Chapter Two
Sawyer felt his smile slip just a tic. It took a lot to catch him off guard, but the pretty brunette and her cute little redheaded sidekick had just managed to do a very fine job of it.
He immediately shot a questioning look at Addie, who merely lifted a knobby shoulder and smiled, utterly unrepentant. That last part didn’t surprise him one bit. “Did you know about this?” he asked her, keeping his tone easy, body relaxed, his smile still in place. “Before you left here this morning, I mean?”
“If you’re asking if I knew D. Bart fathered other children, well then, yes, of course I did.”
At her use of the word other Sawyer felt the brunette’s gaze laser back to him. So she thought they were related by blood? What had she said her name was? Sunny? Sunny Goodwin. She looked about his age, give or take, and despite how young her sidekick was in comparison, he didn’t doubt her claim that Doyle had fathered them both. That wasn’t the shocking part. He looked back at Addie. “Whether or not Doyle fathered any progeny isn’t what I’m asking. I’m asking if you knew about the will?” He knew he should be having this conversation in private, but at this point, what the hell? They would all know the full story at some point. “Are there—” He broke off, glanced at Bailey. Then again, maybe this wasn’t a conversation she needed to be hearing.
“More progeny?” Sunny asked, placing emphasis on the last word. “I have no idea. I never met the man. From what I understand, neither has Bailey.”
The young girl shook her head, and he was struck at how calmly she was taking all this. Calmer than the adults, it seemed.
“So, you two—?” he asked.
“Just met today,” Sunny finished for him, smiling despite her direct, no-nonsense tone. She didn’t seem particularly emotional either, neither pro nor con; she was definitely all business. While Bailey was dressed like she’d just gotten done at the stables, and Addie was dressed, well, like Addie, Sunny had put on a nicely pressed go-to-court city suit, complete with a tailored brown skirt that fell just below the knee, stockings, and sensible brown pumps to match, a smartly tailored tweed jacket over a cream-colored silk blouse, topped off with a pretty teal and green paisley scarf and tasteful gold studs tacked to her earlobes.
Her dark hair was a waterfall of thick waves, made glossier by the afternoon sun and styled to fall neatly just past her shoulders. It was all one length, no bangs, no nonsense, but he guessed that little widow’s peak just to one side had something to do with that. She wore little noticeable makeup, which suited her even features just fine. She was pretty enough, but not overtly striking in any particular way. She had nice cheekbones, a square chin that suited her determined air, dark eyebrows, neatly shaped, that matched dark lashes framing eyes the color of whiskey. Really good whiskey, he found himself thinking. So maybe she was striking, if you paid close attention. Her mouth suited the frank nature of her face, lips well defined, but neither full nor thin, with faint brackets lining either end, which could be from excessive frowning, or smiling. The jury was still out on that. Her speech was easy and smooth, but quick and a little clipped, as if she was used to getting things done in an orderly and swift fashion.
He couldn’t help it; he smiled. “Not from the country, are you?”
“Alexandria,” she said by way of response. “Old Town. And Bailey and I were the only other two named in the will, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He didn’t respond to that. “So, if you just met, where is her—are her—” He broke off, then looked to Bailey. “I’m sorry. You’re standing right there. When I was a kid I hated it when people did that to me.” He gave her a reassuring smile. Or maybe he was just trying to reassure himself. Because What the hell, Doyle?
“Foster care,” Bailey said matter-of-factly. She looked up at him, her eyes squinting a little in the sun as her gaze reached his face, but her expression otherwise unreadable. “So, it’s just me.” She had a sweet, soft, Deep South accent that was completely at odds with her otherwise smooth, seemingly unflappable demeanor.
“But surely you had—?” He stopped, looked at Sunny, then shifted toward the older woman. “Addison Pearl Whitaker, tell me you didn’t just bring a child on up here without telling someone.” He didn’t make it a question.
For her part, Addie merely dug her cane a bit more firmly into the gravel and held his gaze squarely with her own. “She’s a Hartwell, no matter the last name on her birth certificate. Makes her family.” For all that the top of Addie’s head came up no higher than the middle of Sawyer’s chest, she wasn’t the least bit cowed. “And don’t go trotting out my full name, sonny boy. I can still apply this cane to your behind, even if I have to swing a little higher these days.”
His mouth might have kicked up a little at that, mostly because they both knew it was true, and from the corner of his eye he saw Sunny and Bailey do the same. “And what about her foster family?” He looked at Bailey. “Do they know you’re here?” he asked the young girl directly.
“My caseworker knows,” Bailey said, again not seeming overly concerned. She wasn’t defiant or smug, which told him she was smarter than he’d been at her age. Nor did she strike him as being particularly pliant, which was also a good thing. It was more that she was just used to the shuffle. And wasn’t that a sorry statement about the world?
But then, he’d seen parts of the world with kids in situations far sorrier than hers. Still, he admired her evenness. He was sure it had stood her in good stead. Poor kid.
“Good,” he told her; then his smile broadened. He crouched down and braced his hands on his thighs so she wouldn’t have to squint to look up at him. “I only asked because, well, let’s just say Addie Pearl has a reputation for adopting a variety of strays. Most of them of the four-legged variety.” He glanced at Addie, who was once again smiling indulgently at him, then back at Bailey. “But there have been a few of the two-legged variety in there as well. Only one other time, though, was that two-legged stray underage.” He saw the brunette bristle and automatically put her hand on Bailey’s narrow shoulder, but he kept his gaze on Bailey as he finished.
“You?” Bailey asked, not seeming at all intimidated by him. If he could read anything in her expression, it would be curiosity.
He nodded in response.
“How old were you?” Bailey asked, her bright blue eyes glinting with interest for the first time. Now that they were more eye to eye, he noted the freckles hidden under her tanned cheeks. So, she wasn’t so fair skinned she couldn’t be out in the sun, but she sported the requisite redhead sprinkle across the cheeks and nose nonetheless. He wouldn’t say she was a cutie-pie type; her life had made her too cool for that. But there was kidlike spunk mixed in with all that older-than-her-years evenness. He’d bet on it.
“Nine,” he told her.
“I just turned ten,” she offered. “September third.”
“Almost thirty-three,” he told her. “November twelfth.”
“That makes you a Scorpio. I’m Virgo.”
Her comment got an interesting reaction from Sunny, who had already tucked her hand back in the pocket of her jacket, but was now studying the young girl with an unreadable expression on her face.
“I am indeed,” he said, looking back at Bailey.
“You lived here since then?” Bailey wanted to know.
“I spent some time overseas working for Uncle Sam, but this has been home base, yes.”
“Army, right?”
He nodded, surprised at the guess, then saw her gaze dart to the tattoo of two arrows crossed over a sword on his right bicep. “Yes, ma’am.” That didn’t answer how she knew that particular symbol belonged to an Army vet. “Did you know someone who served?”
In response, Bailey merely looked past him to the mill, and her nose might have wrinkled the slightest bit. It was the first hint of any kind of opinion she’d allowed him to see. “You lived in there since you were nine? On a cot?”
“No, child,” Addie said, answering for him. “He lived with me.” Before Sawyer or Bailey could say anything else, Addie smiled and clapped her hands around the knob of her cane, then tapped it decisively into the dirt. “How about it? You two want a closer look at your inheritance?”
Sunny and Bailey both glanced down at the key each held in her respective hand, then shared a brief smile when they caught themselves mirroring each other’s actions again. It was Sunny who spoke next. “I’m guessing we don’t actually need the key to get in,” she said dryly.
The banging of hammers and buzzing of saws had continued unabated while he’d been chatting with them. “At the moment, no.” Sawyer realized they would need to have a much more serious talk, figure things out, but for now, there was certainly no harm in letting them see their grand inheritance, such as it was. Hell, one look at the ancient heap in its current state might resolve everything before they even got started.
He turned and motioned for them to follow him. “Careful, the ground is a bit uneven. More rocks than dirt and they can shift or slide.” He headed back across the grounds toward the big sliding door he’d emerged from earlier. “Do you know the history of the place?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Sunny said, keeping her stride short he noted, so she and Bailey walked side by side, and allowing Addie to keep pace while using her cane over the scrabbly ground. “I didn’t know that silk was ever milled in Virginia, or anywhere in the States for that matter. It’s not one of the exports or crops I ever learned about in school.”
“It was a short-lived experiment,” he told them. “Blue Hollow Falls began as a farming community, very early, in the seventeenth century, in fact. These were British colonies then, and they brought mulberry tree seeds and moth eggs with them that had been given to them by the king.”
“Moths have eggs?” This came from Bailey.
“More like little pods,” he said, deciding that was better than getting into a fertility discussion of any kind with a minor. “These were special moths called bombyx mori. They start as silkworms and spin their pods in mulberry trees. It’s from those pods that silk is made.”
“With babies in them?” Bailey looked disgusted, though he wasn’t sure if it was because that was gross, or an insult to living beings.
“No, after they hatch,” he said. “The pods are like a chrysalis. Like how caterpillars turn into butterflies,” he added, having no actual idea if that was how it worked, but it was close enough for the purposes of history and young ears. “It used to be that the Chinese were the only ones who knew the secret to making silk, but once the news got out, France and Italy started producing, and King James, who was the king of England at the time, decided he wanted in on that business. But the silk moths weren’t too keen on the damp and cold weather in England, so he decided to ship them over here, and see what his loyal subjects could do with them.”
“So, what happened?” Bailey wanted to know.
He caught Sunny intently listening, too. “It took some time,” he said. “After all, they had to grow trees and such. It did work, but because they had to send the pods on big ships across large oceans, which took forever, eventually the folks here figured out it would be better if they could just mill the pods and actually spin the silk right here. Spinning machinery had improved during that century-plus span of time, and we’d become independent from England by then. That’s when this mill came into being.” He paused just outside the big door, sliding it shut to block some of the construction noise as he finished his story. “The mill was initially constructed back in the early eighteen-hundreds by the first Bartholomew Hartwell, but soon after that, crops like tobacco and cotton gained in popularity because they were a lot easier to grow and harvest, with cotton in particular being much easier and cheaper to weave into fiber, and therefore more immediately profitable. Eventually, most of the silk trade died out.”
“Most?” This came from Sunny.
He nodded. “There are still silk mills operating in this country today, but the Hartwell mill shut down around nineteen ten. And the town here, such as it is, mostly shut down then, too.”
Sunny looked around. “There was a town?”
“Still is,” he answered, smiling, liking that she was showing some sincere interest, even if it might make the larger issue at hand more complicated. It was her birthright, too, now. More so than his, truth be told, even if he’d spent most of his life here and she’d just set foot in the place. “You came up and into the Hollow from the north. The town proper is a bit south of here. It’s not very big,” he added, “but we’re a solid community.”
“And we’ve still got mulberry trees around,” Addie put in. “Fortunately, the Hartwells had other business interests back then, so they survived the mill closing, though there was a span of time when none of them lived here. The other town properties passed down to family members who, a generation or two later, like the Hartwells, slowly came back up to the Hollow for one reason or another. Usually hardship in their own families. They started farming the land again. Apple trees mostly. But corn, too. And cows, chickens, sheep, and the like. Subsistence farmers, most of them, back then, but shops began opening up again in town to service those folks, and little by little Blue Hollow Falls came back. Different from before, but home to folks who love it up here and appreciate its history, too. A surprising number of them are direct descendants of the first settlers. I was born here, as was my daddy before me, and his daddy before him, and on back. Not an original settler, but close to it.”
“Back at the courthouse, when they were reading through the will, it said you were a weaver by occupation,” Sunny said. “So, does that mean you weave silk?”
Addie chuckled, shook her head. “No, honey, not that. I do work with fibers though, mostly wool, but some other things mixed in, too. I spin my own fiber, dye it, rack it, bundle it.”
“So, you sell the fiber then, or—”
“I do, yes. Got my own website now and everything.” At Sunny’s lifted eyebrows, Addie cackled a hoarse laugh, and added, “We’re backward in some ways, but we can change with the times. Especially if that means we get to keep our way of living. I am a weaver by trade. Rugs mostly. I sell those, too.”
“Addie is being modest,” Sawyer said, then chuckled. “So unlike her.” She gave his booted foot a bop with the bottom of her cane, but he went on, saying, “She’s what is known as a master weaver. Her work is incredible. And over the past fifteen years or so, she’s convinced a handful of other crafters and makers to relocate up here. We’re becoming something of an artisan community. Which brings us to the renovation.” He gestured up at the building. “Addie got to thinking that it would make sense if, rather than each crafter being responsible for finding their own way to market their wares to the world beyond the Hollow, maybe they should join forces.”
“Well, we’ve already done that.” She extended her hand to Sunny. “Meet the founder and current president of the Bluebird Crafters Guild.” Then she let out a cackling laugh and spread her arms. “Such as it is!”
Sunny shook Addie’s hand slowly, then looked back up at the mill. “So, you’re not restoring this to a functioning mill.”
“Oh, no, child,” Addie said. “This town doesn’t have need of a mill any more now than it did a hundred years ago.” She looked up at the building, pride shining in her eyes. “This is going to be an artisan center.”
Sunny looked at Sawyer. “I thought you said this was your home.”
“For the time being, it is.”
“We’re envisioning it as a place for the locals to sell their wares,” Addie explained, “but also as workshop space, and classroom space. We’d like it to be something of a destination for other artisans, as well as a marketplace for folks to come purchase our creations, see the historic mill, learn a little history, enjoy the local scenery.”
Any further discussion on that topic ended when the saws and hammering suddenly ceased, leaving only the music and the sound of the falls filling the air. A moment later, the door was dragged open from the other side and a lanky adolescent stepped out. “Hey, Sawyer,” said the boy, his voice soft, but cracking slightly. “Pa says they’re ready for you to come help with the support beam.” He looked somewhat shyly at the two newcomers and gave them a brief nod, then smiled at Addie Pearl. “Hi, Miss Addie. Thanks for the sandwiches. And the apple. You didn’t have to—”
“I know Jacob. That’s why I enjoy doing it. Introduce yourself,” she said, nodding to Bailey and Sunny.
His cheeks flushed, but he turned, nodded to the two girls. “Jacob McCall,” he said, then glancing at Bailey, he added, “Jake. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Sunny Goodwin,” Sunny replied, smiling at the boy.
“Bailey,” said Bailey, when Jake continued looking her way. “Sutton,” she added when he didn’t say anything, just kept staring. She gestured to the building. “Do you live in there, too?”
Jake looked surprised by the question. “No. We live down in town. Our place is out past the post office.”
“Oh.”
When nothing else was forthcoming, Jake shuffled his feet, and finally turned to Sawyer. “What should I tell Pa?”
Sawyer looked at his watch. “Tell him we’ll get to it tomorrow. He can send everyone home, then you guys can pack up and head out, too.” He laid a hand on Jake’s skinny shoulder and smiled reassuringly. Jake was a hard worker for a youngster, and stronger than his gangly body would lead one to believe. He was twelve going on thirteen and awkward, which just compounded his tendency to quietness. “It’s about that time, anyway.” It wasn’t quite four o’clock yet, and the truth of it was, Sawyer had hoped to be much further along as they headed toward colder weather. Getting that central support beam up was key to their plan. But then he hadn’t been expecting this little family gathering, either. Or the family itself. “I appreciate you helping your father out after school, but I’m sure you’ve got a pile of homework waiting.”
“Yes, sir, I do. I’ll tell Pa. See you tomorrow, then.” With a brief glance and nod to the three women, he slipped back inside the building.
Sawyer glanced at Sunny and Bailey. “At least now you can get your first look without needing earplugs.” A moment later, the music shut off, and he let out a short sigh of relief. Despite the way he was pushing everyone on the renovation, he’d be lying if he said his favorite part of the day wasn’t when silence fell once again. After a few very active tours of duty, he’d never take the luxury of peace and quiet for granted again. He turned to usher them inside, and had just opened his mouth to warn the two newcomers to watch their step and their heads, when another head popped out from around the far side of the door.
Actually, Seth’s stout beard poked out before the rest of him did. “Will said we’re quitting? Are you high, man? We’ve got the beam all lined up and—” He broke off as he pushed through the door enough to see that Sawyer wasn’t alone. “Oh, hey, sorry there, Miss Addie. I didn’t see you. How’d it go down at the courthouse? We all legal and legit now?”
Sawyer nudged the door open wider so Seth could see the rest of the group. “Oh, ho! Well, why didn’t you tell me we had company?” His smile broadened as he wedged his muscular frame out past Sawyer, then stepped right in front of him, barely missing Sawyer’s toes with his clodhopper-sized feet.
Seth stuck his hand out toward Sunny, then realized he was wearing work gloves and pulled one off, wiped his hand on his pant leg and stuck it out again. “Hello there. Seth Brogan. Former platoon buddy turned dog boy to the slave king here. Pleased to meet you.”
To her credit, the far more pristinely dressed Sunny took Seth’s sweat-stained hand without pause and gave it a decent shake. But then, Seth had that effect on women. Apparently, the neatly trimmed, but abundant beard and the man bun were lady magnets. Who knew? Occasionally a man magnet, too. At least from Sawyer’s observation. Seth was firmly heterosexual, but he loved attention and therefore welcomed all audience members. It had made him something of a challenge when they’d served together, since their work often required the exact opposite of “look at me!” But Sawyer couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend than Seth Brogan. The fact that they’d saved each other’s bacon on more than one occasion had forged an unbreakable bond few would understand.
“Your benevolent slave king is giving you the night off,” he told Seth. “Unexpected company,” he added, not unkindly. “I’m about to give the grand tour, such as it is. You can head out with the McCalls and the rest of the crew. Go play with your vines and tell Dexter I said hello.”
Sawyer noticed that both Sunny and Bailey were watching the byplay between the two men with interest. Sunny’s attention was on Seth. Big surprise. Bailey’s attention, however, had remained firmly on him since Seth had mentioned they’d served together. When she’d recognized the Special Forces tat on his arm, he’d suspected there was a story there. He was still coping with the revelation that these two had a share of his homestead. But that didn’t stop him from being curious. About both females.
“Dexter?” Sunny asked. “Dog?”
“Llama,” Seth responded.
Her perfectly shaped brows lifted. “You know, now that you say that, I could have sworn I saw a few of them on my drive up the mountain.”
“Not mine, I’m across the creek. But it’s not as uncommon as you might think.”
“Great wool,” Addie chimed in.
“There is nothing common about Dexter,” Sawyer said. “Speaking of which . . .” He let the sentence trail off and sent a meaningful gaze toward Seth. “We’ll jump back in at oh-six-hundred.”
“You’ll jump in,” Seth replied easily. “Count me in about an hour later.” He stroked his beard. “Man needs his beauty sleep. And I have chickens to feed.” He looked back to Sunny and wiggled his eyebrows. “Need any eggs?”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, clearly more flustered than affronted. A typical reaction to Seth Brogan.
“Get directions to my place from Sawyer. Swing by. That your Cooper?” He nodded, looking past her shoulder to the Mini parked by Addie’s Subaru.
“It is.”
“Sweet. Trade you a few dozen eggs for a spin.”
Sawyer was about to butt in, save the poor woman, but Sunny took care of that herself.
She lifted one of those expressive brows and her lips lifted in a dry smile. “And then you invite me in to see your llama etchings?”
Seth barked out a laugh, but shrugged. “I’ve never etched a llama. Pretty sure Dex would hate that.” He leaned closer. “But I do have some very interesting war . . . uh . . . souvenirs.”
Sunny laughed. “I’ll just bet you do.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you can bring your . . . sister?” he said hopefully, shooting a grin at Bailey.
“No, thanks,” Bailey said, answering for herself. “Llamas spit.”
All of the adults laughed at that while Sawyer thought he couldn’t recall one woman ever shutting Seth down so effectively, much less two. Bravo, ladies.
“You’ve worked with them?” Seth asked the young girl, seeming quite sincere.
“Tolerated them, more like.”
This earned a surprised smile from Sunny, who looked like she approved of the girl speaking up.
“Well, if you stick around, you’ve got to come meet Dex. He’ll change your mind.”
Bailey said nothing, but her expression made it clear she was doubtful of that ever coming to pass.
“Heck, maybe you can give me some llama pointers.”
“Okay, dog boy, enough,” Sawyer said, smiling nonetheless.
“That’s corporal dog boy,” Seth joked, then took a step back, sketched a brief bow to the women, clicked his work-booted heels together, and delivered a crisp salute to Sawyer. He shifted his gaze to Sunny as he turned the salute to a mock phone beside his ear and mouthed, “Call me.” With a wink at Bailey and a kiss blown toward Addie, who blushed as if she was a good five decades younger than her actual age, he was gone.
The whirlwind that was Seth Brogan. Sawyer shook his head, smiled. “Sorry. Where were we? Oh, right. Watch your head, and take care where you step. We’re still in the tear-down phase.”
“You’re not tearing it all down, though, right?” Sunny asked, concern and surprise filling her expression.
He couldn’t tell if she was upset at the idea he might be razing an historic building, or because he could be leveling her inheritance. “Come inside and see.” He shoved at the door, which squealed loudly on the metal tracks.
Both Sunny and Bailey covered their ears at the screeching noise, but followed him inside.
“Whoa,” Bailey breathed, barely more than a whisper.
She and Sunny both stopped just inside the big door, which Sawyer shoved closed again behind him. As the afternoon waned toward evening, there were more than a few wild critters who’d be quite happy to share his cot. He knew this because he’d had to evict most of them when he’d come back home after serving Uncle Sam. Not that there still weren’t ample entry points, but he didn’t have to go hang a welcome sign, either.
“What’s that?” Bailey asked, pointing to the hulk of rusted machinery attached to the far wall.
“That’s what operates the waterwheel,” he told her.
“Does it work?”
“Not yet,” he said, with a smile. “The waterwheel generated the power here, once upon a time, but the place was modernized over time. Hard to tell that now it’s been gutted.
We’re still on generator power, but the windows along the front wall up there, along with the skylights, take care of the indoor lighting anyway.” He motioned upward, but the two were already glancing up at the metal roof, soaring a full two and a half stories overhead. Parts of it had rusted through here and there, creating unintentional skylights, but there was no point in starting in on repairing them until the infrastructure was shored up.
Sunny walked out toward the middle of the big open space and turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. Scaffolding covered two of the interior walls, and in addition to his small homemade homestead in the far corner, there was construction detritus everywhere. Otherwise, though, it was a cavern at the moment.
“Was it always open like this?” she asked. “Was the machinery that big?”
Sawyer shook his head. “No, there were two floors actually, and a loft. We’re in what amounts to the basement. See the line around the perimeter a few feet up?” He pointed up the wall where a stripe showed where the floor joists had been. “Half of this level is underground with a sidewalk out, where we just came in, and the rear walk out there.” He pointed to their left, where a series of what were once glass-paned doors lined the center of the long back wall. Most of the glass was long gone, and the empty frames had been covered with plywood. “This is about three-quarters the size of the floor space above—or what will be the floor space when we put it back in—and is built right into the side of the mountain. It was the boiler room when the place was modernized and also where the electrical panels and such were. All that had to be gutted as well, as you can see.” He pointed higher up. “The floor above the main floor wasn’t a full floor. You can see another line about fifteen feet or so above the first one. That was more of an attic space, sort of loft style storage. It was only about five and a half feet high, so not an actual full floor.”
“Are you putting that floor back in, too?” Sunny asked.
He nodded. “That’s the plan, but we’ll put it in a bit lower since we don’t need the overhead space on the main floor here like they did originally. That will create a full second floor. We’d like the main floor to be the marketing area, with workshop space and classroom space upstairs in what was the attic. And this space, or part of it, will still hold all the fuse boxes and water heaters and the like, plus office space for Addie.”
“What about you?” Bailey wanted to know. “Where will you live? Down here in the basement?”
“Oh, I have some property up in another part of the Hollow. Closer to Hawk’s Nest Ridge.” He grinned, and winked at her. “That’s my next project. But first things first.”
“What part of the mill is original?” Sunny wanted to know.
“What you see, generally speaking. The tin roof was replaced several times, but that tin is a century old. What’s left of it, anyway. The stonework has been repaired and shored up over the years, but is original to the building. The plank wood exterior has been replaced as needed over time, so it’s varying degrees of old, but what is here is at least—”
“A hundred years old,” Sunny echoed. “When were all the machines taken out, or whatever they used to process the silk?”
“The company sold most of it off when they closed, so there wasn’t much left. Doyle’s ancestors tried to lease the property, but way up here, what was anyone going to do with it? So it was eventually abandoned and left to the elements, which, in turn, did a number on the interior.”
“Hence the gutting,” she finished.
“Exactly. And that isn’t a bad thing, all in all, as it allows us to restructure how the space is used to suit our needs now. The property was already considered historic when it closed down, but the Hartwells at the time, and since, didn’t allocate any money to take care of the place. As Addie said, none of them lived in town at that point, so to say the mill had become overgrown and dilapidated is an understatement. Doyle’s grandfather was the first one to come back in more than a generation. His only son took off, so he was left to raise Doyle himself.” Sawyer smiled. “He became smitten with our Miss Addie here, so he stayed on after his grandpa passed on.”
“When he and I split up, I knew there was nothing going to keep him here,” Addie said, speaking up for the first time, clearly not interested in having her marriage to Doyle Hartwell as a subject of conversation. “So I had him deed part of the place to me, as insurance, I guess. I knew the place was an old heap, and I certainly didn’t have the wherewithal to do anything to it, but I couldn’t stand the idea of it ending up in the hands of someone who would tear it down or disrespect its heritage. Then it became Sawyer’s heritage, too, and I aimed to keep it that way.”
Sawyer noticed Sunny’s gaze shift to him, then away again, and he wondered what was on her mind.
“Now it’s your heritage, too,” Addie said to Sunny and Bailey.
“So, where does that put things?” Sunny asked. “I mean, I’m assuming you didn’t know Doyle was going to leave his share of it to anyone else, and why would he? But now there are two other part owners. So, before you do anything else to the place, we should probably have a talk about who is responsible for what, right?”
Sawyer worked to keep the smile on his face open and easy. He could well imagine the surprise Doyle’s two daughters had felt in that Turtle Springs courthouse today, but that was nothing compared to what had happened to him. He hadn’t even let himself think about it yet, but apparently that was about to change.
“Meaning what?” he asked. “This property might have been historic, but it was also an eyesore and a heap. Everything I’ve done has only improved it.”
“Yes, and that’s great. Wonderful, actually. But it raises the value of the property, for one, and therefore the taxes. Then there’s the matter of who will be held responsible for the costs and the liability of the structure.” She held up her hand when he started to reply. “I’m not being argumentative. I didn’t even know this place existed a day ago. I’m only saying that since this has happened, I think we should all sit down, discuss it, and come to some kind of written agreement about who will be responsible for what. I’m just trying to be smart. For all of us.” She looked at Bailey, then back at him and Addie.
Addie stepped forward. “I’ve spoken with Bailey’s caseworker about transferring her guardianship from the foster family to me.” She looked at Bailey. “It will take some doing, and we still need to go get your things, but we’ll sort that all out, I promise.”
Bailey looked at the legal envelope and key in her hand, then back at Addie. She nodded, but said nothing.
Addie held up a hand when both Sunny and Sawyer started to speak at the same time. “As for the two of you, just hold on to your horses. Let this old woman have her say. As the only person who was actually married to the old scoundrel, and the one who knew him for more years of his life than anyone else, I think I can be considered the authority on what he might have been thinking when he put all this to paper.”
She dug her cane into the dirt floor and turned to Bailey. “I know your life thus far hasn’t likely been what any young person would hope for. I also know, if you’re like me, you want to know what’s what, no beating around the bush. What we all want is family. Whether it’s blood or someone who becomes your blood out of love and pure devotion.” She cast a look at Sawyer, then looked back at Bailey. “Well, from what I heard today, you’ve been bounced around your whole life and never got to have either of those things. I’ll leave your mama out of it, as I don’t know her, but D. Bart should be ashamed of himself for leaving your lot up to fate. That said, you’ve found your family now. You’re a Hartwell by blood, and you belong to Blue Hollow Falls because we take care of our own. I don’t know what you think about that, but to my mind, a forever home counts for a lot. I hope that means something to you, but you need to know it means everything to us.”
She didn’t wait for Bailey to respond, leaving her to think on that. Instead, she turned to Sunny next. “I know you don’t know me, or Sawyer, but let me assure you we are not out to do anything nefarious here. I want what’s best for Sawyer, yes, but not at the expense or to the detriment of D. Bart’s final wishes. Leave it to that man to make a muddle of things, but I can attest that though he had about as much stick-to-it-iveness as a bee does to a single flower, his heart was as big as the moon. Fortunately, so was his wallet. He’d want everyone to just get along, and his way of making that happen was to throw money at it. Or property. Or both. That’s how he took care of your mama, or tried to, and I’m only sorry he didn’t do more, or that I didn’t know about you earlier on, so I could have pushed him to do better. Maybe this was his way of making up for his faults. Not that it does—I’m just saying what I think was in his heart.”
She looked at Sawyer next. “Honey, I know you came back here to do right by what’s yours, right by your hometown, by all of us, trying to help everyone out. That has been what you’ve always done, for so many. If D. Bart showed his love with money and things, you have always shown yours by giving yourself over to doing what’s right, to making a difference. I couldn’t be more proud of you. By rights, this should be all yours. We both know that. It wouldn’t have seemed like any kind of gold mine to anyone else. Just the opposite. Certainly no one else would look at this heap and envision what you have, much less pour his own blood, sweat, and tears into making it a reality. Maybe the old man didn’t have faith that you’d come back home, by choice or by fate, so by giving the mill to all three of his own he made sure it would stay in the Hartwell family one way or the other. Maybe he grew sentimental in his old age. Or maybe he did it for me. Probably the latter. Old coot.”
“I came home to you, Addie Pearl,” Sawyer told her. “As far as I knew, Doyle had no idea where I was, or what I was doing.”
“He knew,” she said quietly. “He always knew where you were, or at least who you were working for.” Then she turned to the other two. “I can’t say what he knew about the two of you, or that he kept tabs. We’ll never know that, I don’t guess. But he hadn’t forgotten you, that’s clear enough to see now, and in true D. Bart style, I guess he was trying to do the right thing by you both by giving you something.” She let out a short chuckle. “Just like him to wait long enough that he could still have an excuse for not doing anything himself, in person, in ways that would truly matter. But that’s neither here nor there. He died like he lived, doing things his way, and only his way.”
She tucked her cane under her arm, and clapped her hands together so sharply, Bailey and Sunny started, and Sawyer’s gaze shifted more tightly to Addie. “So, here’s how it will be. This place is the only thing of D. Bart’s vast array of possessions, all the rest of which he divested along the way, that belonged to his family, his ancestors, dating all the way back to the beginning. Like it or not, you’re what’s left of that family. Despite what some might say, I won’t live forever. And though I’d like to believe that all three of you would come to care about this place, I might be old, but I’m not senile. And though I do believe in the Lord moving in mysterious ways, I don’t believe in fairy tales. So, bottom line, what’s important to me is that this place stay with at least one of you going forward. That the history of this place, this town, and what happens to it, continues to matter to someone who will do right by it.”
She looked at Sunny. “We already know Sawyer has taken on that mantle, so that takes care of that. If you want out, I will give you a fair market price for your share, as it stands right now, cash on hand. It’ll be a far sight more than it would have been worth if he’d kicked the bucket any earlier, that I can tell you.” She looked at Bailey. “You’re not old enough to decide now, so your share is yours until you’re of age. You can decide then what you want to do with whatever it’s become at that point. You’ll have to trust me to do the right thing with it until then. I have no cause to cheat you and I only want to do what’s right by you. Ask anyone you want and they’ll vouch for my word. And you can start with Sawyer, who knows better than anybody.”
She spared him a look then, and though she was a woman driven by her passions for any number of things, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her so serious . . . and maybe, underneath all that, a little scared. This was her legacy, too, after all, or would go on to be, when it was done.
She stamped her cane back on the floor again, gripping the knob as she held their gazes evenly with her own. “So, let’s keep this as simple as possible for all involved. We are family. You were his, and he was mine once upon a time. Now he’s gone, so I count you as mine. That’s all that matters.”
There was absolute silence in the room, save for the sound of the wind rustling through the open patches in the ceiling, and the sound of Big Stone Creek rushing over the tumble of boulders that stood just on the other side of the far wall.
Then Sunny cleared her throat, and took a step forward. “What if I don’t want to sell out my share? What happens then?”