The Bequest

I set my cell phone on the desk and pick up my office line. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Brooks? Mrs. Nathaniel Brooks?"

I haven't been called Mrs. Nathaniel Brooks in nearly a year. It catches me by surprise and leaves me almost unable to speak. "Hello?"

"Yes," I manage to say. "That's me." I clear my throat.

"Good." The man shuffles some papers. "My name is Karl Swift." Something about his voice, perhaps the wobbly timbre, makes me think that Karl is quite old.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Swift?"

"Er, well, it might be more correct for me to tell you what I think I can help you with."

He sounds like Bilbo Baggins at his birthday party. "Okay."

"I'm actually a lawyer as well-I found your name on your firm website from a simple search. I'm calling to notify you that last night, I read a will that had been posted in all the local papers and online."

"A will for whom?" I still have no idea why he called, and I'm beginning to think he was improperly named. Spit it out, Ol' Man River!

"Jedediah Brooks passed away almost two weeks ago."

Brooks. He's related to Nate, then. The name finally registers. "Nate's uncle?"

"Even so," Mr. Swift says.

"I'm very sorry to hear that he passed," I say, rotely. I didn't meet Nate's uncle more than a handful of times, and even then we barely exchanged a handful of words. He had a full head of white hair the first time we met, nearly twenty years ago at my wedding to Nate. He must have lived quite a long life.

"Thank you. His death was quite a shock, but at least it was quick. Jed always said he wanted it to be fast, not drawn out."

My hand trembles where it's holding the phone. Nate's wasn't quick at all-and it was so fast I could barely think straight. "Is that why you called? To let me know that he'd passed?"

"Not precisely," Mr. Swift says. "You see, as I understand it, both of Mr. Brooks' nephews, Nathaniel and Paul, predeceased him."

I murmur my assent. They were both so young. It still sounds so wrong to agree that they're both dead, even now.

"In that case, there is quite a substantial bequest made to your children, Mrs. Brooks."

"Excuse me?"

"Jed has a three thousand, two hundred and eleven acre cattle ranch out here, on the northern side of Utah. It's one of only six properties in the state that date back to the original land grant. In fact, portions of the property are actually in Wyoming, but it's mostly in a place called Daggett County."

"Are you saying that my children's great-uncle left them a three-thousand acre ranch?"

"Not entirely."

I wish Mr. Swift would cut to the chase. For a lawyer, he certainly lacks in clarity. "What does the will say, then?"

"Specifically, it provides that the ranch and all its appurtenances, including the home, a guest house, two large barns, an outbuilding for storage, and some three hundred and fifty head of cattle should be left to your children and the children of Nathaniel's brother, Paul, per stirpes."

I wonder what something like that is worth. Maybe Ethan could get his Razor after all. "Well, that's unexpected."

"However..." Mr. Swift rustles more papers. "In order for the bequest to vest, the heirs or, in the case that they're minors, their appointed guardians, must adequately and actively operate the Birch Creek Ranch for a period of one full year."

Whoa. "A year?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"And if I hire someone?"

"I will, of course, send you the actual document so that you can read it yourself, but it was drawn up by a rather hot-shot lawyer in California. I doubt it will have any surprising loopholes." "Does that mean I can't hire someone to run it for us?"

"I'm afraid the bequest stipulates that the heirs or their guardian must operate the ranch themselves and live on site for the full year. It allows no more than three ten day runs away from the ranch during that period." And the Razor is back off the table. "My email address is listed on the same firm website," I say. "I would appreciate if you sent me a copy of that will."

"Of course," Mr. Swift says. "And I'm sorry it's not a simpler bequest."

"That's alright," I say. "I'm no stranger to the phrase, 'easy come, easy go.' I certainly didn't expect anything from dear Uncle Jedediah, so I won't be disappointed that nothing has materialized. My condolences, again." "So you anticipate that you'll be turning down the offer?"

"I'm quite positive," I say. "If you'd like to send over whatever paperwork your office would like to keep on file, I'm happy to sign it."

"If none of his nephew's children accept the bequest, the ranch will be sold and the proceeds will be donated to the Institute of Research into Alien Life on Planet Earth."

The what? "That's certainly...interesting."

"The RALPE Institute received annual donations from Jed from the time he was doing well enough to make them. It's not everyone's thing, but that's what the will says. If that changes your mind, please do let me know."

"I wish them every bit of luck finding alien life." I'm proud of myself for keeping my voice steady.

"Do you happen to have a phone number on a Mrs. Paul Brooks?"

"Amanda?" I scroll through my contacts on Outlook. "Sure." I rattle off the phone number that I rarely use, and wish him a good day.

Robert pokes his head around the corner just as I hang up. "Ready?"

I'm about to stand when I remember that Ethan might still be on hold. "Almost."

"I'll go down and get the car. Meet you at the front?"

"Perfect, thanks." I press the phone to my ear. "Ethan? Are you still there?"

But he's not on the line anymore. I should have known. Teenagers aren't celebrated for their long attention spans. I'm sure he'll talk my ear off about all the reasons buying a wrecked Razor is the best idea he's ever had as soon as I get home from work.

Robert's waiting for me when I reach the ground level, his black BMW sleek and shiny. When he opens the door and stands up, my heart races. He can't possibly be planning to come around and open my door for me, right? That would be squarely in date territory.

I practically leap for the passenger door and open it myself, sliding inside as quickly as I can in four-inch heels and a fitted suit skirt.

"Where do you want to eat?" he asks.

I have no idea what's good around here. Before Nate died, I only came in for the morning, never staying for lunch, and since his death, I've been coming in at 7:15 after school drop off and leaving at 3:15, so I haven't had time to take a lunch and still work a full day.

"I'm fine with anything other than Chinese food," I say.

"You don't like Chinese?" He frowns. "Really?"

"I'll eat P.F. Chang's or Pei Wei," I say. "Maybe it's the MSG, but all the other Chinese food I've tried gives me a headache."

"How about Thai food?"

"I like that."

"Great." He spends the rest of the drive and our entire meal discussing his plan for the case and my role in it.

I'm glad I brought a notepad along, because I fill two full pages with notes.

"You didn't have to write all of that down," he says. "I'd have been happy to clarify anything you forget."

"I don't like asking people to repeat themselves."

"Probably why everyone likes working with you."

When the waitress brings the check, Robert doesn't even glance at it. He just hands her his black American Express.

"You don't want to verify you were charged correctly?" I try not to let a note of censure enter my tone, but I'm not sure I succeed.

"You're such a lawyer." He laughs. "But the firm is paying-we worked every second. We both drank water, and we each only ordered one entree. I'm not sure how badly they could possibly screw it up."

I look at my hands as I smooth the napkin over my lap. "I do tend to worry about every little detail."

"It's what makes you a top notch litigator."

"And a giant pain in the rear." I don't look up, because I know it's true. I don't need to see the confirmation in his eyes.

"Abigail."

I swallow.

"Abby."

I finally look up.

His expression is soft. "You work harder than anyone I know. No one thinks you're a pain."

I am, however, terrible at accepting compliments with grace. "Well, thanks."

"I mean it. Not everyone wants to add another partner, but one hundred percent of the partners acknowledge that you're the highest caliber associate." He sighs. "It actually may be part of the reason they don't want to promote you. You won't be available to make their lives easier if you're handling your own cases."

"I'm also the oldest associate." I didn't mind when Nate was earning money too, but I can't really catch up on the savings goals for our family on an associate's salary. I try not to think about the hit our savings took when we paid for the expensive treatments we threw at Nate's cancer, but I can't help it when I get the statements. It weighs on me.

"We aren't that old," Robert says.

"Bush was president when we were in law school," I say. "Friends was still on the air."

"You were so stunning in law school." He leans back in his chair, his head shaking slowly. "Everyone called you Elle, remember?"

"That pissed me off," I say.

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you!

"You did sort of decide to do law school on a whim," he says. "You didn't know the different types of law."

"I was nineteen years old. I didn't know gasoline came from crude oil and not natural gas." I laugh.

"You did."

"Fine, I was pretty smart for a teenager, but I still don't get it. It's not like that character started school young. She was just unmotivated and ditzy. She went for a guy. It was offensive." "The women probably intended it as an insult, but none of the guys took it that way."

I huff. "I looked nothing like Reese Witherspoon in 'Legally Blonde'."

He snorts. "Nothing like her? You were blonde, you were in great shape, and you dressed stylishly."

"I was blonde?" I pretend to be annoyed. "I pay a lot for this color."

"I'm so sorry," Robert says. "You were as blonde then as you are now. Is that better?" He rolls his eyes. "Lawyers are the worst."

"They really are," I agree.

"Law students may be the only thing worse, but you showed them-top of the class." Robert looks down at the table. "I was pretty stupid as a law student too."

"Whoa," I say. "Are you finally admitting that your Birkenstocks were a crime against fashion?"

He meets my eyes, his gaze as intense as I've ever seen it. "You had just broken up with your college boyfriend when we started, remember?"

For some reason, mentioning my breakup with Shawn makes my heart race, which is crazy. That guy was a major loser. "I do, yeah. I was kind of wrecked."

"Nate and I had been roommates at UCLA and we both met you at orientation-you were wearing that yellow sundress. But I'm not sure you ever knew that we were both interested." What? I've never heard this, not once.

"Nate insisted he was going to go after you right away. My sister told me that was idiotic-if you really like a girl, you wait for her to rebound first." He swallows. "I thought it was wise to play the 'friend' angle. Once Nate struck out, I figured you'd be ready for something real." He sighs. "Then you married Nate."

"Robert-"

"I know it's probably a shock, but I just need to get it out there. That's still the biggest mistake I've ever made, but I never let myself regret it. I loved both of you, and you were really happy. But now..."

Robert liked me? I had no idea. "But you and Maisie "

"You mean the girl who was the closest I could find to a facsimile of you?" He snorts. "She wasn't nearly close enough, clearly. You know how miserable we were better than anyone."

Is he implying that if she'd been more like me, they'd have been happy? "I'm not sure"

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right? That's how the saying goes?"

He's hopping around so fast I can't keep up.

"Earlier today, I was asking you on a date, or at least I was trying to ask you. Then you looked like I'd stabbed a puppy, so I pretended it was a work lunch. I almost let it be, but I can't do that, not again, Abby. Because if I miss my chance a second time, I'll never be able to live with myself."