” Jace asked.
“Yeah. Clyde’s coming over here to see Gavin. He’s the sheriff over there, and Lonnie, who owns the parts store, stuck ’em in the squad car. Clyde’ll drop ’em off in the next half hour or so.”
Only in a small town. Some things never changed. “Great. Thanks.” He headed to the bike and knelt down beside it. Time to remove the busted parts to make room for the new.
“You need any help?” Rick stepped closer.
“Not yet, but I can probably use another pair of hands later.”
“Sure, just holler.”
Rick moved away, but Jace could tell he wanted to ask questions. Since it was his garage, Jace couldn’t