Clay began to brush Streak and very soon he heard her truck engine start and leave the area.

"Well," he said to the horse, "I certainly can't blame you for making me look like a fool."

Six

Jack Sheridan used stencils to create a couple of signs announcing a town meeting. He'd hang one on the bar door, the other on the church door. The meeting was set to take place in the church in a few days. He had the pages laid out on the bar and lettered with colored markers. Mel sat across from him, leaning her chin on her palm, watching.

"You don't have to do it this way," Mel said.

"I know it," he replied. "But I'm not much of an autocrat."

Preacher stood beside Jack, leaning one hand on the bar, watching as he stenciled. "He was a helluva autocrat when we were in the Marines," Preacher pointed out.

"A different situation entirely," Jack said. "Hope left everything she had to the town. I'm just the custodian. I owe it to her to find out what the town wants and needs."

"You're going to get six hundred opinions," Mel said. "Besides, Hope never asked anyone. I doubt she expected you to."

"It doesn't matter," Jack said, filling in letters with colorful markers. "That was her money. Now it's the town's money. Shouldn't the town have a say in how it's used?"

"No," Mel and Preacher said together. Then they looked at each other in surprise.

"You know the saying--too many cooks in the kitchen," Mel said. "And also, there's nothing in her will saying it has to be dealt with right away, or used at all. It can be invested, saved for a real emergency."

"I'll suggest that option at the meeting," Jack said.

Jack had gone to visit the lawyer who had drawn up the will and trust; it turned out there was a lot of money invested in long-term stocks and bonds, in addition to the house, its contents and land--several million. Now, to a man like Jack, that was a fortune. But as the lawyer quickly pointed out, the budget to run a town, even a very small town, was usually considerably higher. This would at least partially explain why Hope had always kept a firm hand on the bottom line, invested cautiously and conservatively, and when she did spend money--like on hiring Mel as the town midwife or Mike Valenzuela as the town cop--the salaries she offered were not exactly impressive. Of course, also important to remember, Hope had done this out of the goodness of her bank account and no one in town held a meeting or contributed to those salaries. Doc Mullins had worked Mel into his practice then bequeathed the practice to her, relieving Hope of the expense. But as far as Jack could tell, Mike's modest salary was still being paid out of the Virgin River Trust.

"I hope I'm not spoiling a surprise," Mel said, "but Noah's going to make you an offer on behalf of the Presbyterian Women. If you can see your way clear to cut us in on some of the profits, the women's group could volunteer to get in that old house and sort, clean, pitch and restore items. We could hold an estate sale, and the town and the Presbyterian Women would both benefit. And since our women's group serves both the church and the town, it probably works into your plan."

He looked up from his work. He tilted his head and his eyes were large. "That's a very good idea," Jack said. "But, Melinda, it's a monumental job. How soon do you think the women can get to it?"

"Right away, I imagine."

"It could take forever," Jack pointed out.

"Nah," Mel said, shaking her head. "Not only are we a highly motivated group we expect some help from the Presbyterian Husbands." Then she grinned at him.

"I don't recall signing up for that group," Jack said.

"Comes with the territory, sweetheart. The Presbyterian Women are kinda busy with the Presbyterian Children and various jobs. Plus, it's bound to be heavy work and we'll be in need of some muscle." She reached across the bar and gave his biceps a pinch. "We'll be needing our big, strong, handsome partners."

"Why don't you ever flirt with me like that when you don't want something?"

"I'm monitoring the size of your head," she explained patiently. "This town meeting thing, Jack, I don't know..."

"What's the alternative? Just sit on the house, land and bankbook like some king, doling it out as I like? What's to prevent me from just giving Valenzuela a big raise and adding on to the bar and calling it a town hall?"

"Well, besides your ethics, nothing. But Hope was very realistic in choosing you for this job--she knew you wouldn't do anything like that unless it was in the best interest of the town. And a good option would be a small board of directors to assist--one member who's good with finances, one with legal experience, one who knows town management, et cetera. It doesn't have to be a voting board, but more of a planning committee to assist you, because she really did give you a big job."

"Hope and everyone else. I used to be a bartender. Now I'm a church deacon who practically never went to church, an unelected mayor who never had an interest in running for office, a banker and soon-to-be renovator and real estate mogul. This town needs to delegate responsibility a little better."

She laughed at him, knowing he loved all the attention. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"But see, I don't want to be king of the town purse."

"Well, you will. As soon as you're faced with six hundred wannabe kings and queens trying to jump on your throne with some far-out ideas of how to spend that money. Speaking of money, Hope very cleverly never told anyone how much there was. I'm sure it was so that she wasn't overwhelmed with requests. Are you planning to tell?"

"Don't I have to? If it's the town's money?"

"I'd talk to a lawyer with estate experience about that. Hey--Erin Foley! She's an estate attorney and the family has that renovated cabin now. Plus she's hooked up to Aiden Riordan, who has family nearby, so they'll be spending enough time here to have a vested interest!" She leaned toward him. "Jack, don't tell what the bottom line is before you know whether you absolutely have to. People get very strange when they think they have money burning a hole in their pockets."

"But it's not their money!" Jack insisted.

"That's not going to matter," said Preacher, who had been pretty quiet until now. "Haven't you ever read about those Lotto winners whose lives are destroyed by their windfall?"

"You really think that could happen here?" Jack asked. "This is a good little town!"

"Goodness and opportunity don't always meet on level ground," Mel said.

Both Jack and Preacher straightened suddenly. "Whoa," Jack said. "Is that like from the Dalai Lama or something?"

"No, that's an original Melinda Sheridan. Or, you could try this one on for size, since I bet it fits you to a T. No good deed shall go unpunished." She took a last sip of her diet cola. "I gotta go. We have patients this afternoon. Good luck with this." She whirled off her stool and headed out the door.

Jack stared after her. "Why didn't Hope make her the custodian?"

"Executor and administrator," Preacher corrected. "Personally, I think Hope's watching and getting a big laugh out of it." And with that, Preacher went back to the kitchen and Jack was left alone.

Alone with one final thought: We still haven't decided what to do with Hope's ashes. Don't we have to scatter her ashes before we start spending her money?

He thought he heard a distant, gravelly laugh.

Jack struggled with his dilemma for a few days. He tried not to talk about it too much, but if the bar was quiet and someone he knew to be a trusted friend happened upon his path, he was susceptible to spilling his guts. But the last person he expected walked in the door--Luke Riordan.

"Hey, there!" Jack said. "I've hardly seen you since Brett was born!"

Luke stuck out his hand across the bar. "Shelby sprung me loose for a beer break. Since she started back to school, I have so much quality time with Brett I guess I'm getting a little cranky."

"That a fact?" Jack asked with a laugh. "I can relate to that." He served him up a cold beer. In addition to managing six rental cabins on the river, Luke was taking care of their two-month-old son while Shelby went to college. "Cabins busy right now?" Jack asked.

"About half-full. The summer people have pretty much stopped coming through, but fishing is picking up and come next month when hunting season opens, we're booked solid. When it's groups of men making the reservations I assume fishing or hunting."

"How can you handle all that? With the baby?"

"For right now, Shelby's uncle Walt sticks pretty close. Art's a great help," Luke said. Art was a man in his early thirties with Down syndrome who lived on their property and worked under their supervision. "But there are a lot of things that are just beyond him--anything up a ladder, paperwork or accounting, driving for supplies, you know. But so far, we're managing just fine." He took a drink of his beer and said, "Ahhhh. Not like I don't have cold beer at home, but I needed to get out. I feel like a nanny."

"How are your brothers getting along?" Jack asked.

"Let's see--the youngest, Patrick, is sitting alert on an aircraft carrier, but it's a short three-month mission. Aiden and Erin are planning a small wedding for the spring. Sean is up to his eyeballs in Air Command and Staff College--boy's probably going to be an Air Force general. Now doesn't that make you laugh? Sean, the biggest screw-off I know. I guess he can get serious where the Air Force is concerned. And the only one we don't hear that much from is Colin, but that's always been the case. He's a loner."

"What's Colin doing these days?"

Luke took another swig of beer. "Black Hawk helicopters out of Fort Benning, Georgia."

"Shouldn't he be about ready to retire?" Jack asked. "Isn't he about forty?"

"About right, and already over twenty years in the Army--but they're going to have to throw him out. He'll never go quietly. He loves that helicopter and it loves him."

Jack poured himself a cup of coffee. "I never understood you flyboys. I never even liked riding in choppers."

Luke laughed at him. "All the boys fly except Aiden, and look what Aiden ended up doing--ob-gyn? Come on, that's weird if you ask me."

Jack took a sip. "Now, I think that makes sense. More sense than going up in the air in some kind of strange whirly machine. So, Luke, you and Shelby coming to the town meeting?"

Luke thought a moment before answering. He took a small taste of his beer for courage. "Hey, I'm real sorry, Jack, but that sounds like about the most boring thing I can think of and my fun meter is already way, way down."

"Mel thinks I shouldn't do it at all. She thinks everyone will have diverging ideas."

"No offense, Jack, but if you get ten people with enough time on their hands for a boring town meeting, you'll be lucky."

"Think so? You should come, Luke. Maybe you'll have some ideas for the town."

"Want to know what my best idea is? Sleeping through the night, that's the best idea I can come up with. I want that baby in his own room and me and Shelby sleeping straight through."

"It'll come," Jack said. "He's only a couple of months old."

"Yeah, a couple of months with a tapeworm. Kid eats nonstop. And he has the biggest feet I've ever seen. If babies grow into their feet like German shepherds, he's gonna be eight feet tall." He finished his beer slowly. "I'd like to stay longer, but I'm afraid if I do, you'll talk me into that meeting by calling in some marker or something."

"If you don't participate," Jack said solemnly, "no one will ever elect you mayor."

Luke stood up, tossed a couple of bills on the bar and said, "That works for me. You take care now." And he got out of there before it went any further.

While walking across the parking lot from the bar to the church for the town meeting, Jack asked Mel if she'd mind taking notes, just to have something to reference if he wanted to review the suggestions of what to do with their inheritance from Hope. "Notes? Like minutes?" she asked.

"Totally unofficial--but I'd like some kind of record of what was said. I don't know why or how I'll use it, but... You know--just jot down a name and a suggestion. That kind of thing."

"I guess so. Um, Jack--please play your cards close to your chest on this. Don't tell too much too fast. People never knew what Hope had and she was a cagey old broad--I suspect there was a reason for it. No one knew her town better than she did."

"I think you're selling this little town short, Melinda. I've always found most everyone to be responsible. Cautious, even. And certainly generous."

"Uh-huh," she said.

"Look, there are already cars and trucks parked outside." Jack smiled. "We're going to get a good turnout!"

"Uh-huh."

"Um, Jack?" a man's voice said.

Jack turned to find himself face-to-face with Hugh Givens, local apple orchard owner. He stuck out his hand. "Hey, Hugh, how's it going, man?"

"Good. Excellent. Listen, could I just have a quick word with you before the meeting starts?"

"You have ideas, Hugh? Because I'd prefer it if you'd--"

"No, sir, a question. If I could have a second... Alone?"

Mel's eyebrows lifted in surprise that anyone would ever question her discretion. She was probably the best secret keeper in the town. But she took the hint. Jack handed her the little notebook he'd been carrying and watched her go inside.