Page 87 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“What’s this? What judge?”
“Next week, I’m scheduled for a probate hearing. Fenton left everything to me. Once he reviews the documents and declares them in order, I get everything.” She held up the paper. “Including property. But I guess that’s a risk you’re willing to take.”
She turned to go, gambling on him calling her back.
“Wait. I’ll take $4000.”
“$1500,” she replied.
“Hey!” He scowled. “You said $2000 a minute ago.”
“That was a limited-time offer. I’m liking my chances with the judge, so it’s decreasing, as is my interest, the more you argue.”
“All right—$1500,” he grumbled.
“Done!” she exclaimed, her grin triumphant, like she’d just won the biggest poker hand ever.
“Might as well sell,” he muttered, justifying giving in so quickly. “I thought that run-down old shack was gone a long time ago. Where’s my money?”
She made another request, ensuring everything would be legal this time. “We will need witnesses to the signing of the deed.”
He nodded. “I got two men working out back who can do it.”
On a whim, she also mentioned, “And a slice of that delicious apple pie I smelled cooling back at the house.”
Her stomach growled loudly, as she hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. Instead of leering, he gazed at her, perhaps harboring a small shred of sympathy, and agreed to that as well.
When she left Harold Owens’ place minutes later, it was with the entire pie, licking the sticky, cinnamon-apple filling from her lips. She also left as a landowner, but with few other assets—only $500, Fen’s ring and pocket watch, of uncertain value. On the other hand, her needs were many: the boots she had already ordered, a horse (because walking everywhere was getting tiresome), and costly repairs to the cabin, more than she could count.
She was halfway to her place, which meant over a mile to go, when a wagon filled with supplies pulled up alongside her.
“Miss Charlotte? What on earth are you doing walking the Rawlins road?”
She looked up at Jenny Jackson and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I bet I would,” the redhead replied as she scooted over and patted the bench seat. “Climb on up, and you can tell me all about it while Sam and I take you back to town.”
Her driver nodded and tipped his hat.
“I don’t live in town anymore. I bought a place up the road a bit.”
“You’ve left the Red Eye for good?” she asked, surprised.
“For now, at least,” Charlotte answered vaguely, not up to going into it now.
“Then we’ll take you to your new home, and you can tell me why you’re walking alone and terribly sunburned.”
Charlotte raised her hands to her cheeks. The two hats she owned were fashionable, not functional, and did nothing to keep the sun off her face. She’d left them behind when she headed out that morning. Before Jenny mentioned it, she hadn’t noticed that her skin stung and felt tight. The sun wasn’t kind to redheads, and she must be the color of a ripe tomato by now.
She climbed up, waving off Sam’s help. When she settled beside Jenny, she noticed, like Janelle, she was expecting.
“The Jackson family is expanding, I see.”
The younger woman moved her hand to her rounded belly. “Yes. Micah will enjoy having cousins to grow up with.”
“I’m happy for you all,” Charlotte said, the words sincere, yet a familiar ache pulsed in her chest, envy and regret for the family she should have had. She cleared her throat before speaking. “My turnoff is on the left up ahead, but you’ll have to drop me off on the road. I’m afraid the lane is impassable for the wagon.”
“It must be difficult getting supplies from town.” Jenny glanced at her, a frown tugging at her lips. “How do you bring in your supplies? You have a horse, don’t you?”
