Then, the summer before my senior year of high school, he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and told he had weeks to live.
He survived for ten more months, and was even able to see me walk across the stage at my high school graduation with honors. My mom showed up late, but he was there on time.
I was more thankful for those last few months with him than I was for anything else in this world. Before he passed he knew that I’d gotten into his alma mater and was planning on studying law.
He made sure that my mother would never have to worry about money again, and that my college education was taken care of. He took care of us, even after he was gone.
Hal was wealthy, but nothing close to Cheyenne’s grandparents. Not even the same ballpark.
Her maternal grandfather, Leonard Wentworth III, was the heir to a pharmaceutical company. The Wentworths were easily millionaires, and perhaps even billionaires. It wouldn’t shock me to find out that Sabrina’d had a trust which would be passed down to her children.
“I’ll see what I can find out, but I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
A little tension seeped from her face, but then she met my eyes solemnly. “I should warn you. My grandparents are influential people and if there is a trust, they’ll do anything they can to stop my brothers from inheriting a dime.”
The warning was as vague as it was ominous. “Why do you say that?”
“Because that’s what they said. From what I gathered it’s a significant sum and they are adamant about keeping it from, and I quote, James Comfort’s demon seeds.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Noted.”
It was so strange to me that these people would cherry-pick which grandchild they deemed worthy of their love and attention. Was it some sort of reverse sexism? Unlike royalty, did they not want any male heirs? When she still didn’t relax, I assured her, “I’ll tread lightly.”
“Thanks.” Her shoulders lowered and she appeared visibly relieved as she stood. “For everything.”
“Of course.” I pushed my chair back and rose, reaching my hand across the table. “It was very nice to meet you face to face, Ms. Comfort.”
I’d spoken to her over the phone the day I’d arrived in Firefly to notify her of the will reading, and unbeknownst to me, of her father’s passing. I’d never had to notify next of kin that a loved one had passed.
Adding another surreal layer to the conversation was the fact that she hadn’t seen her father in twenty years. We’d touched base a few times over the next two days, and she felt like an old friend.
“Call me Cheyenne, please.” She shook my hand and I could sense her hesitation to leave as she dropped it. “There’s one more thing. One more favor I wanted to ask.”
I grinned, not sure of what else I could do. “What’s that?”
“I know you said that you might come to the bar tonight, but can you? I’m kind of nervous to go by myself. It would be nice to have someone to sit with.”
Looking at her vulnerable, hopeful face, all of my excuses flew out the window. Saying no to her would be akin to kicking a puppy.
I forced myself to smile. “That sounds great. I should be done here around six, I’ll meet you there at six-thirty.”
“Thanks!” Her face lit up like the sky after a summer rain and she gave me a brief hug before practically skipping out the door.
I, on the other hand, felt a lot more trepidation. In fact, I felt like I was walking into enemy territory, and the only weapon I had at my disposal—my self-control—was shaky at best, thanks to the mental breakdown I may or may not be having. Billy Comfort was having quite the effect on me.
I took a deep breath. I didn’t quite know what I was getting myself into, but I was quite sure I was getting into something.