"Your father left you seven thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five dollars. And some change."
He watched the glass stop, hesitate, then continue to journey to her lips. She drank slowly, thoughtfully. "Where did he get seven thousand dollars?"
"I have no idea. But the money is currently in a passbook savings account in Tulsa." Jared set his briefcase down on the small butcher-block table, opened it. "You have only to show me proof of identity and sign these papers, and your inheritance will be transferred to you."
"I don't want it." Her first sign of emotion was the crack of glass against counter. "I don't want his money."
Jared set the papers on the table. "It's your money."
"I said I don't want it."
Patiently Jared slipped off his own glasses and hooked them in his top pocket. "I understand you were estranged from your father."
"You don't understand anything," she shot back. "All you need to know is that I don't want the damn money. So put your papers back in your fancy briefcase and get out."
Well used to arguments, Jared kept his eyes—and his temper—level. "Your father's instructions were that if you were unwilling or unable to claim the inheritance, it was to go to your child."
Her eyes went molten. "Leave my son out of this."
"The legalities—"
"Hang your legalities. He's my son. Mine. And it's my choice. We don't want or need the money."
"Ms. Morningstar, you can refuse the terms of your father's will, which means the courts will get involved and complicate what should be a very simple, straightforward matter. Hell, do yourself a favor. Take it, blow it on a weekend in Reno, give it to charity, bury it in a tin can in the yard."
She forced herself to calm down, not an easy matter when her emotions were up. "It is very simple and straightforward. I'm not taking his money." Her head jerked around at the sound of the front door slamming. "My son," she said, and shot Jared a lethal look. "Don't you say anything to him about this."
"Hey, Mom! Connor and me—" He skidded to a
halt, a tall, skinny boy with his mother's eyes and
messy black hair crushed under a backward fielder's
cap. He studied Jared with a mix of distrust and cu-
riosity. "Who's he?"
Manners ran in the family, Jared decided. Lousy ones. "I'm Jared MacKade, a neighbor."
"You're Shane's brother." The boy walked over, picked up his mother's lemonade and drank it down in several noisy gulps. "He's cool. That's where we were, me and Connor," he told his mother. "Over at the MacKade farm. This big orange cat had kittens."
"Again?" Jared muttered. "This time I'm taking her to the vet personally and having her neutered. You were with Connor," Jared added. "Connor Dolin."
"Yeah." Suspicious, the boy watched him over the rim of his glass.
"His mother's a friend of mine," Jared said simply.
Savannah's hand rested briefly, comfortably, on her son's shoulder. "Bryan, go upstairs and scrape some of the dirt off. I'm going to start dinner."
"Okay."
"Nice to have met you, Bryan."
The boy looked surprised, then flashed a quick grin. "Yeah, cool. See you."
"He looks like you," Jared commented.
"Yes, he does." Her mouth softened slightly at the sound of feet clumping up the stairs. "I'm thinking about putting in soundproofing."