Ladd Springs (Ladd Springs, Book #1) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Nick
returned to the farmhouse, the main estate on the property—if one could call it
that—and found the man in question sitting in one of two threadbare rockers. The
woven backs were torn from years of use and neglect, much like the wood-framed
home where eaves hung precariously from rusty nails and posts were scarred by
chips and nicks. The floor itself was warped and split, as though someone built
the house a hundred years ago and hadn’t touched it since. It was lived in, but
not cared for, much like the owner himself. Nick considered the old man,
rocking back and forth in his chair, pipe dangling from the corner of his
clenched mouth, and could only imagine what the house looked like on the
inside, but he didn’t expect an invitation to be forthcoming.

Nick
strolled up to the porch. He cleared his throat and donned a friendly tone. “Hello,
Mr. Ladd.”

Ernie
Ladd regarded him with a guarded stare. “What do you want now?” he spat between
the hard line of his lips.

The
Ladd clan weren’t an affable bunch, that was for sure. Even the good-looking
ones. “I’ve come to talk.”

“We
ain’t got nothin’ to talk about, I already told you.”

Nick
pasted a smile on his face, a move handy when met with hostility. “I
understand. It’s a lot to think about. Have you discussed it with your family?”

“No
and I ain’t going to. There’s nothin’ to discuss.”

“Who
you talkin’ to, Ernie?” A younger man walked out of the house, allowing the
screen door to slam closed behind him with a loud whack. He was slim,
early-thirties, with a scruffy jaw that matched the old man’s. The lines in his
face were softer, but just as uninviting. Was this Ladd’s son?

“This
here land-poacher,” Ernie griped back.

“Huh?”
The younger man’s expression zipped closed. “What are you talking about?”

Ernie
pulled out his pipe and pointed it at Nick. “This here fella is trying to rob
me of my land, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Whoa...”
Nick held up his hands. “I’m not trying to rob anyone of anything. I’m offering
to buy the land, for a pretty penny I might add.” The last part he directed
toward the stranger.

“You
call that pretty?” Ernie leaped to his feet with more agility than Nick would
have believed him capable. Standing on two legs that looked like sticks with
knots for knees stuck into work boots that looked three sizes too big, and with
his black belt sash pulled high and tight over a bump of a belly, he glared. Beneath
his ball cap, Ernie Ladd’s ears poked out and his eyes popped with fury behind
large horn-rimmed glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. The man was so bony,
so pale, Nick swore his cheeks were about to push clear through his skin. “It’s
called stealin’, is what it is!”

“Calm
down, Mr. Ladd, calm down.” Last thing Nick needed was for the old man to die
of a heart attack. “We can talk price if you want. I’m willing to discuss what
you need.”

“He
don’t need nothin’ from you,” the younger man piped in.

“And
you are?”

“The
name is Clem. Clem Sweeney and I’m here caretaker of this property and close
personal friend of the family.”

Caretaker
? But he thought
Delaney took care of the grounds. The horses, for certain, though he recalled
mention of another female tied to the property, a friend or neighbor. Was this
Clem related somehow?

“It
don’t matter,” Ernie grumbled. “I’m not sellin’ to the likes of him.”

“It’s
not yours to sell.” Delaney strolled around the edge of the house and trucked
up the side steps. All the men turned to her. In no hurry, she appeared more
tired than agitated, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, accentuating
the round of her cheeks, her button of a nose. Other than mascara, she wore no
makeup, made no fuss with her appearance. But then again, a woman as beautiful
as Delaney Wilkins didn’t need the help.

Ernie
scowled at her. “Hell it isn’t.”

“It
belongs to Felicity,” she said, fatigue escaping in a soft sigh. The rise and
fall of her breast became a magnet for his eyes. “Ashley is my witness.”

“That
woman is crazy. She don’t know a thing.”

Ashley
? Nick turned
and caught Clem staring at Delaney, with a flicker of fury. Was there bad blood
between them?

“She
was my mother’s best friend. I’d say she knows a thing or two about the
situation.” Delaney looked to Nick then, brown eyes flashing like a cat’s. “Either
way, you’re not part of the equation, Mr. Harris. I’d kindly suggest you begin
searching for another property.”

Sounded
like a dismissal to him. Too bad he didn’t take hints well. Nick stood firm. “I
offered a fair price for the land, Ms. Wilkins. You should talk to your uncle. There
would be enough to go around.”

“This
isn’t about money, Mr. Harris. But I imagine that’s something you wouldn’t
understand.”

If
she was trying to insult him, she was going to have to try harder. “I
understand perfectly. But sometimes money supersedes sentimentality.” Nick knew
for a fact the taxes were due and for the third straight year would go unpaid. “I’d
hate to see you lose this property to a stranger.”

“You’re
a stranger.”

Touché,
he mused. “But I’m offering you a way to stay connected. Or didn’t he tell
you?”

She
tapped her uncle with a healthy dose of suspicion. “Tell me what?”

“He’s
a liar!” Ernie cried and returned to his seat.

Clem
was close at his heel, as though soaking it in like a sponge. Was he concerned
about losing his job? Was there a piece in it for him? If so, Nick could use
his employment to sweeten the deal. Responding to Delaney, he said, “I offered
to split off a hundred acres for the family, land you would keep in the deal.”

“Interesting.”
She arched a brow toward her uncle. “But no deal. This property belongs to my
daughter. Period.”

“Your
daughter?” This was the first he’d heard of a daughter—of Delaney’s, or
anyone’s. When she didn’t expound, he turned to the old man for answers. “I
thought you and your son owned the property.”

“My
son doesn’t own nothin’. That’s my father’s name and me.” He jabbed a crooked
finger to his chest. “He’s dead which makes me sole owner. Nobody else.”

“I
see...”

“This
property is my daughter’s rightful inheritance,” Delaney corrected.

“It
ain’t.”

“It
is.”

Intrigued
by the new twist, Nick asked, “How old is she?”

“Eighteen.”

“Should
I be having this conversation with her?”

“Not
on your life.”

He
forced himself not to laugh. Mother Bear just swaggered onto the porch, claws
drawn. But it was just as well. Nick didn’t care who he dealt with when it came
to the sale. “Does she plan on keeping the property?”

“None
of your business.”

Nick
took in the lot of them. Opposition to his proposal was the common denominator
that bound them together. But with the old man staring down the edge of his
life, Nick doubted he was looking to get rich. Not at this point in the game. He’d
bet his resistance had to do with maintaining control. Ms. Wilkins, on the
other hand, was looking out for her daughter’s interests, though he suspected
neither had the means to manage or pay for the horses, let alone the taxes and
upkeep. One of the little nuggets he discovered from the local town clerk was
that Delaney had a good head on her shoulders and a thriving bookkeeping
business, but not much in the way of cash in her pocket. Then there was the
Sweeney fellow. A man who claimed to be the caretaker, but who Nick’s gut told
him was anything but. Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to uncover his stake in
the game. Usually it began and ended with green.

“The
offer stands, Mr. Ladd. It’s good through the end of the week,” Nick added,
tweaking the wrench of pressure. Maybe a time table would be the influence they
needed. As it stood, they were pretty hard-nosed against it with nothing to do
but wait until the tax man cometh! Which could take months, years—precious time
Nick didn’t have. Not only was he under pressure from his marketing department,
but he’d promised investors this project would be started months ago. Nick
handed a business card to the younger man, yet settled his gaze upon Delaney,
now comfortably leaning against the railing. “If you have any questions, I can
be reached at this number. I’m prepared to double my offer.”

“Not
interested,” she said.

Clem
Sweeney’s small eyes flared as he grabbed the card from Nick.

“I’ll
be in touch,” he said, and walked off the porch and back to his shiny black
sports sedan.

Clem
removed the laser beam from Nick’s back and turned on Ernie. “That man really
trying to buy the property?”

“Yep.”

“Well,
you told him no, didn’t you?”

Ernie
whipped around like a mad dog and said, “You heard me, didn’t you?”

“Well...”
Clem fiddled with the buckle on his grimy overalls and muttered, “Yes.” He took
a step back from the old man. “But did you mean it?”

“Course
I did.” Ernie shooed him away and shoved the pipe into his mouth. “I always
mean what I say.”

Delaney
caught the stony flick in her direction and couldn’t care less. Unlike the rest
of the crew, Ernie didn’t intimidate her. He infuriated her. “It’s not yours to
sell, Ernie.”

“It’s
mine, I tell you—it’s mine and you can’t tell me what to do!”

Ignoring
his heated outburst, she shook her head. “This property goes to Felicity.” She
pushed off from the railing and strode over to him. Delaney bent down so he
wouldn’t miss a single word. The stench of tobacco rising from him would have
made her gag—if she weren’t so damn mad. “You made a deathbed promise to my
mother that you would give this property to Felicity.” Not her. Of course, not
her.

“When
did you get so greedy?” he asked, the skin of his balding forehead coloring to
a mix of crimson and ash. “Your mother wasn’t like this.”

“My
mother kept her word. She expects you to keep yours.”

Delaney
knew she’d just made a direct hit, deep into his heart. Outside of his own
mother, his sister was the only one who ever loved him. She cherished him and
had she still been alive, would be caring for him now. From cleaning his house
to laundering his clothes and cooking his meals, Susannah Ladd would have done
it all with a light spirit and loving heart. That was her way.

She’d
still be taking care of him, too, had he seen fit to take care of
her
. If
he had paid for her treatment, her mother would have seen a specialist who
could have helped her. But he didn’t. Instead, he’d raged at the doctors for
diagnosing her in the first place and refused to give them a dime more. Ribbons
of melancholy wound around Delaney’s soul. Her mother died as a result, and it
was because of him.

“You
gonna let her talk like that to you?” Clem demanded.

“Stay
out of this, Clem.” Delaney raised a hard finger and pointed it directly into
his face. “This is none of your affair.”

“Listen
here, missy, you don’t treat my friends that way,” Ernie interjected. “Why, I
have a notion to give this property to Clem. The way he’s been lookin’ after me
all these years, he deserves it, unlike the rest of you
lazy-good-for-nothings.”

Delaney
frowned. Though one wouldn’t know it to look at him, Ernie Ladd was a wealthy
man. Not by his own hand, but by his father’s. Grandpa Ladd inherited almost
two thousand acres of land—beautiful land—land that became a hot commodity in
the world of real estate. One of the most incredible tracts of unspoiled land
in eastern Tennessee, it had been in the Ladd family for as long as anyone
could remember, giving home to generation after generation. Lush with trees and
valleys, creeks and falls and springs, the property became the envy of the
state. Everyone had heard of Ladd Springs. Some claimed the springs were akin
to the fountain of youth. But with envy came greed. Thirty years back, Grandpa
Ladd sold off half of it to a developer. In one day, with the swipe of a pen,
mountains and streams that had belonged to her family for over three hundred
years were gone. And why?

Because
he didn’t want to work anymore. Grandpa Ladd wanted to stay home and make
moonshine. What a waste. Not only did he sell a section, but he forbade the
extended family from setting the first toe on the remainder. It was his, he
said, and his alone. When he died, it went to his oldest son, Ernest Lowry
Ladd. Grandpa Ladd made sure of it by putting Uncle Ernie’s name on the title
before he passed. Ernie’s brother Albert was a good-for-nothing-loafer and not
entitled to a dime, he’d said. And women? Well, according to him, women
shouldn’t own property. He viewed them as simply another expense in life, a
mouth to feed.