“So, in essence, you own almost the entire town. Very nice.” She looked around. “I need to determine where the wind is blowing. I wouldn't want us to get covered in dad’s ashes.”
“There's no wind. Go ahead.”
She unscrewed the cork and stared into the urn for a few seconds before turning it over and dumping it onto the ground, spreading it out until everything was gone. “Goodbye Dad,” she murmured softly.
He stood there in silence and waited until she was ready to leave.
“How about a beer before you have to go?”
“I don’t have to leave just yet.” He took her hand and helped her off the crest, keeping her hand in his as they made their way back to the house.
“I'm sure you have lots of things to do.”
“I took time off for this.” He helped her up the steps.
“Stay here and get comfortable while I go get the beer. And I think I have some lasagna that people brought over. In fact, I think I have a dozen or so covered dishes,” she said wryly. “But I hear that Mrs. Hainsworth makes the best lasagna and I'm going to sample it.”
“She does.”
“And you know that for a fact?” she asked as she poised inside the doorway. He'd taken a seat on one of the faded sofas on the porch.
“She works for me.”
“Of course she does,” she responded with a shake of her head. “I'll be right back.”
He nodded and stretched his legs out, his green eyes surveying the parched land. It was the middle of August and the storm that had passed over them two days ago had only made things worse, in terms of the heat. The humidity was terrific, and he could see the heat rising up from the earth. He'd taken off work to attend the funeral of a man he respected and had liked very much. Not to mention that he and Amy had attended the local school together and had been friends. They hadn't kept in touch, but he still remembered the fun times they'd had together.
“Dad only had imported beers.” She handed him a bottle and put the container of lasagna on the table before taking a seat next to him and kicking off her shoes. “How can it be so damned hot?”
“Because it's summer.” He sipped the beer and stared at her. “You've forgotten the extreme weather we have here? From scorching heat to impossible cold?”
“I'd forgotten.” She took a deep swallow of her beer. “I do remember the piles of snow that I used to play in when I was little.”
“And the snow forts we used to build.”
“You mean, I used to build,” she said dryly. “You were content to pile up all the snow around you to build walls.”
“That was because you were attacking me.”
“I was teaching you to defend yourself,” she told him with a grin. “You were such a thin and gangly white guy with way too much hair.”
“And you defended me in school. I was always grateful for that.”
“I never knew why your dad insisted that you attend school locally.”
“Dad believed that it would be snobbish to send me out of the country to go to school while he had his business here. So, I had to suffer for being the rich kid with all the locals. The kids I attended school with, their parents worked for us in one capacity or the other so they were never comfortable talking to me and certainly didn't know how to treat me.”
“And they ended up ignoring you or ganging up on you.” Amy shook her head as she leaned forward to cut into the lasagna.
“You treated me different. You didn't care that my name was Billings,” he said with a smile as he accepted the plate.
“You were only a person, just a person with a lot of money.” She chugged the beer and stared at him. She'd seen when he came into the church because of the stir he'd caused. Lance Jason Billings wasn't only the powerhouse of Shadow Point but had developed into quite a hunk, with his impressive height, the dark coloring and the sea-green eyes. Not to mention the tan that was as a result of spending all that time outdoors.
“When do you leave?”
“I have the reading of the will from that crusty attorney, Mr. Jones, on Monday. Then I might stay for a couple of weeks to sort out the selling of the ranch,” she said with a shrug.
“You're selling it?” he asked with a frown.
“I know it is impossible to believe but I'm not interested in a ranch. What on earth do I know about running one anyway? And my job takes me all over the place.”
“What is that job again?”
“I'm an editor and most importantly, a freelance one.” She reached behind her to take the pins from her hair, allowing the strands to tumble past her shoulders and down her back. Using her fingers, she combed through the strands, lifting it a little off her shoulders before letting it tumble behind her back. She was unaware of how she looked doing it but he was acutely aware of her at that moment. Ever since he'd stepped into the small church and seen her standing at the front, he'd felt a jolt of awareness. Amy Grayson had turned into quite a stunner. “Would you be interested in a small well-maintained ranch with several horses and a fair amount of cattle?”
“I might be interested in the livestock but not the house and land itself. Why not keep the place? It could be somewhere to take your down time from all that travels,” he suggested.
“The quiet—hear that?” She put one hand over her ear and leaned forward.
“Hear what?”
“Exactly. There's nothing to hear. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.”
“I hear birds whistling in the trees and the occasional sounds of the horses,” he told her teasingly, his eyes twinkling.
“I'm used to whiz of traffic and the sounds of ambulances and police sirens.”
“And the fact that you can't leave your doors open at night. We still do that here.”
“Still,” she said with a shrug. “I like bright lights and takeout at all hours of the night as well as easy access to the Opera and the theatre.”
“We have a very nice theatre in town and several malls,” he pointed out. He leaned back in the chair and realized how much he loved talking to her. “And restaurants.”
“There are more than the two that I knew before I left?” she asked with arched brows.
“Six in total. A fancy French one and an Italian eatery.”
“By actual French and Italian people?”
“I do believe so.”
“Have you ever been?”
“One or two times. I have my own chef and he's very good at creating fancy meals when needed.” He sipped the beer and crossed his feet at the ankles. “I've done the world travel, Amy, and I keep coming back here where it's home to me.”
“It was home to me all those years ago but I guess I outgrew the place. No offense Lance, but I like bright lights.”
“No lights rival the full moon and the hundreds of stars.”
“Okay, you're determined to turn this into a competition that I'm sure I won't win,” she told him wryly. It was getting late, even though the sun was still high in the sky. Birds were still chirping in the nearby trees and the enticing scent of flowers wafted on the air. It was so peaceful and serene that Amy was thrown back to when she was a little girl and running around between the trees.