CHAPTER TWO
As the Golf disappeared in a cloud of dust, Daniel went inside the gate before locking it. Memories of the one summer he was allowed to be a child poured back as fast as he had downed Grandma Mae’s lemonade.
How had he not recognized Amanda Fowler? The last photo he had seen of her had been from her high school graduation invitation sent by Grandma Mae, which he had ignored like all the Christmas cards that had stopped coming a while ago. She hadn’t changed much since the photo was taken. Her hair might have been longer—hard to tell with it up in a ponytail—but it was still the soft-brown color of the deer they used to watch. And those eyes sparkled as vibrantly as they had twenty years ago. She had been wearing a skirt rather than cutoff jeans and the twigs she’d once had for legs . . . better not even go there.
He pulled out his phone and punched speed dial. “Hey, Colin, do me a favor. Flag the local hospital and emergency clinics for a Mandy, or Amanda Fowler? Then make sure the bill is paid in full.”
The voice on the end of the line grunted. “You know how hard that is with HIPAA.”
“Not as hard as you tell me it is.” Colin had been his roommate from the time they were both ten years old at the boarding school they’d both detested until college, when they’d chosen different paths. Top of his class at MIT, Colin could probably get into any computer in the United States if he wanted to. Good thing they were still friends as well as business partners, like their fathers.
“Are you at the Indiana property?”
Daniel shifted his phone to the other ear. “Yes. I still can’t decide what to do with it. I love the pond and the hills and all the trees, but Grandfather’s monstrosity of a house, not so much. And before you ask, she hurt her ankle, and, no, I didn’t touch her. She had an accident that was kind of my fault.”
“Do I need to give legal a heads-up?”
“No, this one won’t sue.”
“Are you sure?”
Daniel stopped at the front door of the caretaker’s house and punched in his code on the security pad. “I bet she doesn’t even hit social media with the tale.”
Colin laughed. “You’re kidding. Is she eighty?”
“No, she turned twenty-six on February 9.”
“Woah, there, how well do you know this woman?”
“Not the way you are thinking, Colin. Don’t even go there.”
“How do you know Miss She-Won’t-Tell?” Colin’s curiosity was annoying but justified. Over the last few months, every time Daniel even blinked at a woman, she tried to turn the gesture into some scandal to have her fifteen minutes of fame with one of America’s most eligible bachelors, as determined by some group of publicists trying to sell magazines.
“Well, enough to know she was raised better than that.” Better than me.
“That is no guarantee.” Daniel heard Colin’s rapid typing on the keyboard. No doubt he had flagged every one of Mandy Fowler’s social media accounts. “I need better than that.”
“She called me Danny.”
Silence reverberated from the other end of the line. Daniel’s thumb hovered above disconnect when Colin’s voice came back on. “She checked into the county hospital ER. She is the little girl you used to talk about, isn’t she?”
Not little anymore, but just as cute. “Colin, get the bill paid.”
“Done.”
“And, Colin. Stay out of the rest of her files. Anything not in the public eye stays out of yours. Got it?”
“Sure.” Colin paused for a second. “If this is the Mandy I think it is, think before you act.”
Too late for that.
Candace came rushing into the emergency room. “Mandy! How dare you send a text like that.” Several heads turned toward her voice.
Mandy leaned forward and tried to shush her roommate. “People are looking.”
“Let ’em look.” But Mandy’s roommate lowered her voice and took the molded plastic seat next to her.
Mandy rolled her eyes. “You say that because you like them looking.”
Today Candace sported an oversized black art-deco T-shirt and vibrant blue-and-violet hair, one of her favorite wigs. She turned to a gawking toddler and smiled. The child laughed and pointed. “Look! Clown!” His mother picked him up and moved to the other side of the room.
Candace turned back to Mandy. “So, what happened? ‘Fell at C Mansion. Meet at ER. DC is a jerk’ is hardly enough information.”
“I went to take a photo, and the—”
“Excuse me, Mandy Fowler?” A nurse parked a wheelchair in front of the two women. Mandy moved to the chair and jerked her head so Candace would follow.
“Is she family?” The nurse didn’t make any attempt to mask his skepticism.
“She’s my cousin.” Eighth, twice removed? Something close to that.
The nurse studied them both, no doubt comparing Mandy’s fair skin to Candace’s olive for a moment before signaling Candace to follow.
Mandy endured the nurse’s questions and having her vitals taken. She tried not to watch Candace’s reaction to the story she related of how she injured her foot.
The nurse looked up from the computer he was using. “You climbed a fence wearing a skirt?”
“Hence the rip.” Mandy toyed with the frayed edge of the ruined vintage ’90s broomstick skirt.
The nurse raised his brow and continued typing.
As soon as he left, Candace pounced. “You didn’t tell the nurse what startled you? DC? As in the famous, rich one whose grandfather owned the old mansion north of town?”
“Daniel Crawford came up behind me and accused me of trespassing.”
“The Daniel Crawford? Is he as handsome as his photos?” Candace mock-fanned herself.
Didn’t matter how handsome he was. Those piercing-blue eyes could not overcome his rudeness. Mandy didn’t want to get into that now, so she shrugged.
Candace moved beside the gurney. “There has got to be more to the story than that.”
Why isn’t the doctor here yet? “Okay, how about he is the rudest, most bullheaded, most condescending, ungentlemanly person I have ever met. Grandma Mae would tan his hide if she could see him now.”
Candace’s penciled-in brows disappeared under her blue bangs.
Someone tapped on the door. A balding doctor stuck his head in. “Miss Fowler?”
“That’s me.” Anticipating his next question, Mandy rattled off her birth date like a prisoner in a French novel.
The doctor manipulated her foot one way, then another. “I don’t think it’s broken. Let’s double-check with some X-rays.”
An hour later she left the hospital with a large bandage on her elbow, a boot on her left foot, and a pair of crutches. Calcaneal fracture, fortunately a very small one, two to three weeks on crutches, and four to six in the boot. She headed toward her car, but Candace stopped her. “You can’t drive.”
“But I need to get my car home.” Mandy leaned on the crutches. Thanks to a shot of some painkiller, the name of which escaped her, her heel no longer throbbed, but she did feel extraordinarily tired.
Candace guided Mandy to her green Saturn. “I’ll come back with someone and get your car later. I can’t believe you drove yourself here. And I can’t believe he didn’t offer to help you. You are right. He is a jerk.”
Daniel scrolled through Mandy’s public profile. There were photos with friends and roommates and a link to a blog featuring some of her portfolio. Digital arts were her forte, but she wasn’t bad with a brush, either. Only a handful of selfies on another account. Most of the photos were of old buildings and architecture—evidence she’d told the truth about wanting to photograph the old place.
Shutting the browser, he got back to the reason he was here. What to do with the old mansion and nearly a square mile of land. Half of the land had been farmed in corn until the farmer he’d rented to had retired two years ago. The fifteen acres around the house had once been lovingly maintained. Now the roses and lilacs grew as wild as the forested areas his great-grandfather had set aside to be left in their natural state. The same great-grandfather stipulated the land could not be sold for one hundred years, the expiration date only weeks away, the anniversary date of some World War I battle he knew little about.
He flipped through the proposals. Although some were very lucrative, most of them would end up destroying the forested area. Only a couple of the proposals allowed him to subdivide the land. He hadn’t considered them seriously until he recalled the summer spent playing in the pond, climbing trees, and counting clouds. Maybe if he tore down the house, he would enjoy the land. He heard some of the Amish farmers to the northeast were looking for farms for their sons. He could sell off the old farmland to them. But he wasn’t sure how to even approach them with an offer. They wouldn’t want the house either, but they might dismantle it.
The third paragraph on the second page of one proposal stood out. Why were the mineral rights specified in such detail?