Montana Darling(9)

“You’re right, Mom,” Mia said, trying to stay focused on her family issues. “It was nice of Meg to ask, and Em is thrilled to get away. I’m sure we’ll hear all about Meg’s new project at the wedding.”

Mia loved her sister, but they’d never been as close as Mia and Austen were. Older sister versus twins? Plus, Meg’s single-minded passion for wolves took a little of the fun out of playing with her.

Mia would never forget the day Austen informed his sisters they were going to be part of the Big Sky Mavericks—a make-believe squadron of Navy jet fighter pilots he’d dreamed up after watching the movie, Top Gun. He’d tried to assign Meg a call sign, but she cut him off. “My name is Lone Wolf.”

She was one and her family knew it.

“I need to drop off a key to the motorhome with your dad,” Mom said, pulling into the parking lot of Big Z Hardware. “He’s helping Paul make room for the new Outdoor Living display.”

The parking lot was a beehive of activity. As usual. Paul knew how to bring in buyers and keep them here. Mia had never ceased to marvel at her younger brother’s entrepreneurial genius.

“Coming in or waiting here?”

“I’ll stay.” She lowered her window all the way down and undid her seatbelt so she could rest her elbow comfortably on the ledge. Her black tank and dark denim skirt absorbed the sun’s rays, warming her central core. She let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

Being back in Marietta was a mixed blessing. People knew her. They also knew her story. In Cheyenne, she’d never—or very rarely—had to deal with people’s well-intended sympathy…or worse, their cancer/chemo/recovery sagas.

Mia knew she should be grateful for people’s concern, but she’d moved away from Marietta to become her own person. Here, she’d always been Bob and Sarah Zabrinski’s daughter. Or, worse, Austen Zabrinski’s twin.

In Cheyenne, she’d been defined by her work. Deputy District Attorney Mia Zabrinski. Only at the very end of her tenure had people started referring to her as “the DDA with breast cancer.”

“Wow, it’s a mad house in there,” Mom said, when she returned. “Your dad and OC Jenkins are like two old peacocks trying to out-strut each other.”

Mia grinned at the image that sprang to mind. Her cell phone rang as they turned on Main. A local number, but not one she recognized.

Her heart rate sped up. Not the school, she silently prayed. She’d gotten more than enough of those calls at Emilee’s old school. “Hello?”

“Is this Mia? It’s Ren Fletcher. How are you doing?”

Ren’s name had come up when she and Austen were discussing whether or not to set up a law office. “You should call Ren and let him know we’re thinking about setting up shop in own,” Austen had suggested. “As a courtesy.”

Surely, Ren wasn’t calling to find out her intentions?

“Good. Thanks. What can I do for you, Ren?”

Mom gave her a look as she pulled into a parking place a few doors down from the bakery. Main Street hadn’t changed much since Mia’s childhood. The old brick buildings screamed, “Character.” The sort new construction didn’t even try to match.

“Interestingly, I have a gentleman in my office who said you and he appear to own the same piece of land. A lot by the river. Out off—”

“I know where my lot is located, Ren,” Mia said; shocked by the crazy rush of sensations went from hot to cold along her spine. Ryker Bensen contacted a lawyer. Didn’t see that coming. “My ex-husband and I bought the parcel three…maybe four years ago. I was awarded it in our divorce settlement.”

“That’s exactly what Mr. Bensen told me. He’s brought copies of the legal description and property information filed with the tax collector’s office, which shows you and your husband as legal owners. However, Mr. Bensen insists he never signed any document authorizing the sale. He speculates that his stepfather, who, along with Ryker’s mother is an administrator of the Bensen Family Trust, might have illegally forged his signature to the bill of sale.”

“Money exchanged hands, Ren. A great deal of money. I’m not the kind of person who takes shortcuts or makes deals under the table.”

“I told him that, Mia. But Mr. Bensen has proof that the sale took place when he was in Africa.”

“Africa?”

Mom’s look turned to one of concern. Mia put out her hands in a who-knows gesture and motioned for her to go ahead into the bakery. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she whispered, covering her phone’s speaker.

“Mia, I’m afraid you and your husband may have been defrauded.”

Could Edward have colluded with whoever sold the lot? She closed her eyes, trying to think back to that time. The Sampson murder trial. She’d been under the most extreme pressure of her career. For the first time in her life, she’d signed her name to legal documents she hadn’t read. “I’ll need to see all the paperwork and so-called proof myself.”

“In due time, Mia. We’re still in the fact-finding stage. My client had no idea he wasn’t the rightful owner until you showed up this morning. I’m sure you feel as blindsided as he does. Can we make an appointment to get you and Mr. Bensen together to talk—?”

She cut him off. “I’m a block away, Ren.” She opened the Jeep’s door and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be there in five.”

She disconnected the call and shoved her phone into her skirt pocket.

“What was that all about?” Mom asked, standing outside the door of the bakery.

“A leftover gift from Edward,” Mia said, barely able to contain her fury. “I’ll be back as soon as possible but don’t wait for me.”

With that she switched directions and marched away. Did Edward know the property was hot when he bought it? Maybe, maybe not, but he must have known it held the potential of being disputed because he never hesitated to add the Marietta lot to her side of the property agreement page. Why else would he have given up a valuable asset without a fight?

*

Ryker liked Ren Fletcher immediately upon meeting him. Mid-to-late 30s. Fit. Honest eyes and a handshake that matched. It didn’t hurt that Fletcher’s Main Street office building with its brick façade looked well established and professional. The welcoming ambiance of the outer reception area with its cream walls, built-in bookcases and framed nature photograph prints on the walls reminded Ryker of his father’s office. He’d always felt safe there.

“Thanks for seeing me so fast.”

“No problem. Louise said you have an emergency and, luckily, my wife had to cancel our lunch date—lingering morning sickness.” His smile showed pride.

Ryker remembered that feeling. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Come in. What can I do for you? Something about a trust violation and stolen land?”

Dad always said when it came to lawyers, the person with the most paperwork won. He’d copied what he could from the Crawford County Clerk’s files regarding the exact location of the parcels, the legal description and the records of ownership of his property. A transfer of ownership had been made to Mia Zabrinski and Edward Kingston, but the signatures of the two sellers belonged to neither Ryker nor his brother.

After ten minutes of studying the maps and asking questions, Ren said, “You and Mia Zabrinski both believe you each own the same piece of property, and this morning she asked you to vacate the premises.”

“Yes. If you check the records you’ll see that the Bensen Family Trust has been paying taxes on it since the early 1980s.”

Ryker shared what he could remember of the Trust, his stepfather and his meeting with Mia that morning, but he left out the part about how attracted he’d been to her. Strong yet fragile. His favorite combination in a woman.

That was when Ren called her. “She’s on her way over,” Ren said. “I haven’t seen Mia in ages, but from what I’ve heard, she won a number of high-profile cases for the District Attorney’s Office in Cheyenne.”

Louise hadn’t mentioned that. The coffee he’d made when Mia was at his camp that morning gurgled and hiccupped in his belly. “Well, from what I gathered this morning, she’s back to stay and she plans to build on my lot.”

Ren picked up one of the papers from Ryker’s file. “You’re asserting criminal corruption and deliberate intent, not a simple mistake. Mia’s family has been here since the copper mining days. I have a hard time believing she’d be involved in anything so blatantly illegal and, more importantly, morally wrong.”

“For what it’s worth, she seemed shocked by my claim. She totally believes she’s in the right, and maybe, technically, she is. But, I promise you, I did not sell my land.”

“Who did?”

“My stepfather.” Possibly with my mother’s okay, he didn’t add.

Ren picked up a yellow legal pad. “Tell me about yourself while we’re waiting for Mia.”

“I grew up with a proverbial silver spoon and great expectations…until my dad passed away suddenly from a heart attack my senior year of high school. Things changed pretty fast after that. Mom married a business associate of my dad’s a few months later. He convinced her to stop ‘subsidizing’ her grown children. Luckily, Dad had set up an irrevocable trust that we’d have access to at age thirty. Mom was the administrator, but in the past few years, I think she’s stepped back and let Howard handle it.”