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Mr. Snyder whistled low under his breath. “You sure do good work, Charli,” he complimented, running a hand over his thinning hair. “Back when I was a young’un, girls spent their time crafting blankets and hosting dinners...not creating workmanship like this.” He walked by the fireplace, running his hand over the newly finished mantel.
Charli had to admit that she was pretty proud of the work. She adored fixing up old houses, and in her small coastal town of Seaside Bay, Oregon, old houses were easy to find. More so even than houses, however, Charli loved restoring antiques in general.
She didn’t get to do it as often as she wished as most of her income came from doing repairs for the locals in town. That might have been why she worked so hard on projects like this for Mr. Snyder. The mantel over his fireplace had come from an old sea captain’s ship and had grown chipped and faded over the years. He’d given Charli free rein to refurbish the slab of wood as she saw fit.
Two weeks later, with a fresh coat of paint and newly carved oceanic designs, the mantel hung in its place of honor, giving a bright new focal point to the sitting room.
“Oh, Charli.” Mrs. Snyder came in from the kitchen. “It’s just stunning!”
Charli grinned and gave a teasing salute. “Thank you, Mrs. Snyder. I’m so glad you two like it.”
Mr. Snyder chuckled. “The grandkids won’t be able to keep their hands off it.” He frowned and looked to Charli. “Will it become damaged if enough sticky hands run over it?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I used an eggshell finish, which should clean up really easily. Just wipe it with a damp cloth and she should be as good as new.”
“What do we owe you?” Mrs. Snyder asked, heading toward where her purse was hanging by the front door.
“Oh, don’t worry about it now,” Charli said as she gathered her supplies from hanging the piece. “I’ll get a bill sent out.”
“At least have a piece of pie before you go,” the elderly lady said, changing her trajectory back to the kitchen. “Strawberries are in season, you know.”
Charli shook her head. “My dad always said that fruit pie is really just a side dish.”
Mr. Snyder laughed. “I always enjoyed your dad.” He waved for Charli to follow him. “Well then, come have a side dish. If you stick around long enough, we both know Ethyl will give you the rest of the meal.”
Charli laughed softly. “As tempting as that would be, I have another job to get to soon.”
“They can wait until you eat!” Mrs. Snyder shouted from the other room.
Charli sighed, one of enjoyment and content. Jobs like this were so worth it. Working inside people’s homes could go one of two ways. Either the owners hated everything, or they took you into their family. Luckily, the Snyders were family people.
Having spent her entire life in Seaside Bay, Charli knew just about everyone. Though it was hard to tell during the summer when tourists invaded their area for access to Oregon’s beautiful coastline and fishing tours.
“Okay, Mrs. Snyder...I’ve got like...” Charli made a show of checking her cell phone. “Like fifteen minutes.”
The grandmotherly woman smiled. “Of course. That’s plenty of time to eat.”
Charli gave her a skeptical look, then accepted the invitation to sit down.
An hour later, Charli finally managed to slip out the front door. She was absolutely positive she had a food baby at this point and rubbed her stomach with a quiet groan. “Why do old ladies always cook so well?” she whispered. “Looks like it’s an extra mile or two on the run tonight.”
Just as Charli stepped into her pickup truck, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from her pocket and looked at the screen. Smiling, she answered the video chat. “Hey, bro. What’s up?”
Charli’s older brother Felix, who ran a fishing charter off their coast, was grinning widely. “Guess what we’re having for dinner tonight?”
Charli groaned and threw her head back. “Felix...we don’t need any more fish! Our freezer is so full it’s gonna burst!”
He made a disbelieving face. “What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything about fish.”
Charli narrowed her gaze. “Okay...”
He swung his phone to the side. “Surprise!”
“Felix,” she said in a deadpan voice. “That’s a fish.”
He brought the camera back to his face. “It’s not a fish. It’s a halibut.”
“The fact that you don’t think that’s a fish is worrisome,” Charli said with pursed lips. “You’re supposed to be an expert. I mean...people actually pay you for your fishing knowledge, so I would expect you to be a little more...you know...knowledgeable.”
Felix sniffed. “Fine. If you don’t appreciate my fishing skills, I’ll share them with someone else.”
“Like who?” Charli did her best to hold back a grin, her lips twitching with the effort. “Your boy toys are so worn out with fish that I think Benny said, and I quote, ‘Next time you feed me fish, I’m strangling you with your own fishing line,’ unquote.”
Felix grumbled under his breath. “None of you appreciate me.”
Charli laughed and set her phone in its stand on the dashboard as she cranked her old pickup to life. With the engine chugging along steadily, she pulled out and began to navigate the small town to get to her next appointment. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m grateful for all you do to put food on the table.”
“Darn right,” Felix continued to mutter. He sighed. “But you’re right. We’re about to run out of freezer space. I guess that means we’ll just have to eat more fish.”
“Or maybe you should just stop bringing it home,” Charli said helpfully.
Felix must have decided to ignore her because he kept talking for several minutes about all the ways they could fry, bake, or sautee everything that was in their cold storage.
Ignoring his ramblings, Charli checked the address she had written down and pulled up to the curb near an older-looking cottage. She studied the home from her place in the truck for a moment before getting out. The owners had worked with Charli several times over the years. Slowly but surely, the young couple had been fixing up this home and since they’d booked her for a consultation today, she assumed they were ready to take on another project.
“I’m here, Fe. Gotta run.”
“Be safe!” he hollered, his onslaught of useless knowledge stopping immediately.
Charli was close to her brother. He’d become the only family she had left when their parents had been killed in a car accident a few years back. Their relationship growing up had been like most siblings, where they fought and bickered and drove each other crazy. But after they were on their own...it all shifted. Together, they had moved back into their parents’ home and ended up growing closer, which had been an unexpected blessing as they mourned for their lost family. “Will do,” she answered. “I’ve got a consult with the Fishers and then I’ll be home.”
“Fishers? Speaking of fish—”
“BYE!” Charli hollered and closed the call before he could get going again. She blew out a breath. It was amazing her brother was still human since he seemed to eat and live among the sea creatures.
Grabbing her notebook, Charli marched up the front steps feeling quite content with her life. Renovations might not be her absolute dream job, but it was an awfully close second, and she didn’t feel like she had anything to complain about.
*****
“YOU KNOW I’M HERE FOR you,” Canon said with his hands splayed out. “But even I can’t change the rules of the will.”
Bronson let out a low huff and pushed a hand through his waves. Everything in his life seemed to be falling apart. He’d taken a leap of faith and was currently about to hit the concrete. He turned back to his brother. “There has to be something you can do,” he said, leaning on the desk with his palms. “It can’t be legal to force someone to jump through these kinds of hoops in order to get an inheritance that’s rightfully theirs.”
Canon’s blue-gray eyes, so similar to Bronson’s, looked at him with forced patience. “There’s nothing I can do,” Canon said firmly. “Dad had it signed and notarized before any of us knew there were changes. If you want your portion of his money, you have to do what he asked.”
Bronson shook his head and fell backward into one of the two chairs placed artfully in front of his brother’s desk. “Dad and I got along so well,” he murmured, more to himself than present company. “I just don’t get why he would do this to me. He never once seemed to be upset with my change in careers.”
Canon tapped his pen on the wood. “I don’t know, Bron. Maybe he just didn’t want it to come between you.” He smiled tightly. “Dad seemed to grow...soft in his old age. You always did seem to be his favorite.”
Bronson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Aria was his favorite. She had the old man wrapped around her little finger.”
“Mmm,” Canon said, his eyes dropping to the papers in front of him.
Bronson tapped the arm of the chair. “No offense, Canon, but maybe we should let someone else look at the will. We all know you’re the best lawyer in L.A., but even the great Canon Ramsay can make mistakes.”
Canon’s eyes turned more steel than blue and Bronson held back a sigh. He knew it had been a risk to ask about someone else seeing their father’s will. After all, Canon specialized in inheritance work and had a reputation for never backing down, but Bronson was beginning to feel desperate.
Bronson put up his hands. “Forget I said anything. I’m just thinking out loud. Sorry.” Canon’s anger wasn’t worth it right now, especially when Bronson was still feeling worn down from the funeral last week.
“I’d worry more about how you’re going to fulfill the requirements Dad asked for, rather than testing my competency,” Canon snapped.
Bronson nodded, trying not to snap back. He’d worked many years trying to curb the quick temper they’d all inherited from their mother. All three of the Ramsay children were easily provoked, but the older Bronson got, the less he wanted that kind of lifestyle. Janine, his father’s old girlfriend, had helped smooth those rough edges and Bronson didn’t want them back.
Canon had found a use for his quick mind and tongue, becoming a killer in the courtroom. He had a reputation for shredding people on the witness stand no matter whose witness they were.
Aria, their baby sister, was planning to follow their mother’s footsteps and become a model, but was currently getting her undergrad at UCLA. Their father had insisted that she have a back-up plan in case modeling didn’t pay the bills, though it wasn’t a real concern. Last he heard, the daughter of Evangeline Ramsay had more contract offers than she knew what to do with. Bronson’s sister was a stunning beauty, but he secretly hoped that she never made it. The whole family watched how that lifestyle had driven their mother slowly mad. Evangeline had been all the rage in her prime, but the loss of attention and adoring fans as she aged caused her to slip into a shell of the woman she’d once been.
The love of her husband and children hadn’t been enough. She’d needed more, and when it had refused to come, Evangeline had grown so depressed that she’d eventually taken her own life, leaving Joshua, her husband, to raise three teenaged children by himself.
Two were succeeding in all the ways the world thought important...but Bronson was different. His mother’s death had hit him differently and he’d lost his ambition.
Or maybe I just gained perspective.
He’d gone to college and worked in finance for several years before deciding he wanted a more satisfying lifestyle. The thought of punching somebody else’s numbers for the rest of his life had felt like a prison sentence, so he’d gotten out. When his dad’s girlfriend, Janine, had suggested he volunteer at a place called Fathers and Sons...
It changed Bronson’s life.
He desperately wanted to be able to give back to the organization, but the reading of his father’s will had created an obstacle that Bronson wasn’t sure he could tacke.
“So what are you going to do?” Canon’s question brought Bronson away from his wandering thoughts.
Bronson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remind me again exactly what the terms of the estate are?”
Canon picked up the top paper on his desk, his eyes flitting around. “Do you want the legal version or layman?’
“Layman.”
“Basically it says you have to do a job for a certain amount of time, eight weeks should do it, and do it in such a way that you have something to show by the end.”
“What in the world does that really mean?” Bronson asked, leaning forward onto his knees. “Have something to show? Like a certain number in my bank account or a promotion or something?”
Canon shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure what Dad was referring to, but I would think most anything tangible would hold up in a court. The words are quite vague, so it can be interpreted in lots of ways.”
Bronson frowned and shook his head. “It’s just so out of character for Dad. When I quit my job, he told me that he understood. He never said he was upset with my choices or bothered me about getting back into the regular workforce.”
Canon tilted his head to the side to study Bronson, looking very much like their father as he did so. “He might not have said anything, but he obviously thought it.”
Bronson nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to shave and he knew there were dark bags under his eyes. He hadn’t slept well since his father’s accident, and personal grooming had definitely gone out the window. It was a good thing that he lived in California, because the dark shades he’d worn at the graveside service had looked perfectly normal in the bright sunshine overhead.
“Look, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight and we’ll brainstorm,” Canon said, shuffling the papers in his hands. “I have a client to get to, so I need you to head out.”
Bronson stood, not offended by his brother’s dismissal. They’d always had a slightly strained relationship, and right now both were under heavy stress. “I’ll take you up on that dinner invitation,” he said as he slipped through the doorway.
“Seven sharp,” were Canon’s last words as Bronson closed the door behind him.
His legs felt heavy and his mind overly tired as he walked into the light and down the block to the bus station. He hadn’t felt up to dealing with traffic that morning.
What am I going to do? That was the question of the hour. He worked full time for the nonprofit, but apparently that wasn’t good enough. Dad wanted him back in the nine-to-five rat-race, and part of Bronson didn’t feel like it was worth it.
If Fathers and Sons wasn’t in such terrible financial straits, Bronson knew he probably wouldn’t bother fighting for that inheritance. But as it was, the charity was going to go under if someone didn’t come up with a way to save their building. Bronson had thought his inheritance would be an answer to their prayers, but now it looked like it might be just another obstacle to keep him from getting what was rightfully his.