Page 362 of Steamy Ever After

"I appreciate that, but this comes from your Aunt Martha’s side of the family, and in many ways, from your mother as well."

"Really?"

An odd turn in the conversation, but I listen. I received a healthy inheritance from my parents. I invested most of the money in stocks, and the rest paid for medical school. I’m not rich, but I have comfortable reserves stashed away. Reserves that Scott thankfully never knew about. It never occurred to me to presume an inheritance from my aunt and uncle. It’s one of those delicate topics not easily addressed.

"You're the last daughter in a long line of remarkable women."

I know a little of my family's legacy. One of my ancestors immigrated from Ireland during the potato blight, and after a few years, moved out west. I grew up with the stories about the women in my family making a home for themselves in the Wild West.

While he talks, I steal a glance at the odometer and try to gauge where I had my accident. I estimate I was five miles or less from town when I ran off the road.

My uncle coughs. "There's a trust which has passed from generation to generation. To avoid splitting the homestead, it passed through the firstborn daughters. Since Martha and I never had children, she intended for you to inherit the trust. On your thirtieth birthday, you’ll gain control.”

“What are you talking about? What homestead?”

He tugs on the shoulder strap of his seat belt and shifts to a more comfortable position. “You’ve been there. Martha and your mom took you when you came to visit.”

I remember trips out of town. Long drives and even longer days playing in the eddies of a slow-moving river, learning to skip stones and fly fish. It never occurred to me to ask about who owned the land.

“We had fun. I remember hot summer days, swimming, and hiking. Mom would build a fire, and Aunt Martha brought stuff to make s’mores. We stayed past dark and watched shooting stars.”

“That’s the place.”

“It would be fun to go back and explore.”

He coughs again. “There’s a lot to explore.”

“Do you think there’s enough space to build?” My childhood memories include a longish ride in the back of a car, but I can’t remember how far from town the land might be.

“Abby,” he says, his voice turning serious. “I don’t think you understand.”

“Understand, what?”

“It’s more than a place to plop a house.”

“Well, a few acres will be harder to maintain, but I’m sure I can handle it.”

He laughs. “Honey, the parcel is over ten thousand acres. You’re a landowner now, and there are things you need to know about that land.”

“Excuse me?”

CHOCOLATE CHIP PANCAKES

Back at Uncle Pete's house, I make sure he’s comfortable and then clean the mess in the kitchen. The pan goes into the garbage. There’s no way to salvage it. I’ll buy him a new one later.

A glance around the house eases my mind. I equate cancer with disability, and assume my uncle fell behind in his chores, but there isn’t any reason to be worried.

What concerns me is why he passed out. I have a feeling he’s sicker than he’s letting on. He lost a lot of weight, and that worries me more than anything else.

I put a cartridge in the coffee maker and grab two mugs from the cupboard. Like me, he takes his coffee black. It’s a much easier and cheaper alternative for those used to long days and even longer nights on call.

"Here you go." I hand him his cup and settle on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. "Is there anything you need me to do work-wise?” Being that it’s Monday, I worry about any patients scheduled to see him.

He waves off my questions. "Don't worry, Angie will see to the appointments. She's the receptionist."

"What about the urgent care patients? If you're not there, where do they go?"

“A lot of urgent visits aren't that urgent at all. I have two nurse practitioners who help run urgent care.”

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