Chapter Nineteen
That night Lincoln Hart died in his sleep.
Mabel discovered him when she came in the morning to check on him, and she called Tristan immediately.
Heather stood in her bedroom doorway, crying, watching as the paramedics came to take her grandfather’s lifeless body away. She regretted that she never got the chance to thank him, to let him know how her stay had changed everything for her.
The days that followed were mostly a blur as Mabel, in her efficient way, made all the funeral arrangements. Heather did what she could to help but found staying out of the way helped most of all.
People from all over the parish came to pay their respects, bringing food and drink, staying until late hours of the night to visit and reminisce. Heather found it comforting to talk to people who had known her grandparents. She liked hearing the stories. Now, it would be the only way to learn anything about him. It saddened her a bit that she’d wasted so much time with him when she had first arrived.
She saw Tristan throughout the days, but for the most part, he didn’t look at her. She didn’t blame him. He interacted with the neighbors and friends, taking their sympathy and sharing in their stories. This was what Hart Ranch was truly about. She saw that now. Community, togetherness, people caring about each other. It lifted her heart, knowing that the land would be well taken care of.
They buried her grandfather next to her grandmother, in the small parish cemetery in the nearby town of Mer Rouge. The sermon was thankfully short, and afterward Heather stood next to the beautiful dark casket draped in white roses.
“Ms. Hart?”
Heather turned around and saw a sturdy man dressed in black. He looked to be in his mid-to-late sixties, with silver hair and a heavily tanned face. “I’m Clevant Grand, Lincoln’s lawyer. We talked before, when he requested you come for a visit.”
“Yes,” she said. “I remember.” She had known this moment was coming and had dreaded it.
“Can we talk?”
“Would you like to come back to the ranch?”
He nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”
****
Heather stood in the den, staring out of the window. Her black dress felt uncomfortable, like a glove that had been put on wrong.
Mr. Grand walked into the room and shut the door behind him. Heather turned and watched as he loosened his tie.
“Do you mind?” he asked with a gesture to the minibar in the room.
She shook her head.
“Lincoln was a friend, as well as my client,” he said with a sigh as he poured himself a tumbler of scotch. “I’m going to miss him.” He downed the drink before placing the glass aside. “It’s all yours, Ms. Hart. But then again, I guess you’re not surprised. You were his granddaughter, after all…”
“I’d like to give it to Tristan.”
The lawyer blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Can you do a transfer of ownership? I don’t know the legal name for it, but I would like the deed to the ranch and all the holdings turned over to Tristan Rogers.”
It took a moment for Mr. Grand’s mouth to close before he shook his head to clear it. “Ms. Hart, do you know the net value of this ranch? Or how much your grandfather was worth? You’re a rich woman.”
“I was a rich woman when he was alive, Mr. Grand. Now I’m an intruder in a place I don’t really belong. My grandfather tried to make me feel like a part of this land, but it was an experiment that failed. Tristan should have been named successor.”
“But you’re his granddaughter. You’re a Hart.”
“It’s just a name, Mr. Grand. A thousand other people have the same.”
The lawyer’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Heather didn’t have the heart to explain her comment.
“It’ll take some time for me to draft up the papers, clear the title.”
“That’s fine.” She felt the tears welling, and she wanted to escape before they fell. She didn’t want anyone seeing her heart shattering. “Well, then, that’s just great. I, uh, have to go. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, so I have to pack.”
“Leaving? Where are you going?”
She fell silent for a moment and just stared at him because she would never, ever, tell him that of all the possible destination places, here is where she wanted to stay.
Instead, she smiled and said, “I have your number so I’ll let you know my address so you can, you know, send the papers.”
She hurried out of the den, her heels making loud staccato raps on the hardwood floor as she escaped up the stairs and into her room. She barely had the door closed before the tears burst forth, unable to be contained any longer.