“This will take a long time to melt.” Jason looked around at the dazzling snow.
Ronnie noticed Xavier on the other side of the small knot of people. “His lordship commands my presence.”
“You’re awful.”
“Speaking of high maintenance.” He winked at Betty as he excused himself.
“Jason, I heard you’ve made an offer on Paradise?” Sister asked. Ben hadn’t said this was privileged information, so she felt free to bring it up.
“Put down the earnest money last night.” Triumph illuminated his face.
“Paradise? DuCharme’s Paradise?” Betty couldn’t believe her ears.
“The same.” Jason’s lad cap added a jaunty air to his presence.
“How did you ever get those two nitwits to come to the table?” Betty blurted it out.
“Well, one came to the operating table. He credits me with saving his life.” Jason tried to sound humble.
“That may explain Alfred’s cooperation, but what about Binky?” Betty’s curiosity flipped into the red zone.
“Milly worked on him. No contingencies in the offer. No financing. She knows they’ll never see an offer like this again. They can’t afford to run a place that big. Don’t think Margaret, when it passes to her, can afford it, either. The far fields are going down. The houses they live in aren’t in great shape, either. This is an answered prayer for the DuCharmes.”
Betty reached for a hot dog and hot coffee. She wasn’t sure it was an answered prayer. However, she simply asked, “Have you signed a contract?”
“Two weeks from now. Both parties wanted their lawyers to read it. Cut and dried, but we’ll go through the lawyer song and dance.” He paused, eyes down, then up quickly. “Both said Margaret had to agree. I made the offer New Year’s evening, and I haven’t talked to her yet.”
“Five thousand acres,” Sister said in wonderment.
“Plans?” Betty knew she was being nosy.
“I’m going to work from old photographs and restore Paradise.”
“Those stone barns are beautiful. The slate on the roofs held up.” Sister lusted after stone.
“What shell remains is better than I’d hoped, even though it looks like a war relic.” He laughed. “I know I can restore the outside of Paradise. The interior will be the challenge.”
“What a fabulous project.” Sister meant that, but she was equally glad she wouldn’t be doing it. She wondered exactly what was in that contract, noting he didn’t utter the dreaded word “development.”
“Meant to ask you”—Betty touched the blackthorn crop he carried on informal days—“where’d you get that?”
“A present from Iffy.” He paused. “She can be very thoughtful, but she gives me too much credit. She wanted to be well.” He paused again for effect, then smiled. “Do you two ladies believe the story about the treasure at Paradise? From the War of 1812. I’ve heard more than one version.”
“I do.” Betty flatly stated. “It’s there.”
“I’d like to.” Sister smiled.
“Which version do you all subscribe to?”
The two women looked at one another, then Betty spoke. “We always heard that Sophie Marques, a maternal I don’t know how many greats-grandmother, raided a pay wagon for the British somewhere on the Bladenberg Pike. Anyway, she came here rich as a queen and bought all the land we know as Paradise. Before Sophie it was virgin timber. She created every pasture you see, sited every barn and outbuilding.”
Sister interjected, “She built a little house on it, a two over two. She lived in it while she created Paradise. What she didn’t spend she buried.”
“Why?” He shrugged.
“Didn’t trust banks. She’d seen too many collapse,” Sister responded.
“You’re telling me that the ancestor of those two yokels was a highwaywoman?” Thus he revealed his disdain for Binky and Alfred, who weren’t exactly yokels.
“Well…yes.” Betty hedged a moment. “The story goes that she worked throughout Maryland during the war as a spy. A pretty woman, she used her wiles to extract information from British officers. After serving her country for no pay she made one big haul in 1814 and had the wisdom to repair to Virginia.”
“Make a great movie.” He laughed.
“I expect there’s a good story about every old place in Virginia.” Betty took it for granted.
Jason’s cell rang. “Excuse me.” He walked to his trailer. Amid the hubbub of conversation he could not be heard, but Sister noted the expression on his face.
He finished the conversation, closed the phone. “Iffy.” He sighed. “She’s feeling shaky. Says Gray is making her sick.” He paused. “I don’t know if one’s emotional state can trigger cancer. I doubt it, but I do know we all do better if we’re stable.”
“Can she truly recover from lung cancer? Excuse me. I realize a doctor can’t discuss a patient. I apologize,” Betty asked.
He waved it off. “Her tumor is gone. Starved, to put it in layman’s terms. The danger for Iffy is if the tumor was able to seed itself. Despite all our advances, we don’t always know that. It’s one of the reasons I continue to run tests on Iffy. But she has an excellent chance for survival. Her work now has to be with a physical therapist. The treatments debilitated her more than most people. But let’s face it; they’re unpleasant for anyone.” He waited a moment. “Speaking of time, I could begin walking out hounds in February. That gives me time to adjust my schedule. Will that work for you?”
“Yes.” Sister’s shoulders stiffened.
“Make me a whipper-in, and you’ll see Paradise.” He beamed.
She didn’t quite know whether this was an offer or a bribe. “Jason, I see paradise each time I hunt,” she said good-naturedly.
CHAPTER 12
The large silver commercial horse van pulled into Roughneck Farm at three in the afternoon.
Matador, who had passed his vetting with flying colors, stepped off the ramp, stopped, and took in his surroundings. Ears forward, eyes bright, beautifully conformed, he lowered his head when Sister held out her hand to him. She brushed his muzzle, then stroked his ears.
“Boss, he’s a beaut,” Shaker exclaimed.
“For his price he ought to be.” Sister smiled, but she, too, found the flea-bitten gray dazzling, flea-bitten referring to the brown flecks in the gray coat.
Horsin’ Around, one of the many good commercial haulers in the country, covering coast to coast, knew Sister and the farm.
“How’d he load, Hank?” she asked the driver.
“No problem. He’s a real nice horse.”
The staff horses in their various paddocks and pastures viewed the newcomer with curiosity.
Lafayette called out to him, “Pretty is as pretty does.”
Matador turned his head toward the other gray in the barn, snorted, but said nothing. He figured he’d show them.
Keepsake, half thoroughbred and half quarter horse, a friendly guy, simply said, “Good shoulder.”
“Good shoulder is one thing. He’d better damn well take care of our master.” Rickyroo stared at the charismatic animal.
Aztec, youngest of Sister’s hunt horses, said, “Sister Jane has been riding horses since she was four. I expect she knows a good one when she sees him.” He paused for effect. “After all, she picked us, didn’t she?”
Sister handed the cashier’s check to Hank with a fifty-dollar tip. She took the clipboard and signed the paperwork. “January 4. Already four days into the new year.”
“Time flies.” Hank took back the clipboard and thanked Sister for the tip.
Shaker was leading the new fellow into the barn as Hank pulled out.
Sam, in Gray’s Land Cruiser, came down the drive. He bounded into the barn. “Had to see ’im.”
“Well?” Sister raised an eyebrow.
Sam walked around him, stroked his neck, then stood behind as Shaker led him to his stall. “I liked him when I rode him. He really is your kind of horse. Bold.”