Sparks Fly in Good Hope (A Good Hope Novel Book 10) Read online

  Sparks Fly in Good Hope

  Cindy Kirk

  Copyright © Cynthia Rutledge 2019

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-73296-015-2

  Chapter One

  “You’re trespassing.”

  Greer Chapin’s hand froze on the tree branch. She’d come to the peace and solitude of Cherry Acres to steady herself after a distraught customer had lunged across her desk at her.

  She’d needed time alone. Time to think. Time to settle.

  Since she was sixteen, the cherry orchards on the outskirts of Good Hope had been a sanctuary. Only now did she realize she’d been foolish to come here…

  No. Not foolish. This was Roy’s land. At least until the estate was settled. The old man had made it clear she was always welcome here.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” The hard edge to the unfamiliar male voice sliced the cool spring air.

  Rather than cowering like many might have—or apologizing when there was no reason—Greer lifted her chin. Her fingers tightened around the sprig of cherry blossoms she’d been admiring, snapping off the branch.

  She turned, blossoms in hand, thankful she’d changed out of her suit and heels before driving here. If she had to make a run for it, at least she stood a chance in sneakers.

  Keeping her face expressionless, Greer surveyed the stranger. As she’d lived in Good Hope for her entire life—save for her college years—she knew most everyone in the area. Especially those close to her own age.

  The man’s classically handsome features might have caused her heart to skip a beat if there’d been the merest hint of a smile on his lips.

  The scowler stood over six feet. He was dressed casually in jeans and a Henley, his chestnut hair looking as if he’d just run his fingers through the wavy strands.

  “Who are you?” Her cool tone demanded an answer and conveyed she wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Her brothers called it her “snooty tone” and usually laughed when it was directed their way.

  “I ask the questions.” His dark eyes narrowed on the branch she held before returning to her face. “You’re on my land.”

  His land? Yeah, right.

  “Even if this property is yours, what do you think I am? Some kind of cherry spy?” The thought was so ridiculous Greer nearly smiled.

  While the man was definitely imposing, with his broad shoulders and lean, well-muscled frame, Greer felt no fear when she looked into his eyes. There was no mean or crazy lurking in the dark brown depths.

  Still, Greer wasn’t foolish. The trust she placed in her instincts went only so far. She kept enough distance between them so he couldn’t reach out and grab her.

  “Who are you?”

  Greer lifted her chin another inch. “I believe that was my question.”

  This guy’s demanding tone grated against nerves already on edge. The day had started badly when her water heater conked out right before her morning shower. It continued downhill when she’d had to turn down a loan request from Tom Jenkins, a longtime customer.

  The nasty words Tom had shouted as the security guard escorted him from the bank had shredded Greer’s heart and threatened her composure.

  It appeared her bad-luck train continued to roll down the tracks. She’d come here for solace and ended up in a confrontation with her second surly male of the day. Come to think of it, this guy was her third. The water-heater repairman hadn’t been all that pleasant either.

  She chuckled and shook her head. Bad things really did come in threes.

  “You think trespassing is funny?” The guy slipped the phone from his pocket, his gaze never leaving her. “We’ll see what you think when the sheriff arrives.”

  He paused and stared at the screen, as if not sure of the number.

  “Would you like Sheriff Rallis’s cell or the official department number?” As Cade was practically one of the family, Greer had both numbers.

  For a second, he looked uncertain and not so intimidating. Taking pity on him, Greer decided to give him a break.

  “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I am, or I was, a friend of Roy’s.” Emotion rose inside her unexpectedly. Greer cleared her throat, but didn’t say more.

  She didn’t know this man and certainly didn’t need to explain further.

  “Roy is dead.” Those eyes, dark as Venezuelan chocolate, were as flat as his voice.

  “I’m aware of that fact. I attended his memorial service.” Any regret over her bad behavior disappeared. “I don’t recall seeing you there.”

  “Why would I attend?” A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I didn’t know him.”

  His dismissiveness about someone she’d cared about was like a slap. “Yet here you are, ordering me—a friend—off his land.”

  His jaw jutted out. “It’s my land now.”

  The last puzzle piece dropped into place. The whereabouts of Roy’s daughter had been unknown, so the estate’s executor had hired a private investigator to track her down. When Chicago records showed Shannon Davis was deceased, her share of the estate had gone to her son.

  “You’re Wyatt Davis.” Greer had read in the Open Door, Good Hope’s online newsletter, that Roy’s grandson—and heir—had been located. “I was sorry to hear of your mother’s death.”

  She thought of her father’s unexpected death when she’d been sixteen and added, “It’s never easy to lose a parent.”

  “My mother died a long time ago.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “You still haven’t told me who you are or why you’re in my orchard.”

  His orchard. Greer knew for a fact the estate was still in probate. Granted, since he was the only heir to the property, the process should go smoothly, but the orchard wasn’t officially his. Not yet.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  Greer wasn’t certain why she hesitated. She should simply introduce herself. It was the polite and neighborly thing to do. Getting off on the right foot also made good business sense.

  As a landowner, there would be times in the future where he might need the services of a bank. Her bank.

  It wasn’t like he was asking for her life story. She could keep it brief. She’d been missing Roy and had come to the orchard, where she’d spent many happy afternoons.

  The words wouldn’t come. Maybe because her pleasant memories of Roy were tied to the dark days when her family’s banking empire had been threatened. Maybe because Greer had little tolerance for arrogant men.

  Roy’s grandson was not only arrogant, but rude. “I don’t appreciate your manner, Mr. Davis. Or the inquisition.”

  Without another word, Greer whirled and headed down the row away from him.

  “Hey, you can’t leave.”

  Greer continued walking, each step taking her farther from Mr. Insufferable.

  If the man spent any time in Good Hope, he would quickly learn that no one ordered Greer Chapin around.

  No one.

  Wyatt McConnell’s gaze lingered on the woman’s shapely form as she ran from him. No, he instantly corrected, that wasn’t accurate. She didn’t run. In fact, if he had to hazard a guess, he’d say this dark-haired beauty didn’t run
from anything or anyone.

  There hadn’t been an ounce of fear in her steel-gray eyes. The only flicker of emotion was when she’d mentioned his grandfather.

  It appeared someone had cared about the old guy. His mother certainly hadn’t, if the fact that she’d never mentioned him and hadn’t seen him in the twelve years before her death was any indication.

  Roy was a stranger to Wyatt, someone he hadn’t known existed until he was dead. His mother had always insisted she didn’t have any family.

  Now, Wyatt stood on land that had been in the family, his family, for generations.

  His phone rang, and when he glanced at it, he saw it was his sister Trinity, wanting to FaceTime.

  He accepted, and a pretty face with a mass of blond hair filled the screen. “Hey, bro.”

  “Hey, baby sis,” he shot back, knowing that would get a rise out of her.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you and I are the same age.”

  “Nope.” Wyatt settled the phone more securely in his hand. “I’m the older, prettier one.”

  “Only by three months.” She flashed a smile. “As far as prettier, I’ll just say, in your dreams.”

  Wyatt enjoyed sparring with her, but pulled his next shot. She looked tired today. He didn’t doubt that worry over her job situation had put those lines on her face.

  The last time they’d spoken, his sister had told him the small clinic in Omaha where she was practicing was in danger of being absorbed into a large health system.

  He cocked his head. “How’s the job?”

  “Even as we speak, the minnow is being swallowed by the big fish.”

  Though Trinity kept her tone light, Wyatt saw the disappointment in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “It hasn’t been just a job to me, you know. It’s a place where I can really help people, where I could belong.” She gave a little laugh. “Sounds silly, I know.”

  “Not to me.” Wyatt expelled a breath. “I still hope to find that sense of belonging someday.”

  “Don’t you have that now?” Confusion skittered across her face. “Look at those beautiful trees behind you. It’s gorgeous where you are. And whether you knew your grandfather or not, he was blood, which means you have a tie to that town, that land.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Didn’t you also say you’d inherited a big company?”

  “I did.”

  “Maybe you can think about running it in a way that helps employees instead of being like the soulless corporation that’s forcing me out.” Passion wove through her words, but the serious set of her mouth was softened by a small smile playing at the corners of her lips as she continued. “Plus, if the Hallmark Channel has taught me anything, it’s that small towns always have ways for you to get involved. You just have to open your eyes to opportunities.”

  Wyatt thought about everything he’d discovered so far about Good Hope. “Because of the tourist industry, Good Hope is a thriving town. It also appears to be a tight-knit community. More than one person has told me that ‘neighbors helping neighbors’ isn’t just a slogan, but a way of life here.”

  The people Wyatt had met were interesting and friendly. Except for the woman he’d just confronted in his orchard.

  “Good Hope sounds amazing.” Trinity’s clear blue eyes searched his face. “Yet, you still don’t appear convinced that it’s the place for you. Why is that?”

  Wyatt hesitated. There weren’t many people he could admit this to, but he knew Trinity would understand. “I feel like an outsider. I realize that in a town where everyone has always known everyone, it’s impossible not to, but I’m tired of feeling that way.”

  “I understand.” A thoughtful look blanketed his sister’s face. “Remember, though, it’s only been a couple weeks. Plus, it goes both ways. You’ll always be an outsider if you never let anyone in.”

  She really did know him, he thought.

  “I’d love it if you’d come visit me.” His tone turned persuasive. “You could stay with me while you weigh your options.”

  She smiled. “I may just take you up on that offer one of these days.”

  “I hope you do.”

  When Trinity ended the call, Wyatt started down the row in search of the smoky-eyed intruder.

  He’d barely taken a step when he heard his name. He whirled to find Beckett Cross, the attorney for his grandfather’s estate, striding toward him from the opposite direction.

  “Beck.” Wyatt smiled in welcome. “What brings you out this way?”

  The attorney with the intelligent brown eyes and easy smile had been the one who’d notified him that his grandfather had passed away. Beck had explained that, as Wyatt’s mother was deceased, the bulk of Roy’s estate now passed to him. An estate that included a large sum of cash, a processing plant and nearly a thousand acres of red tart cherries.

  “Things were running smoothly at Muddy Boots,” Beck said, alluding to his café on Good Hope’s Main Street, “and it was a nice day.”

  The attorney gestured with one hand to the trees covered in cherry blossoms. “Looks like you’re going to have a good crop this year.”

  “It would seem so.” Wyatt didn’t know much about cherries, but he’d learned that lots of blossoms equaled an abundance of cherries. Which meant this would be a good time to sell the orchards. Unfortunately, the estate was still tied up in probate.

  From a distance, the sound of a car motor split the quiet, rural scene. The brunette was leaving.

  Wyatt could almost hear his mother chiding him for his poor manners. After spending four years in foster care following his mother’s death, he’d been given a second chance with a new family. Eileen McConnell and her husband, Jerry, had adopted him when he was fourteen. They’d taught him everything he knew about being an honorable man.

  Beck’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Was that Greer Chapin I saw you speaking with?”

  Wyatt offered a noncommittal nod, reluctant to admit the woman had refused to give him her name.

  His parents, and likely Beck as well, would not be pleased with how he’d treated Ms. Greer Chapin. Wyatt couldn’t even mount a proper defense. He didn’t understand himself why he’d been so short with her, so accusatory.

  “Greer is a good friend.” Beck’s lips lifted in a fond smile. “In fact, she’s practically family.”

  Wyatt raised a brow.

  “Her mother is married to my wife’s father.”

  It took everything in Wyatt to keep his expression impassive. He was urban to the core. Coming here had been a shock to his system. Forget six degrees of separation. In Good Hope, it was down to three.

  When Wyatt realized that Beck was waiting for an answer, he struggled for something to say about Greer.

  He rolled the name around in his head. It fit the fiery brunette. “She mentioned she and Roy were friends.”

  Beck paused, clearly startled by the comment. “If Greer says they were friends, it must be true. He did leave her money in the will.”

  Wyatt had paid scant attention to the other beneficiaries when he and Beck had gone over the terms of Roy’s will. “Thanks for the pictures.”

  Changing the topic back to business was deliberate, a way to put his encounter with Greer in the rearview. Unfortunately, the second the words left his mouth, Wyatt realized he’d made a mistake.

  Going through the personal contents stuffed into Roy Davis’s safe-deposit box had thrown Wyatt off-kilter and unearthed more questions than answers. As the house where his mother grew up had burned to the ground, the pictures stored in the box were the only remaining records of her life in Good Hope.

  There were pictures of Shannon as a young girl, pails of cherries in each hand, smiling brightly for the camera. There was even a family picture with Roy and a woman Wyatt assumed was his grandmother. The woman looked a lot like her daughter.

  “I’m sorry there wasn’t more.” Beck studied him with a sharp-eyed gaze that missed nothing. “It didn
’t give you much.”

  Wyatt shrugged. “It isn’t as if I knew any of these people. My mother never spoke of her parents. You said they were divorced a long time ago.”

  “I’ve only been here a handful of years, but my father-in-law knew Roy and Paula. Apparently, Paula left Roy for a man who was in the area working on one of the road projects. Steve— that’s my father-in-law—said Shannon was seven or eight at the time.”

  Wyatt thought of his mother’s tough exterior and her insistence that you should look out only for yourself. That had been his attitude as well…until he’d moved in with the McConnells. “Did Paula and Roy share custody?”

  Beck shook his head. “If the information I received is accurate, neither Shannon nor Roy heard from her again.”

  Though Wyatt had loved his mother, he wasn’t blind to her faults. She’d been quick-tempered and moody. The smiles he’d seen in the pictures had been in short supply during his childhood.

  Was that because her mother had deserted her? Undoubtedly, her contentious relationship with her father also factored in.

  “I wonder if that’s why she cut herself off from her life in Good Hope.” At Beck’s speculative look, Wyatt continued. “Too many bad memories here.”

  Wyatt inhaled the sweet scent emanating from the flowering trees. The sky overhead was a brilliant blue, and the sun warmed his cheeks. He lifted his face for a second and felt himself relax.

  When Wyatt turned back to Beck, he shook his head. “I think of some of the places we lived, the urine stench in the halls and the gangs roaming the streets. It had to be bad for her to willingly exchange this life for that one.”

  A smile lifted Beck’s lips. “Sounds as if you’re starting to like it here.”

  Wyatt chuckled. “Good Hope is growing on me.”

  When he’d arrived on the Door County peninsula, the plan had been to sell all the assets. After his conversation with Trinity, he was having second thoughts.

  “Good Hope grew on me, too,” Beck admitted. “I came here to start over, but never intended to fall in love with the town. Or the people. Now, I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”