PROLOGUE
ROWAN
Iwas doing my best to look busy as my manager wandered past my cubicle, delivering another reminder about the end-of-quarter productivity.
“On it, boss.”
My tone was a lot more confident than it should’ve been. Luckily, my phone rang before she could ask for more details. I didn’t recognize the number, but I still took the lifeline.
“Rowan Cooke, how may I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Cooke. My name is Gerald Huxley. I’m an attorney representing the estate of Eleanor Cooke.”
I straightened automatically, my rolling chair squeaking loudly enough that my nearby coworker glared at me. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Eleanor Cooke,” he repeated. “Your grandmother.”
I froze. “That can’t be right. Are you sure you have the correct Rowan Cooke?”
“It took my investigator longer than expected to track you down, but there’s no doubt that you’re who I’ve been looking for.” He rattled off my birthdate, where I was born, and myparents’ names before adding, “You’re specifically named in her will.”
My brows drew together. “That doesn’t make any sense. If she’s my grandmother on my dad’s side, he’s still alive. Shouldn’t you be calling him instead?”
“He was only left a nominal amount to prevent a challenge of the will, and he received his check several months ago,” he explained. “Your grandmother didn’t leave much to chance, though. She avoided probate for her bank account and property deed by setting them up for transfer to you upon her death.”
Even with the additional information, I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea of a relative I barely remembered meeting once when I was five or six, leaving me something so big. “I’m really inheriting a house?”
“A cottage, yes,” he confirmed. “I’ll email the details.”
“Okay, thank you,” I murmured.
“My condolences for your loss.”
I mumbled my thanks, his kindness making me feel like a fraud.
I set the phone back down, my mind whirling. My life was incredibly predictable. Nothing interesting ever happened. This was an unexpected curveball.
It was weird to think about having a grandmother I’d never really gotten to know. And now the chance was gone. She died, and I hadn’t even recognized her name.
I stared at the phone for a long moment after ending the call, the office noise fading into a low drone around me. I briefly thought about calling my dad to ask him about my grandmother, but he hadn’t even bothered to tell me she’d passed away when he found out. I’d prefer not to be the person to let him know he only got a fraction of her assets while I got the rest.
I wasn’t very close with my parents, and this kind of thing was bound to make things between us even more strained.
None of this felt real, but then a message from the lawyer popped up in my email. The practical part of my brain finally elbowed its way back to the front, and I opened it to read through all the details he provided. Apparently, my grandmother had been worried about my father meddling with the inheritance. She had taken precautions to limit the damage he could do, including warning the lawyer not to ask my parents for my contact information.
As far as I knew, my dad hadn’t talked to his mom in at least ten years, but she still apparently knew him well enough to be worried. He was going to be furious when he found out what I had inherited.
Pulling up my web browser, I did some research into the town where my grandmother’s house was located. From the photos I found, Timber Ridge was a small mountain town with a main street that looked like it’d come straight out of a movie set. And the real estate prices were surprisingly high. The cottage had to be worth a lot more than my savings account currently held.
And there was an account at a local bank with an unknown balance just waiting for me to sign the paperwork.
As sad as it was to lose the chance to get to know my grandmother, she had left me a financial lifeline. One that came with charming scenery, judging by the photos online. The perfect place for a long weekend to put her affairs in order, along with a reason for a last-minute request for time off that my boss couldn’t deny.
I took a steadying breath, tucked my cell into my pocket, and headed straight for my boss’s office before I could talk myself out of it. She was typing furiously, and I knocked lightly on the frame.
“Hey, Carol. I need to request Friday off.”
She didn’t look up. “Which Friday?”
