“I will give you each a certified copy of the will as soon as we finish.” He nodded toward two yellow legal-size envelopes on the corner of the desk. “Now, please, allow me to continue.”
Effective immediately, Tara Elliott and Samuel Kennesaw must commit their full attention, resources and energy to filling the space with profitable enterprises that will serve the financial interests of Beardsly, Texas. The two must work together in a cooperative manner at all times. If either should refuse the conditions of this gift, or fail to meet their portion of the conditions, the Elliott Building and Sycamore House will become the full possession of the other.
I know many people will find this to be an odd bequest. Let them think what they will. My granddaughter will understand why I’m doing this and that’s all that matters. May God richly bless Tara and Sam.
The benediction echoed against the high ceiling.
Needing a moment to compose herself, Tara stood and turned away from the men. She stepped to the inviting warmth of the window, folded her arms and stared out at the shady street.
The town hadn’t changed a bit since the afternoon college sophomore Tara Elliott announced to graduate student Sam Kennesaw that she intended to marry him one day. To cap off her bold behavior she’d stood on tiptoe to plant a chaste kiss on his unresponsive lips.
After all these years, his polite rejection was still painful. Her grandmother had stoked the pain burning through Tara’s teenage heart by insisting life held too much promise to settle at nineteen for the son of their housekeeper. No amount of pleading and tears could stop Miriam from ensuring Sam would no longer be a distraction.
So, Tara thought, this is the surprise you warned me about, Grandmother. Your brilliant plan to get me and Sam to come home. Nice try, but a little too much water’s run under that bridge. You’ve made your point. You win. Sam didn’t love me then and from the blank expression in his eyes, I’d say nothing’s changed.
“Mr. Kennesaw,” her voice was husky with emotion. She cleared her dry throat and turned to stare into the charcoal-gray eyes.
“Please, call me Sam.” He smiled insolently. “Thanks to your granny, we’re business partners. No point standing on formality now.”
Tara uncrossed her arms, sweeping back the black knit jacket, positioning a fist on each hip. “You can’t be taking this seriously. My grandmother never intended for you to accept her gift. This was her way of forcing us together for a few moments as a lesson to me.”
Sam lifted a dark eyebrow as he glanced from Tara to the sixty-something attorney, who tapped a fountain pen on Miriam Elliott’s last will and testament.
“So, what do you say, Latimer? Is this a legal document or just therapy for the little lady?”
Wade Latimer stopped tapping and struggled to suppress a smile. “It most certainly is legal. Miriam discussed her wishes on this subject with me at great length. The economy of Beardsly has been suffering for years and she believed your combined expertise is just what the town needs.
“However,” Latimer continued, “she intended this to be a collective gift, requiring a partnership effort. Her conditions are firm. If you’re unable to honor the terms of the will, Tara, the Elliott building and your family home will become the property of Mr. Kennesaw.”
She felt the flood of familiar heat and knew she was about to blush from collarbone to hairline. All her life she’d hated the terrible affliction that made her seem as if she were burning up from the inside out. A pale face and deep auburn hair already set her apart from the tanned residents of east Texas. Every time her skin flushed red, she resembled a cartoon character about to explode.
Humiliated by the embarrassing display of emotion, she felt fine perspiration break through the skin around her nose and lips. She fought the urge to swipe it away. Instead, she closed her eyes, indulging in a deep-breathing technique and a silent prayer to get past the confrontation. She dropped her arms to her sides and expelled a pent-up breath, then fixed her eyes on Sam’s expressionless gaze as he spoke.
“Are you gonna honor the terms of the will or is the property mine, lock, stock and barrel? What’s it gonna be, Rusty?”
“Excuse me?” She bristled at the nickname twelve-year-old Sam had used for her on the days when he accompanied his mother to clean Sycamore House. Others had picked it up and it had stuck like bubble gum on hot pavement.
“From what I’ve seen, it’s no wonder the town’s in trouble. It could use some modernization.” Sam nodded, approving of his own idea. “I’ll enjoy knocking down those old places.”
“That’s nothing to joke about and you know it,” she sputtered. “The Elliott Building is a town icon and Sycamore House qualifies to be registered as an historical landmark.”
“Not for much longer. I’ll have them both bulldozed by the end of the week unless you have a better plan.”
She shoved the jacket sleeves to elbow length and once more folded her arms across her chest. “I believe the terms of the will require the property to be used for profitable enterprise. What could you possibly have to offer this town?”
Sam untangled his long legs and stood. He reached for the legal envelope that contained his copies and tucked it beneath a strong arm.
“Well, let’s see.” His eyes narrowed as though he were thinking it over. “I’m male, I’ve lived in this state for thirty-four years and I have a master’s degree in economics. I think that qualifies me to have an idea or two on how a Texan might spend his discretionary income. Don’t you reckon?”
Her heart raced. He was serious.
If she didn’t do something to end this farce, what was supposed to be a brief encounter would turn into a full-blown crisis. The owners of The Heritage, one of New York’s premier auction houses, were meeting in less than a week to discuss her future with the family-owned firm. Being a no-show would not bode well for the junior associate.
She turned to Wade Latimer. “Can we at least put this off for a few months? I have a job and an apartment in New York, and I’m expected back at work by the end of the week. I’m sure Mr. Kennesaw must have obligations, as well.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Sam drawled. “I’m between projects at the moment and the timing is perfect to start a new business venture.”
“In other words, you’re out of work and willing to jump on my grandmother’s generosity like a chicken on a june bug.” Tara surprised herself with how easily she slipped back into Southern colloquialism.
He smiled. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Her breath caught at the sight of his even white teeth. She recalled the boy whose bicuspids had been crowded and crooked. Clearly, he’d invested whatever money he’d earned in expensive orthodontia. It was worth it. His smile, even surrounded by the scruffy whiskers, was packed with appeal.
“Besides,” Sam continued, “your granny’s will says ‘effective immediately,’ and last time I checked that meant right this minute. I don’t have any intention of waitin’ a few months.”
“He’s correct, Tara.”
Incredulous, she swung around to the lawyer who continued to ruin her day.
“It was Miriam’s desire that you both remain in Beardsly to assume joint development of the Elliott Building. If Mr. Kennesaw is prepared to do so, I’m afraid you have no option other than full cooperation.”
Wade Latimer would not be her ally. If anything, he seemed to be goading her into accepting the challenge.
“Is there another office where I can have some privacy to use the phone?” Her mind churned over the growing list of details that would have to be handled right away. She seemed to have no choice but to submit to this bizarre arrangement in order to protect her grandmother’s