“Condolences?”
“Yes, of course, on your aunt’s passing. My firm represented her for decades, and I’d gotten to be quite fond of her in the last few years. What a remarkable woman.”
Great Aunt Maude was . . . well . . . in need of condolences?
“Okay, California, start from the beginning, including your name and why in the world you’d be calling me in the middle of the night about a woman I barely know and haven’t seen in fifteen years. And who by the way, I didn’t even know had . . . well . . . passed.”
“Oh my! You didn’t know? Well, this is all a bit strange then, isn’t it? I’m so very sorry, Ms. Franklin. Let me introduce myself. My name is Gerald Montgomery, your aunt’s attorney and executor of her will.”
I switched the light on, climbed out of bed to grab a pad of paper, then got back in bed.
“Okay, Mr. Montgomery, you’ve got my attention. Now tell me everything, including how in the world she died without even one person in my family knowing about it.”
“Well, Ms. Franklin, she was, as you are aware, quite eccentric,” he began with a chuckle.
Thirty minutes later I set the phone down, utterly numb and confused. I looked back down over the notes I’d scribbled on the pages.
? passed away with no one but me named in her will
? house and ranch and all worldly goods . . . to me?
? Mendocino. As in California!
I looked at the clock, my mind whirling. It was too late to call my parents. I’d have to call them in the morning. I could barely process all of this. Crazy Aunt Maude. I hadn’t seen her since I was twelve, spending the summer out west with her in her old house.
The old house on a cliff above the beach. Oh my God—the beach house.
I flew out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and toward the bookcase in the living room. I grabbed an old family photo album, filled with Polaroids from family vacations and holidays from when I was kid. Flipping through the pages quickly, I found the ones I was looking for.
I spent one summer in Mendocino, one magical summer with my family and Aunt Maude. It was so long ago I’d almost forgotten it. I closed my eyes, remembering the feel of sun on my skin, salt in the air, and sand between my toes. I opened my eyes and stared down at the picture of the Victorian home overlooking the raging Pacific. Named “Seaside Cottage,” it was anything but. Turrets. Widow’s walk. Porch for days. Wide plank floors rubbed smooth from years of bare feet running across it. Kitchen garden. Attic, filled to bursting with trunks and old dress mannequins. It was like little girl wonderland.
And I’d inherited it?
And the ranch! Christ, how could I have forgotten the ranch that was adjacent to the picture-perfect house? Acres and acres of fertile California land, dotted with sheep, chickens, and the occasional milk cow. And horses. How could I have forgotten the horses? And the quaint old barn where . . . wait a minute . . . horses need tending to. Usually by a . . . cowboy.
A mysterious phone call in the middle of the night, beckoning me from my sleep. A call that awakened my mind with endless possibilities. An adventure? A new beginning? A journey across the land where a new life awaits? One with a . . . gulp . . . a cowboy? Shit. I could gulp a cowboy. Especially if I was about to be starring in my very own romance novel. But could I actually move across the country? I didn’t know a soul in California.
Wait, strike that.
I picked up the phone to call the only person I knew on the West Coast. One who shared the same sense of adventure that I once did.
It was only eleven o’clock in California. Of course, who the hell knew where he might be, knowing his job? I scrolled through my phone, looking at his name, weighing the decision about waiting to call in the morning.
Fuck it.
I called my old friend from high school, Simon Parker.
chapter two
“Viv Franklin. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hi, Simon. Did I catch you at a bad time? I figured it wasn’t too late to call, since you’ve never been an in-bed-before-midnight kind of guy, right?”
“No, not usually. Although lately—”
“Spare me the details of your love life, except to tell me that you’re still with Caroline, right? You didn’t mess that up, did you?” At our high school reunion last fall, I’d met the woman who’d finally tamed the man that is Simon Parker.
“I am indeed. She’s back at home in San Francisco. Well, actually, home is now Sausalito.”
“Back at home? Where are you now?”