A Holiday to Remember. Helen R. Myers

which would be more of a pain in bad weather than it already was. Besides, the fancier gizmo might help sell the place faster—not that he was planning to do that.

      Oh, yes, you are.

      Back in the car, he saw a front-door light and a security light by the barn. When they came to the ranch house, he saw it would take more than a fancy front gate to entice a buyer. The house was white brick with plain windows adorned with cheap miniblinds and a white metal roof. There were no shrubs around the place, and maybe the pastures were well tended, but the yard looked like it was nothing but weeds. He’d seen military barracks that looked more inviting.

      “Home sweet home,” he muttered with a sinking feeling.

      “It could be. It just needs a little TLC. Eberardo has had his hands full with the animals.” Alana put the vehicle in Park. “Do you want me to show you where the important things are?”

      “I shouldn’t take up any more of your time.”

      As he began to reach for the door handle again, Alana touched his arm. “Wait.”

      Mack turned back in surprise. When he saw her pensive look, curiosity got the best of him.

      “You need to know something, and I’d like you to hear it from me rather than just reading it cold and misunderstanding. In the will,” she said, nodding to the envelope in his grasp, “Fred was concerned that something might have happened to you before he actually passed—or that somehow the place would end up on the auction block, or worse.”

      Mack raised an eyebrow. “What would he have considered worse?”

      “Your mother sweeping in and taking possession.”

      Mack grunted. That would have done it, he thought wryly. “So what did he do? Just spit it out,” he ordered, as she continued to hesitate.

      “He adjusted his will so that if you died, or if you relinquish claim on the estate, it falls to me.”