black pumps. “You and your mother will have to walk. There’s no room for passengers.”
“I don’t have anything even remotely suitable for trekking through the sea of mud that trail appears to be. I had no idea we’d be indulging in this kind of expedition when we left Toronto.”
“There’s a pair of rubber boots in the back of my Jeep.” He gave the restraints another jerk. “They’ll be a bit big, but they’ll be better than those things you’re wearing.”
The sharp retort brewing in her throat died as her mother came striding up to them, feet encased in Wellingtons.
“Ready?” Myra drew a deep breath and pulled back her shoulders.
“As soon as Ms. Armstrong gets herself appropriately shod.” He looked down at the older woman, his tone and outlook softening.
“Oh, darling, I forgot to tell you to bring boots.” Her mother stared down at her daughter’s feet.
“I’ve told her I have boots in the back of my Jeep she can borrow.” He gave the coffin a light slap, as if he were patting the man inside on the back. A corner of his mouth twitched in a grin. “Remembering the good times,” he said softly.
Good God, the man can put on an act. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he was sincere.
“Well, then.” Myra turned to her daughter with a what-are-you-waiting-for look. “Get those boots.”
Allison shot Heath Oakes what she hoped was a withering look before she swung away and tottered off toward the Jeep. Her attempt at hauteur failed as one of her heels caught in the loose rocks and she had to scramble to keep her balance.
She imagined him smirking behind her back. She’d be glad when all this was over, the will had been read, and her mother, who would inherit her father’s holdings, could send him packing.
Pulling a pair of mud-spattered rubber boots—at a glance, several sizes too large—from the Jeep’s cluttered cargo space, she jerked off her pumps, and flung the shoes that had cost her several hundred dollars into the back of the dirty vehicle.
I’ll convince Mom to dismiss him, come hell or high water, the minute she’s in possession of the Chance. We’ll see how cocky he is when he’s out on his backside!
With the boots flopping a couple of inches from her heels, she stomped back to the tractor and the waiting couple. She caught a glint of wicked amusement flickering in Heath’s golden brown eyes. Prickling annoyance flooded through her veins. A black, short-skirted, designer-original suit did not coordinate with filthy, gargantuan Wellingtons.
“Are you ready, Heath?” Myra looked up at the man on the tractor.
“Ready when you are, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Then let’s away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He leaned forward and turned a switch. The motor sputtered, then roared to life. He flashed a triumphant grin down on Myra. Focusing his attention on the trail ahead, he put his hand over the gearshift and forced it into drive. All but unseating its driver, the old tractor leaped forward.
“Ride ’em, cowboy,” Allison sniggered.
“Allison, really!” Her mother’s rebuke reminded her of the solemnity of the occasion.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
Heedless of her taunt, Heath got the vehicle under control. As it began to jolt its way down the trail, he settled it into a slow plod through the ruts of spring-softened ground. Myra and Allison fell in behind it, skirting the wake when possible, walking gingerly through the mud when it wasn’t.
The mile-long trek to the burial site seemed interminable. Rankled to the core, Allison trudged along beside her apparently undaunted mother. Twice the cloying mud brought her up short and she would have fallen except for Myra’s hand grasping her arm.
“Mom, I can’t believe Gramps expected us to do this,” she muttered. “This trail is awful.”
“Heath’s managing, darling.” Myra paused to indicate the tractor and trailer slogging and lurching down the trail ahead of them. “And so am I. Gramps would have expected you to have appropriate footwear…and a bit of perseverance.”
“Mom…” Allison started to protest, but her mother had set off again, following the dirty, roaring vehicle, head held high in her wide-brimmed hat, spatters of mud on the Italian leather coat that looked entirely out of place above filthy farm boots. Her mother was one amazing woman. She shook her head and followed.
A half hour later they emerged into a meadow carpeted with the dry, dead grasses left over from winter. In the mist, it was a dull brown expanse surrounded by walls of dark brooding spruce and solemn white pine. Somewhere several yards