“It may take a couple of hours. I did have my secretary ask you to clear your schedule for the afternoon.” They walked across the soft carpet through the wood line doorway and past the receptionist’s desk. Mr. Goodall held the front door open.
Cash swaggered into the sunshine, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses out of his pocket. He’d found them on the job site a few days ago and cleaned them up. He clapped Mr. Goodall on the back, sending the man a step forward. “I’ll follow you.” He motioned to his motorcycle.
Mr. Goodall frowned. “It that even safe?”
Laughing, Cash threw his jean-clad leg over the seat and fired up the engine. It roared and then settled into the study purr, the handles vibrating against his palms. He’d bought the bike off a junk dealer when he was a senior in high school. Years of restoration work brought out its original beauty. He didn’t like to think about those days for too long. Invariably, memories of his father’s alcohol abuse and the sweetness of Maggie’s kisses would wash over him. Maybe if things had turned out different with Maggie, it wouldn’t hurt so much to remember.
Mr. Goodall must have sensed that he wasn’t going to get an answer to his question about the motorcycle. He climbed into his Lexus and backed out of the reserve spot in front of his law office.
Moose Creek was the kind of mountain home that most people dreamed of. The shops were quaint. The mountains were full of lush vegetation, skiing, mountain biking, and countless trails for backpackers and hikers alike. Main Street was lined with sycamore trees and flower boxes that were just starting to show off their blooms. The soft scent of fresh-grown grass and fresh air brushed over Cash as he motored behind the Lexus.
They drove through suburbs and then out to the edge of town, where Cash fought the urge to open up his Harley and take the wide turns. He held back, following the cautious driving lawyer because that’s what Grandpa wanted him to do. No one else could get Cash to march to their drum, but he’d respected his grandfather in life and wouldn’t disrespect him in death.
Grandpa hadn’t been the type to use words likeI love youorI’m proud of you. In fact, Cash hadn’t really gotten to know him until after high school graduation, when his world had fallen apart.
The Lexus took a right at a fence post. There wasn’t a street sign or even a leaning mailbox to mark the turn. For all he knew, the guy was gonna take him out in the woods and leave him there.
They took a sharp left and the trees dropped away, revealing an old, decrepit mansion of a house. Wood siding peeled away from the support beams. A window in the upstairs was broken. The front door hung slightly ajar, welcoming every raccoon, squirrel, and spider in the woods into the building.
Cash killed the engine and just sat, taking it all in. The silence after the roar of the motor was deafening, before the wildlife picked up again. The chatter of birds and the complaints of a chipmunk were music in their own right. There was something about the gabled roof, the gingerbread finish over the second-story window, and the latticework across the big front porch that caught his attention. Where others might see the space as a Halloween moneymaker, he saw the makings of a home.
Mr. Goodall made his way to the porch, motioning for Cash to join him.
“This is such a bad idea,” Cash mumbled as he made his way up the overgrown brick walkway.
A broken floorboard on the porch had to be avoided, but the structure underneath Cash’s snakeskin boots was solid. Mr. Goodall pushed the door all the way open. The resounding creek was enough to make goose bumps break out on Cash’s arms.
He folded them and glared. “What’s this about?”
Mr. Goodall dug through his satchel. “This is what your grandfather left for you. The house, the surrounding 50 acres, all of it.”
Cash threw his head back and laughed, sending birds scattering from the trees in all directions. So this was what Grandpa really thought of Cash. All those lessons in the woodshop, the time spent restoring or remodeling a room in Grandpa’s house. It was all about the free labor. Well, no one said Grandpa wasn’t cheap—even if he was the richest man in Moose Creek. So what of it? Knowing Grandpa didn’t think he was worth more than a run-down building and some spooky woods cut deep. Not that he’d let the lawyer see that.
Mr. Goodall slapped his palm against the porch beam. “I assure you this is no laughing matter, sir.”
Cash sauntered down the steps even as he spoke over his shoulder. “The old man got me good. For a minute there, I thought he might have actually cared.”
“But he did.” Mr. Goodall raced off the porch, tripping over the hole that they had so carefully avoided before. “Mr. Diamante!”
The desperation of the man’s voice caused Cash to pause. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder. “What?”
“There’s more to this place than what you see.”
Cash stared longingly at his bike with the American flag flapping on the pole on the end—a testament to his four years of military service. He had a hundred and ten things to do and not a moment to waste on this fool’s errand. Yet something inside of him didn’t want to give up on Grandpa, didn’t want to believe that his last act was one of cruelty. Yet … how could he dismiss the fact that his cousins were draped in jewels, surrounded by cash, and driving shiny vehicles while he’d been given a pile of old wood?
He looked up at the gray sky, the clouds so dense he couldn’t tell where one started and the other ended. “Mr. Goodall, I have a thriving business and a lot of work to do. My grandpa may have thought this was all I was worth, but I’m done using what other people think of me as my yardstick.”
Mr. Goodall ran his hand over his greasy hair. “That’s exactly why your grandfather wanted you to have this place. Your cousins are a bunch of pretentious pricks—his words, not mine. None of them would be able to see the potential of this place, and it’s one your grandfather held dear.”
Cash turned around, scanning the outside of the building for anything of worth. The roof needed replacing. “Give me one good reason I should accept this headache.”
“Because, in your grandfather’s words,you’re the only one on the planet who would be able to bring this place back to life.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s an old family property, and I have records stating that Thomas Jefferson himself stayed here for several weeks. The building is not only part of your family but historically significant.”
Cash tucked his thumbs into his pockets and turned, shuffling his feet forward. Darn it all if Grandpa hadn’t hit two of his soft spots with one blow. Not the family history thing—although it would be great to rub the fact that he had the family historical home in his cousins’ noses—but patriotism and the Founding Fathers made up two of his foundation stones.
