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The family had all breathed a collective sigh of relief when Sam came back from Ontario thirteen years ago. Grandpa Westerveld, Sam’s partner on the family farm, had been injured in a bad accident and Sam was needed. Ethan was sixteen at the time and chafing to quit school so he could work full-time with his grandfather on their family farm. Ever since he could throw a bale, Ethan had spent evenings and weekends and every holiday helping his grandpa.
Sam slipped back into the groove but never said much about the nine years he’d been gone or the woman that he’d been living with and her little girl. Nor did he ever get married.
After Grandpa Westerveld died, Sam, his son, took over the struggling farm, and when Ethan graduated from high school Sam took his nephew on as his new partner.
Now Sam was dead, after a six-month battle with cancer. And, per Sam’s request, Sam wanted one Hannah Kristoferson and Ethan Westerveld at a private reading of his will, the reading to be put off until such time as one Hannah Kristoferson could be tracked down.
Though no one understood the reasons for Sam’s unusual request, the Westerveld family all knew about Hannah and her mother, Marla, and their involvement with their brother and uncle.
Sam and his father had had a falling out and Sam had left, determined to make it on his own. He started hitchhiking across Canada and got as far as Toronto, where he met Marla and Hannah at a Laundromat. Hannah was three. He dated Marla for a time and then moved in.
During Sam’s stay in Toronto, the family kept up a regular communication with Sam. They all wrote and phoned. When he returned, he never mentioned Marla or Hannah. The only reminder of those lost years was a few pictures and some homemade cards, and the cheques he sent Marla Kristoferson every month.
When Sam was admitted to the hospital, he asked the family to try to find Hannah so he could see her before he died. By the time they finally found her, Sam had been dead and buried for three weeks.
Ethan pushed himself off the couch. He didn’t need to give Hannah or her mother any more headspace. He had too much work to do and too little time to do it in.
Chapter Two
Hannah paused at the entrance to the acreage to check the name on the sign: Dan and Tilly Westerveld. She put the car in gear, took a calming breath and turned down the driveway. The tall spruce trees lining the driveway could have been welcoming or sinister, depending on one’s mental state.
Right now, echoes of Hansel and Gretel were teasing her memories. Though Hannah was pretty sure no tempting gingerbread house complete with wicked witch lay at the end of the graveled driveway, a sense of foreboding still surrounded her as she drove.
The driveway gave one more turn and then opened up into a large open space, also surrounded by spruce trees. She slowed, then turned toward an area she presumed was a parking lot. It was occupied by a small white car and the same bright red truck Hannah had seen her first day in town.
Hannah locked the car and, as she slipped the keys into her purse, took a moment to look at the Westerveld home. The house was large, all shades of cream and brown, and set off by a heavy fieldstone foundation.
Contemporary, imposing and probably expensive.
The house had two wings connected by a thirty-foot-high section composed of glass, creating an abundance of natural light.
Dan Westerveld must share Sam’s love of gardening, from the look of the large landscaped lawn broken up with clumps of shrubs and flowers. Beyond the house Hannah caught a glimpse of a fountain and a gazebo flanked by flower beds.
Spikes and a few patches of green broke through the dirt. She would love to see this place in the summertime, she thought with a tinge of disloyalty, letting the peace and quiet of the place surround her.
It had taken a lot of money and a lot of time to make this place look like this. The house alone would have set them back beaucoup bucks, never mind the landscaping costs.
What was a simple hairdresser with plans of buying an old, decrepit salon thinking this family owed her?
Her anger and her grief over Sam were inextricably intertwined with her anger against his family. If they hadn’t interfered, she might have had a father yet. If the Westervelds had stayed out of their business, her teen years might have had some cohesion and order instead of the chaos and confusion it fell into after Sam left.
She strode up the brick walk, marched up the slate steps to the recessed front door and pressed the doorbell.
Hannah, taking charge.
After a few moments, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman clad in blue jeans, a corduroy blazer over a white T-shirt and a polite smile.
“You must be Hannah. Come in.” She stood aside to let Hannah in. “I’m Tilly Westerveld. Welcome to our home.”
The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. The entrance soared two floors, lit by the wall of windows.
“Can I take your coat?” Tilly asked as Hannah’s eyes were drawn, against their will, to a staircase arching gracefully up to the second floor. To her right, through a set of sliding wooden and glass doors, she saw upholstered chairs pushed up to a gleaming wooden table in a dining room, also open to the second floor.
“Sure,” Hannah said, feeling a bit dazed by her surroundings.
“Dan and Ethan are in the study. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea before you go in?”
“Um…no, thanks.” She gave Tilly a belated smile.
“Would you like me to show you the way?”
Tilly’s own smile was as polite as before but Hannah caught a hint of tightness around her mouth. She guessed Tilly Westerveld wasn’t elated to see her.
“That’s not necessary. Just tell me how to get there.”
“The study is just past the stairs. Turn to your left and then left again. The door is open.” Tilly waved her hand toward the hallway leading off the foyer.
“Thanks.” Feeling vulnerable without her jacket, Hannah folded her arms over her stomach and followed Tilly’s directions, a sense of unreality surrounding her like a cloud. She tried not to stare as a double set of glass doors off the hallway to her right afforded her a glimpse of another large room, the great room, she suspected, with its massive fireplace, numerous leather chairs and couches and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. A woman sat curled up in one corner of the couch. She looked up as Hannah passed and lowered her book, her features transforming from curiosity to bored disinterest.
Hannah heard the sound of murmuring voices and made another turn, focusing on the reason she was here. The door to the study was half-open, so Hannah knocked lightly on it and waited.
“Hannah Kristoferson?”
The door opened and a man stood in front of her, tall, slightly graying hair, friendly blue eyes with laugh lines radiating from their corners. Just like Sam’s. His genuine smile created a hitch in her heart which, compounded with the embarrassment of being caught snooping, made her feel flustered.
“Yes. Sorry. Your wife…told me to come here—” she waved backward, down the hallway in the general direction of the rest of the house “—so I…I’m here. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just…your yard. It’s…it’s lovely.”
And…stop.
“Why, thank you, Hannah.” Dan Westerveld walked toward the window and beckoned for her to follow. “Come here and you can have a better look.”
“No, that’s okay. I mean, I’m here for a meeting, right?”
“Don’t fuss on account of me,” she heard a deep voice drawl from the other side of the room.
A tall figure stood in front of a set of bookshelves covering the entire wall, floor to ceiling. He held a magazine in one hand, and continued flipping through it while he watched her.
His faint smile mocked her even as she read the interest in his eyes.
“Uncle Ethan.” Ethan Westerveld.
Well, she wasn’t reciprocating his interest. Coming to this Westerveld stronghold had never been a goal. Cozying up to one of “them,” certainly not on the list, no matter how good-looking he may be.
Besides, his whole posture, that look on his face, the smile bordering on self-confident smirk all added up to consummate flirt. Shades of Alex.
She turned back to Dan Westerveld, determined to regain some kind of ground. “Looks to me like you’ve got peonies coming up in the front. What kind are they?” she asked, making conversation as she walked to the window, allowing herself a good look at the yard she had so admired.
“They come from hearty prairie stock my mother’s mother planted on their home site.” Dan stood beside her, his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Sam gave me some cuttings a few years back. He farms…farmed, the old place.” Dan laughed lightly. “Have to get used to the idea,” he said softly. “He was a good man, my brother.”
“I’d like to tell you again I’m sorry,” Hannah said. Politeness deemed she show some respect for his loss. She wished she could be a bit more sincere, but there it was.
“He had a rough few months, toward the end. He was in a lot of pain, but he died knowing he was a child of God and that he was going on to a better place.”
Hannah acknowledged the sentiments with an impersonal nod. She should have known she would bump against Sam’s presence and the beliefs of his family often and in many guises. She might as well get used to the pious talk.
“Have you met my nephew Ethan?” Dan asked, walking around to the other side of his desk. “Ethan, this is Hannah Kristoferson. Hannah, Ethan Westerveld.”
“We met,” Ethan said, laying the magazine aside on a table and sauntering over. A man in charge of his world and comfortable in this place.
“If you want to call that a meeting,” Hannah countered, annoyed with his attitude.
Ethan didn’t stop until he stood in front of her. “Of course it was.” His eyes flicked over her face, as if taking her up on her challenge.
Hannah caught a glint of humor in his gray-green eyes, but she refused to respond.
“Now that you are both here, we can begin.” Dan picked up a pair of glasses and slipped them on his face as he moved some papers on his desk aside. Without looking up, he motioned to the two empty chairs in front of the desk. “You two can sit down instead of circling each other like a couple of banty roosters.”
“Only one rooster, Uncle Dan,” Ethan corrected, hooking the other chair with his shiny cowboy boot and pulling it closer. “And one hen.”
“That could be insulting,” Hannah said.
“Just trying to be biologically correct,” Ethan returned.
“The term is politically correct.”
“Honey, when it comes to chickens the only politics is, the male rules the roost.”
“Until he gets henpecked.”
“Can we start?” Dan prompted, shooting his nephew a warning glance.
Ethan sat, resting his one booted foot across his knee, pushing the chair on its back two legs. Obviously the man felt at home.
Dan gave her a thoughtful look. “Before we start, however, I also want to extend my condolences on the death of your mother.”
His sympathies, though kind, caught her off guard. Though it had been only four months since she’d stood alone beside her mother’s grave, the sharpest edges of her sorrow had already been dulled.
“I’m sure you must miss her,” Dan continued.
“I do, though we hadn’t seen much of each other the past few years.”
Ethan looked puzzled. “But I thought—”
“I had assumed as much.” Dan cut Ethan off. “It had taken us some time to find where she had lived.” He uncovered a large envelope, which he placed on the desk in front of him, and folded his hands over the top.
“I feel I should make some kind of formal announcement. While this isn’t classified as an official reading of the will, Sam did ask that I read this bequest in this fashion.” Dan waited a moment, then picked up the envelope. “I have to warn both of you that I already know what this envelope contains. As executor of Sam’s will, I perused every item relating to his estate, including the letter accompanying the will.” He paused, his attention resting on Ethan. “I want you both to understand that the contents of the document I’m about to read to you are known only to Sam’s lawyer and me.”
Ethan nodded and Dan’s eyes went to Hannah. She didn’t know what was required of her, so she nodded, as well.
Dan gave her a gentle smile and Hannah’s curiosity grew.
What was in the envelope that necessitated her flying across the country to attend this meeting?
Dan opened the envelope and pulled out some papers.
“I’ll read Sam’s letter first.” He cleared his throat and began. “‘Dear Hannah. I’m going to start with you, because if you are here, you have come the farthest and probably have the most questions….’”
Hannah wrapped her arms across her chest, bracing herself as Dan’s even voice read Sam’s words, an eerie echo from the grave.
“‘…I’m sorry I never phoned you or explained why I left. I wanted to, but that’s all I’m going to say about that. I didn’t do right by you. I have had tons of time to sit and think and I keep thinking of how I just left you and your mom. So, this is a way to fix that mistake. Dan, I hope you can get hold of her and find her. And, Ethan, please, just be patient.’”
“What does he mean by that?” Ethan said.
“You’ll see,” Dan said without looking at his nephew. He took a careful sip of water from a glass sitting at his elbow, as if preparing for what he had to say. He read on.
“‘I thought a lot about what I’m going to tell you. I didn’t make this decision quick or easy. But this is the right thing to do. Hannah, I want you to have half of my farm…’”
“What?” The question exploded out of Ethan as his tilting chair slammed on the floor. “Read that again?”
Dan adjusted his glasses and sighed. This time he held his nephew’s angry gaze. “Please, Ethan. Just wait. This is difficult for me, as well, but please let me finish.”
Ethan glared at Dan, then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Hannah tried to ignore his hostile body language as she collected her own confused thoughts. Half of a farm? What could that mean?
Dan pinched his nose, blew out his breath, and continued. “‘Hannah, this is all I can give you, to be fair to Ethan. But you get this half of the farm on one condition. You stay here in Riverbend for six months, and you stay on the farm. When six months is over, you can do what you want with your half. If you leave before the six months are up, you don’t get half.’” Dan glanced up at Hannah. “Do you understand what I just read?”
Though Hannah nodded, she struggled to process the concept. Half of some farm? If she stayed six months? In what twisted corner of Sam’s mind did he think he was doing her any favor with this?
Hannah’s salon plans didn’t include a six-month detour in this forgotten corner of the world with people who wouldn’t acknowledge her presence in Sam’s life.
She chanced a quick look at the man beside her.
Ethan rocked in his chair, as well, his mouth set in hard lines, his face angry. Not difficult to see he didn’t like the idea, either.
Well, no worries there, Hannah thought, rubbing her forehead. She had only come to Riverbend because of Dan’s phone call and Lizzie thinking Hannah had something coming to her from Sam.
And it appeared she had. Half of a farm. She wondered what Lizzie would say to that.
“There is more,” Dan said. “He says, ‘Hannah, if you don’t want to stay, you lose your half of the farm. I know this comes out of the blue, but I’ve had time to think while I’m lying here in this hospital. I know I’m dying and I want to fix what I should have fixed long ago. Hannah, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I want to make things right. If you stay, in six months Dan will have another meeting with you. I want you to know I thought of you lots and always loved you.’ And that’s the end of what he has to say to you.” Dan paused a moment as if to give Hannah a chance to absorb the words.
Hannah knew it was going to take more than a few moments to get this all straight in her mind.
Dan glanced at his nephew. “Sam had something to say to you, as well.”
“I’m sure he did,” Ethan said, his voice a growl.
“I’ll read that now. ‘Ethan, I hope you understand that I had to do this. I’m sorry for you, as well. You were always going to get the farm like I promised and if Hannah leaves, it’s all yours. You’ve been a big help to me. I couldn’t have run the farm without you. You are the only Westerveld who loved the farm like your grandfather did. I want you to know I love you. I’m sorry if this doesn’t seem fair to you, but I want you to know I have to do right by Hannah. Because I didn’t years ago. You’ve been a great partner and you’re a wonderful and loving nephew. I hope you understand. With love, Sam.’” In the ensuing silence, Dan looked at the letter he still held in his hand, as if trying to digest this information once again. Then he slowly folded it up and inserted it back in the envelope. “And that ends the letter.”
Ethan got up, walked to the bookshelf, then turned to his uncle. “I’m trying to understand this, Dan, but I can’t. Grandpa Westerveld was working me into the farm. Then, when Sam finally came back, I started working with him. I’ve put years of my life into that place. I put money into it—” He stopped there, glanced at Hannah, then continued. “Uncle Sam showed me a copy of his will in the hospital. It never said anything about this.”
