3. Chapter 2
Every sunrise is a reminder that it’s never too late to start over.
“Thank you for seeing me so quickly.” Hope sat across from a woman who had to be close to her age—or maybe closer to forty than thirty, but it was hard to tell. She had flawless skin and a kind smile.
The lawyer’s office was neat and tidy with a handful of pictures on the shelf behind her, as well as framed degrees, but it wasn’t overly personal. Still, the seats were comfortable and the space itself was inviting.
Chelsea Ortega nodded as she pulled out a thick file and set it on the table. “First, I’m really sorry for your loss. Your dad was a good man.”
“I wasn’t really close with him,” she murmured, feeling awkward.
“I know. And I know why, for the record,” she added. “We met in AA so no judgment here that you didn’t have a relationship with him. He was really honest about what kind of husband and dad he was.”
Hope hadn’t been expecting that kind of bluntness from this woman at all. “Oh.”
“He said he was lucky you ever took his calls at all.”
She blinked again, unsure how to respond. It was true, and she’d ignored some of them…but the link of family was a powerful thing .
Thankfully Chelsea didn’t seem to need an answer. “Your father got sober six years ago and never stumbled.”
Hope tried to shove down the bitterness that wanted to bubble up, tried to ignore the voice of the little girl who wanted to know why he couldn’t have done that when she was a kid, back when she’d needed him. When her mom had needed him.
“A few years ago I convinced him to get his estate in order and he took it seriously. He put almost everything in a trust for you. And he created a Transfer on Death deed for you, so the house and property won’t go into probate.”
Hope listened as the no-nonsense lawyer went over everything, knowing she wasn’t retaining all of it. Probably not even half of it. But the woman had a big binder for her to look at later.
“I don’t want to step on your toes, but after the funeral we—our AA group—were hoping to handle the funeral reception,” Chelsea said. “But only if it’s okay with you.”
She nodded, those damn tears back. “Yeah, that would be great, thank you.”
“Anything you need, we’re here. I know Hank was a shitty dad, but he still loved you and he was proud of you. We want to be there for you now in a way he never was. He’d want that.”
Well, the tears were flowing now, no way to stop them. An absolute stranger was showing her so much kindness and she didn’t know how to handle it.
Chelsea rounded her desk, all five foot nothing of her, and sat next to Hope, gently pressing a box of tissues into her hands.
“Thank you for being so kind,” she whispered.
The woman gently rubbed her back. “You don’t have to thank me for that. We’ll talk more about the finances after the funeral, but if you’ll let us, we’ll handle everything if you want. Not just the reception.”
Hope wanted to say no. This was her responsibility. Even if they hadn’t had a good relationship, she couldn’t let strangers handle this. Except…they were only strangers to her. Not to her father. They’d been his friends.
“He left explicit instructions for the funeral home,” Chelsea added, her voice gentle.
“Seriously?”
The woman gave her a half smile. “Oh yeah. No church, what kind of music to play and what kind of food to serve. He said he spent most of his life letting other people take care of him and clean up his messes, so he wanted to handle this. He didn’t want you to have to make any decisions once the time came. ”
More tears spilled over at that, but the lawyer didn’t rush her or make her feel embarrassed. She just kept rubbing her back in the same way Hope’s mom had done when she’d been too scared to go to sleep by herself.
Eventually she got herself together and headed out. Sunglasses on and binder in hand, she went back to her childhood home, a place she’d been avoiding for seventeen years.
***
Hope frowned as she heard the engine of a very loud vehicle rumbling down her dad’s driveway. Technically the place was hers now, but she had no idea what to do with that.
The two-story farmhouse out in the country was cleaner than the last time she’d been here. And he’d done some clear updates in the last few years. He took care of the place now in a way he hadn’t after her mom had died.
That knowledge had a lot of anger bubbling up and she hated that.
She knew it wasn’t healthy, but being here in a place she’d loved and hated at the same time…
At least she had a lot of good memories too.
Mostly with her mom. Some with her dad, if she was being brutally honest with herself.
When she was young, he’d been fun and had loved doing things with her and her mom.
They’d gone camping as a family, he’d taught her to fish, and sometimes the two of them had snuck off for kayaking days.
But slowly the drinking had taken over everything to the point where he was passed out by the time she got home from school.
He’d started missing everything by the time she was in fifth grade, and her mom couldn’t hide it from her anymore.
Meet-the-teacher nights, trick-or-treating, even the big holidays he was drunk. He might have been at some of those things physically, but he hadn’t been there mentally.
Alcohol had become a poison to their family.
She glanced at her phone, realized it was almost nine, and wondered who the hell could be here that late. And without calling.
After turning on the front porch lights, she grabbed her dad’s old rifle and set it by the front door. She didn’t care for weapons as a rule, but she’d grown up out here and understood the need for them.
She glanced through one of the windows, saw it was a truck with huge tires pulling up to a stop.
Not one she recognized. And when a guy with a trucker hat, jeans, and T-shirt stepped out, she eyed him, thankful for the plethora of sensor floodlights her dad must have installed, because they lit up the guy and his passenger like it was Friday night at the high school football field.
Instead of letting him get all the way onto the front porch, she opened the front door and took one step out onto the porch. “This is private property.” Did she sound like a bitch? Yep. Did she care? Nope.
There was something about the way this guy walked, the aggression rolling off him, that had her hackles up. Back when she’d been young and fearless, she’d been in enough war zones to be able to read body language well. She’d had to in order to survive.
And her dad’s place was almost a couple miles off the main road. This guy hadn’t ended up here by accident.
The guy jerked to a halt, his eyebrows raised even as he held up an arm against the bright lights. “You must be Hank’s daughter.”
She simply eyed him, wondering what this was about.
“I heard about your daddy and I’m sorry.”
She continued to watch him carefully, took a small step backward so she could grab the rifle if need be.
“Listen, your dad owed me some money.”
Oh, hell no. “Uh huh.” Her tone was dry.
“I’m sure he did. I’ll point you in the direction of his lawyer, and if he did indeed owe you anything, she can pay you from the estate.
” This was one of the oldest scams in the book, preying on grieving family members.
Now it was done more online through phone or email cons, but in person was still a thing too.
And she was here alone. This guy was an asshole for coming to intimidate her.
He took an aggressive step forward. “Now see here—”
She moved fast, had the weapon up before he could get out another word.
Must be muscle memory, because it felt comfortable in her hands as she trained it on him.
“No. You see here. My father just died. Today. Literal hours ago. Now you show up after dark looking for a payday. I know what you’re about.
Now get the hell out of here.” She cocked the rifle for good measure.
“You’re gonna pay for this,” he snarled. But he was already moving backward .
She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of him and his truck, making sure to get the license plate. She could tell he didn’t like that, but boo freaking hoo.
Only a ghoul tried to scam people in mourning, and showed up to intimidate a single woman out here by herself.
As soon as the truck rumbled out of sight, she hurried back inside, locked up, then called the sheriff directly, hoping he’d know who that asshole had been.
“Hey, Hope.”
“Hey, Sheriff.” She quickly relayed what had happened. “You know who that guy is?”
“Sounds like Jed Tanner. He’s usually with his brother.”
The name wasn’t familiar at all, but that didn’t mean anything. She hadn’t been back in a long time. “There was someone sitting in the passenger seat.”
“Yep, sounds like him. I’ll talk to him, see what the hell he was thinking.”
“Thank you.”
Once they got off the phone, she thought about going into town to get a few security cameras, but after a quick online search saw that the hardware store had shut hours ago. Okay, then.
At least her father had a security system—another update in the last decade-plus. And he’d left the code in his big binder of information. So she set it and kept the rifle at her bedside that night.
The guy—Jed Tanner—had been an asshole and maybe he would be back, but she’d faced off with worse people than some redneck who wanted a payday. She had her rifle and wasn’t a sound sleeper. If he came back, she’d be ready.