Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
J enny rarely woke up in an angry mood, but her argument with Wyatt had made it hard to sleep. It cycled through her mind and she repeatedly woke up from the same dream in which she argued with him again. Sometimes they were in the grove and sometimes on the town square, but always she was shouting at his back as he walked away from her.
The other reason she’d been too restless to sleep was the Fabergé egg. The ninety days were up and the final ruling on its ownership would be announced today. The judge had already dismissed Raymond Wakefield’s claim as unsubstantiated. Now Jenny’s only competition was the guy in Texas, and according to Kristen, he was almost certain to win.
Jenny rolled from bed, still tired, and yanked on a pair of jeans and work boots. She and Hemingway were inspecting the saplings for insect damage today, which meant walking the entire length of the grove and stopping every few yards to spot-check the trees. It was a long but easy task, giving her plenty of opportunity to vent about Wyatt.
“Doesn’t he understand how beautiful life on the grove could be?” she asked. “He would love it out here if he’d only give it a chance. He’s never done that. In all the years we’ve known each other, he never gave this place a fair shake.”
Hemingway squatted down to check the base of a sapling for root weevils while Jenny inspected leaves for aphids. Acres of bountiful farmland surrounded her, and yet they could get to town in less than ten minutes. It was the best of both worlds and Wyatt would see that if he wasn’t so stubborn.
“You think Wyatt doesn’t know what living on a farm is like?” Hemingway asked.
“He thinks he knows. He used to work summers on groves and ranches, but he’s never actually lived on one.” Even when they were dating, Wyatt resisted the prospect of living on the grove if they got married. He worried about where their kids would go trick-or-treating, as if that was somehow the measure of a home. When she was little, Gus helped them carve jack-o’-lanterns to set on the front porch. They’d illuminate them with candles, huddle on the front steps, and toss seed corn to the deer and armadillos that came out at dusk. Real bats zoomed in the air, snatching insects and making their Halloween every bit as magical as the kids enjoyed in town.
The phone in her pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out to check the screen. Kristen from Christie’s. Her mouth went dry, and she tilted the phone so Hemingway could see.
He stood and wiped his hands on a rag, his face serious. “Better answer it.”
The next sixty seconds were going to change the course of her life and her fingers shook as she opened her phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jenny.” Kristen’s voice had a slow, saggy quality. It ached with so much compassion that Jenny knew what to expect, but the words still hurt. “The arbitration judge has made his ruling. He says the guy from Texas has proven his case and will get the egg.”
The last bit of hope that a judge might save her flickered out and died. Her gaze strayed to the gap in the line of cypress trees in the distance.
“It’s final, then?”
“It’s final, but you have the right to appeal.”
An appeal would only drag out the inevitable, and she tried to find the humor in the situation. “So a Fabergé egg is going to a guy who runs a cereal box museum.”
Kristen gave a sad snort. “Yeah, the cereal box guy is going to get it. But hey! When I called to tell him, he sounded really decent about it. I think he’s worried that you might appeal, and he wants this thing to move along quickly, so he’s offering you a ten percent finder’s fee if you’re willing to settle now.”
“Ten percent?” Hope surged and she met Hemingway’s gaze. Ten percent of forty million was still a fortune, and Hemingway looked as thunderstruck as she felt, as though the world had just tilted off its axis.
“Yeah,” Kristen said. “After taxes and the auction commission, I expect you’ll each get about a million dollars. Are you interested?”
The phone fell out of her hand, but Hemingway snatched it before it landed in the dirt. “We’re interested!” he shouted into the phone.
“Yes,” Jenny said, her breath shaking with laughter. “Yes, yes, yes !” Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes because she would have plenty to pay the monthly mortgage and fix her truck. No more pinning her hopes on a long-shot quest to win an improbable court case.
“Great!” Kristen said brightly. “I’ll email you the paperwork to accept the finder’s fee, and then we can get moving.”
The phone call ended and Jenny squealed in delight. Hemingway let out a Viking war whoop of victory, scooping her up and whirling her around in the middle of the grove. The moment her feet touched the ground they tore off toward the house, running at full speed, laughing and giggling like children. They had won. It wasn’t tens of millions of dollars, but it was still a fantastic windfall that would get her out of debt and give Hemingway the chance to do anything in the world.
They didn’t even kick off their muddy shoes once inside, they simply ran to the computer. Jenny wiggled the mouse, wondering how long it would take for Kristen’s documents to arrive.
She smiled so wide it was hard to speak. “The first thing I’m going to buy is a computer that doesn’t take forever to boot up!”
“No way,” Hemingway laughed. “Fix your kitchen. Get rid of that ancient stove with the metal coils. How can a man cook on that thing?”
“Really? I like that old stove.”
“Up your standards, woman!” Hemingway roared. “Get a decent gas stove with a built-in griddle.”
The joy of an imaginary spending spree kept them both talking over each other for the next few minutes until Kristen’s email arrived. The contract for the finder’s fee was breathtakingly straightforward, as was the timeline for the impending auction.
The most surprising item on the timeline was that Kristen wanted to host a fancy gala to formally introduce the Firebird Egg to the world. It was to be a red-carpet event with people in ball gowns and tuxedos, the international press, the whole nine yards. Jenny and Hemingway were both invited. They were each allowed to bring a guest, but they’d probably end up going together. If Wyatt wouldn’t take her to a fundraising barbecue, she wouldn’t take him to the fancy gala.
In her heart, she’d known their renewed fling was likely to end badly, although she didn’t regret it. She and Wyatt had leaned on each other a lot over the past month. Even these past two weeks when she put her life on hold to help him practice for the debate was something she would remember fondly. It was within her power to decide how she wanted to remember their affair, and she would focus on the good.
She and Wyatt weren’t going to get across the finish line together, but she loved that he was willing to put his pride and reputation on the line to fight for the farmers. She cared for him and intended to be there for his big debate tonight.
Hemingway was skeptical. “You really want to go to his debate? After the way he treated you?”
“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” Jenny told Hemingway in mock exasperation. “This may be the happiest day of my life. We just won a huge victory with the egg. We have healthy new orange trees. I love Wyatt and want to support him during his big debate.”
Hemingway still looked doubtful, but nothing was going to dissuade her from attending that debate.