Page 18 of Won't Back Down
I took a bite and leaned back against the tree. “So, shit’s got to go through probate, right? There’s time to figure out the rest. The ferry company has been running perfectly fine on its own. Your grandparents have people in place who’ve been running the day-to-day of it for a long time. There’s no reason to change the setup just because you’re going to be the CEO or president or whatever the hell.”
A little of the tension seemed to bleed out of her shoulders. “I suppose you’re right on that. I’ve got time.”
We sat a while in silence as that sank in.
“What do you want to do? I remember growing up how much you loved their house. Do you plan to move up there?”
“I hardly know. I mean, I’ve been living with Bree for years now. She doesn’t need the money for rent necessarily. I guess I could. I don’t know. That’s… Nothing went the way I thought.”
Understatement of the century. “I bet your parents were pretty pissed.”
Her laugh this time held a harsh edge. “Oh, my parents. Yeah. So my grandfather decided since he was dead, he was absolutely going to tell them exactly what he thought of them, in no uncertain terms, before announcing they weren’t getting a penny.”
“Seriously?”
I listened as she reeled off what she could remember of the letter the lawyer had been required to read aloud. Then I whistled. “Damn. I mean, most of us have wanted to say the same, but never had the opportunity. So I say, good on Granddaddy Henry. Your parents needed to hear all that.”
Willa shook her head. “I don’t know that they did. It’s not going to change anything. We’re not going to suddenly not be estranged. And now it’s infuriated my father. He insists he’s going to contest the will. Mr. O’Shea says that there’s no way to contest it—that it’s solid—so if they want to waste their time and money on attorneys, then okay. Apparently, that’s not going to change anything for me.”
I hoped Roland O’Shea was as good an attorney as he thought he was and that he’d run interference, so whatever legal tactics her parents employed wouldn’t touch her.
“I still say that it’s nice for somebody to have called them out for being shits as parents.” I could think of a laundry list of other infractions from growing up. Things I wished I could have done something more about back then. I was so fucking grateful she was no longer in a position where she had to be protected from her parents.
“You’re your own woman, Wren. And you’re going to do amazing things with every single asset you inherited. I have faith in you.”
She shot me a rueful smile that finally looked a little more like the woman I knew. “Well, that makes one of us.”
CHAPTER 9
WILLA
In the two days since the reading of my grandfather’s will, I’d sequestered myself up at Sutter House. I wasn’t staying here. Not yet, anyway. But I’d been taking the time to give the whole house a thorough clean from top to bottom. Help would’ve been available at only a word, but I needed the space to process the implications of the legacy I’d been gifted. Banishing dust and grime provided visible progress over something I actually felt in control of. Soon enough I’d have to start making a list of all the things that needed doing, but right now I was content to bask in the ocean breeze floating through all the open windows as it blended with the scents of lemon polish, rosemary, and the Vivaldi that played on the little Bluetooth speaker I’d been carting from room to room. Roy napped in a spot of sunshine in front of a window, paws twitching as he chased seagulls in his dreams.
It felt good to tend to the house. To feel I had the right to, though I hadn’t yet fully grasped that all this was mine. Mr. O’Shea had notified the ferry company staff, and I’d be meeting with them later to allay any fears that I intended to make any major changes. I’d need to meet with my grandparents’ accountant to go over the books, both private and business. All things that rather terrified me. I wanted to honor the gift I’d been given. Granddaddy wouldn’t have done this if he thought I wasn’t up to the task. So I’d get myself there. Somehow.
The sound of tires crunching on the crushed-shell drive pulled my attention out front. Roy rose from his nap, instantly on alert as he trotted toward the door.
It was Sawyer, probably. He was the one most likely to seek me out up here. I was trying not to think too hard about what that might mean because I hadn’t forgotten what Bree had said about him that first night he’d been back. I simply accepted that he’d been a fixture in my everyday, pitching in without my asking since he’d returned to Hatterwick. That was all I had the capacity for just now, so I’d let it ride.
But when I stepped out front, it was Roland O’Shea stepping out of his stately sedan. Even before he shoved up his sunglasses, I registered the tension in his frame and around his mouth.
My hands fisted around the microfiber cloth I’d been dusting with. “What is it?”
“Can we go inside and sit down?”
Talons of anxiety dug into my ribs. Roy leaned against my hip in comfort.
“Of course, please come in.” My voice came out admirably level and controlled considering the chaos inside me.
He followed me into the kitchen.
“Can I offer you coffee or tea?”
“No, no. Have a seat. Please.”
Every instinct was shouting at me to run from whatever news he brought, but I lowered myself into a chair, digging my fingers into Roy’s ruff.
Mr. O’Shea cleared his throat. “I will be brief and to the point, because time is going to be of the essence.”