Page 121 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“Ladies, if I may…” Seth slipped the telegram from Janelle’s fingers and gave it a cursory glance. “It’s from Mr. Paul Abernathy,” he announced. Looking at Charlotte, a dark brow arched, he asked, “Shall I read it?”
“Please,” she replied, already anxious about the news.
Mrs. Dunn. Stop.
Relieved to hear from you at last. Stop.
The will presented by Jael Eldridge in court was likely forged. Stop.
You have an excellent case if you contest it. Stop.
I will happily represent you. Stop.
Awaiting further direction. Stop.
“Who is Mrs. Dunn?” Leticia asked.
“That would be me,” Charlotte explained. “Dunn is my late husband’s name.”
“And Jael Eldridge is…” Seth inquired.
“My stepmother. I was very young when my mother passed. My father remarried, hoping a new wife could help fill the void for both of us—as if that were possible. Jael despised me from the moment she laid eyes on me and was most cruel when Papa wasn’t around. Everything got worse when he passed.”
“You poor thing,” Letty breathed.
“I always wondered how my father could have left her everything except the horses, and in charge of my trust.”
“Why exclude the horses?” Janelle asked.
“After Mama died, they were the only thing that brought Papa joy, which made Jael hate them more than me. She never saw the value, only that they were loud, smelly, and a drain on resources. She never tried to hide how much she despised the stables. Everyone for miles around who knew my father and our stables would have found it suspicious if he left the horses to her over me.”
“So, you were an heiress, robbed of your rightful inheritance by your greedy, envious, evil stepmother,” Janelle breathed. “Just like Cinderella.”
“I was hardly an heiress, but Jael was definitely all of those things.”
“I know that story as ‘The Little Glass Slipper,’” Letty put in. “By a French author I can’t recall.” She eyed the sheriff. “That makes you Prince Charming, I assume?”
From his puzzled expression, Seth had no idea what they were talking about.
“He certainly is,” Charlotte agreed, also recalling the story, which her mama and papa had read to her often as a child. “And all the Jackson women who have befriended me and helped me at every turn are my fairy godmothers.”
***
Emotional from the events of the morning, Charlotte hardly said a word on the ride back to Seth’s house. After he escorted her inside, he left her alone with her thoughts. That was nearly an hour ago, and she hadn’t moved from his cozy reading chair in the front parlor.
She looked down at the papers in her hand, at a loss over what to do next. One was a court order from Judge Simpson releasing Fenton’s funds solely to her. It meant she could return to the Red Eye and try to rebuild the business. The other was the telegram, essentially an invitation to another legal battle with no guarantees. The reward, if she won—Eldridge House and the stables—was her childhood dream come true, and one she thought was forever out of reach. Pursuing either path would cut Seth out of her life.
“You’re unusually quiet.”
She glanced up. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her intently.
“I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been there?”
“For a little while,” he remarked casually. “I can practically hear the whirring and clicking of the wheels in your head. What’s on your mind?”
“Everything, I’m afraid,” she admitted, a tremor in her voice betraying her distress.
“With good reason.”
