The Wyoming Heir

“Miss Wells, there you are. I feared you had gone already.” Miss Bowen’s head poked through the swinging kitchen door, her perfect coiffure and straight suit grossly incongruous against the counters piled with potatoes, messy casserole dishes and frazzled works in the kitchen. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I simply must speak with you. In private, that is.”

Miss Bowen sent Dottie a brief smile and then disappeared back through the door.

Elizabeth squeezed Dottie’s arm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to figure this out.”

The fiery-haired woman nodded. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth headed out of the kitchen and toward the far corner of the dining hall where Mrs. Bowen stood. The lines of her gray dress looked so stiff that the woman couldn’t possibly be comfortable walking. Or standing. Or sitting. Or doing anything at all. But a smile softened the creases of her face.

“I need to speak with you about the school board meeting last evening.”

Of course. Why not discuss the school board meeting? It was just one more thing to add to her list of disastrous events. At this rate, she’d better not bother to go home later. She’d likely find her house burned to ashes or swallowed by an earthquake. “What about it?”

“Well, naturally the board is concerned about the bad publicity Hayes Academy received earlier this week.”

Which the school board undoubtedly blamed on her, since she’d written that editorial. “Do they plan to file a complaint with the Morning Times? To the best of my knowledge, no one, not a school board member, nor you, nor I, nor anyone associated with Hayes Academy, was asked to defend it in an official article. I suppose it will be left to me to write something in response.”

Miss Bowen blanched. “No. I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. In fact, I do believe several of the board members requested you not write anything more for the paper.”

“Does someone else plan to write an editorial, then?” Surely the school board didn’t intend to let Mr. Higsley’s article go unanswered. “Or perhaps the board could invite the reporter to the school? The man might well retract some of his comments, were he to see firsthand how beneficial—”

“The school board is considering closing Hayes Academy. Immediately.” The words fell from Miss Bowen’s mouth in a jumbled rush.

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered, then stopped. She opened her mouth, hoping something intelligible would come out, but all she could do was stare at Miss Bowen’s pale, pinched face. She should have known. She’d suspected the school board would lean in this direction, of course. But so quickly? Before she even had a chance to refigure the ledgers or write another article or find more donors?

“I see. Did...did my father...” She pressed her eyes shut, hated herself for even asking, but she had to know. “...support closing the school?”

Miss Bowen’s eyes grew heavy, and Elizabeth’s gaze fell to her feet. Of course Father would pull his support. He discontinued support of anything politically disadvantageous. He wouldn’t care that he had championed the school during his past two reelection campaigns.

“Elizabeth? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Fine.” Except her throat felt like sawdust had been poured down it, and her stomach twisted and lurched as though it would lose its contents again.

“The decision hasn’t been finalized yet. There’s hope in that, I suppose, though I must confess the majority of the members seemed to have already made up their minds. Still, the school board wants a detailed report from your brother on Hayes Academy’s financial status by the end of next week. They’re scheduling another meeting two weeks from now.”

“That’s when they’ll decide whether to close the school?”

“Yes.”

“So there’s hope.”

“A glimmer.” But no hope shone on Miss Bowen’s face.

And rightly so. One week, maybe two. That wasn’t much time.

“Elizabeth.” Miss Bowen touched her shoulder. “Where do we stand financially? I know several letters from our sponsors have come this week. I’m assuming your brother has received more?”

“I’m heading home to calculate numbers.”

“Surely you must have some idea.”

She glanced toward one of the small dining room windows. The sun still burned clear and bright outside, but the little shaft of light barely seemed to penetrate the dark, empty room. “It’s not good.”

“Well.” Miss Bowen’s lips curved into a painfully brilliant smile. “Perhaps things will improve shortly. I asked Mr. Hayes about the possibility of another donation.”

Her head snapped up. “When he was here earlier?”

“Why of course. When else would I have seen him?”

Lovely timing. He’d probably pasted a grin on his face and agreed to everything asked of him, especially since she’d just finished lecturing him about bringing a gun into school and pulling his sister out. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say no, but he didn’t rush to make a commitment, either. I’m sure he just needs more time.”

The headmistress’s voice held a fragile kind of promise. Elizabeth rubbed her temples. She didn’t want to shatter it, not when it would shatter soon enough on its own. “That’s something at least. He probably doesn’t realize how much responsibility for this school he’s inheriting. I’m assuming his lawyer will inform him sometime over the weekend.”

“I’m sure Mr. Hayes will want to continue in his grandfather’s stead, or he wouldn’t have come East at all. But I want you to speak with him about a donation.”

“Me? Speak with him? Certainly you’re in a better position to solicit funds.”

“Don’t be foolish, Elizabeth. You have such a convincing way about you, when you’re passionate about an issue. I doubt the man will be able to tell you no.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. Luke Hayes certainly hadn’t found saying the word difficult earlier that afternoon.

And he likely wouldn’t have trouble saying it again.

Chapter Three

“Sell it all,” Luke said from behind his grandfather’s desk. “The companies, the estate, everything but the stocks.”

The lawyer, Mr. Byron, cleared his throat. “You can’t.”

“Why?” Luke waved his hand over the will spread across the desk. “Is there some sort of stipulation that prevents me from selling?”

“It’s not done.” Mr. Byron folded his stubby arms across his chest and peered through his spectacles. “Your grandfather intended for you to continue running the companies he worked so hard to establish, not to sell them off.”

Luke stared at the papers he’d spent the past two hours poring over, the lines of neat handwriting growing blurry beneath his gaze. He’d inherited nearly everything his grandfather had owned. Fifteen accounting offices with an insurance company attached to each branch, and a smattering of investments both in Albany businesses and on the New York Stock Exchange. “This shouldn’t even be mine. My father should inherit it.”

“Your grandfather was very clear. He wanted the estate and businesses to fall to his only living grandson.” The lawyer spoke without inflection, as though the words didn’t threaten to shatter the life Luke had built out West.

The unreachable little spot between his shoulder blades started to itch. Had Grandpa thought Luke would feel obliged to stay, once he saw the vast holdings? According to Pa, Jonah Hayes had manipulated everything and everyone around him. When the old codger tried forcing Pa into a marriage all those years back, Pa left, and Grandpa disowned him. Was Grandpa trying to get back at Pa by pulling his pa’s only living son back East?

Luke stretched his arm behind his back and tried to scratch the nagging itch. He couldn’t spend his days in an office, staring at lists and numbers, instead of ranching. Falling asleep to the distant howl of wolves and breathing the sharp air of the first mountain blizzard. Working with his hands to brand the cattle, round them up and drive them east. Seeing the prairie change from summer to autumn to winter to spring, all while the bold, jagged Tetons to his west watched like slumbering giants.

No. He wouldn’t leave the West. Not for all the wealth of his grandfather’s estate. “If Grandpa left everything to me, then he shouldn’t care what I do with it, and I want it sold.”

“You don’t realize the scope of what you ask.” The lawyer shoved his spectacles back up on his nose, only to have them slide halfway down again. “Think of all the problems selling such large holdings will cause. With the economy as it is, you’ll get maybe half the true value of your grandfather’s companies.”

Luke clenched his jaw. Beating his head against a brick wall would be easier than talking to the lawyer. “I don’t care about the money. My ranch does well enough. But if Grandpa was bound and determined to leave me his estate, the least I can do is take the money from it back to Pa, who should have gotten all this in the first place.”