Finally a Family

The family had all breathed a collective sigh of relief when Sam came back from Ontario thirteen years ago. Grandpa Westerveld, Sam’s partner on the family farm, had been injured in a bad accident and Sam was needed. Ethan was sixteen at the time and chafing to quit school so he could work full-time with his grandfather on their family farm. Ever since he could throw a bale, Ethan had spent evenings and weekends and every holiday helping his grandpa.

Sam slipped back into the groove but never said much about the nine years he’d been gone or the woman that he’d been living with and her little girl. Nor did he ever get married.

After Grandpa Westerveld died, Sam, his son, took over the struggling farm, and when Ethan graduated from high school Sam took his nephew on as his new partner.

Now Sam was dead, after a six-month battle with cancer. And, per Sam’s request, Sam wanted one Hannah Kristoferson and Ethan Westerveld at a private reading of his will, the reading to be put off until such time as one Hannah Kristoferson could be tracked down.

Though no one understood the reasons for Sam’s unusual request, the Westerveld family all knew about Hannah and her mother, Marla, and their involvement with their brother and uncle.

Sam and his father had had a falling out and Sam had left, determined to make it on his own. He started hitchhiking across Canada and got as far as Toronto, where he met Marla and Hannah at a Laundromat. Hannah was three. He dated Marla for a time and then moved in.

During Sam’s stay in Toronto, the family kept up a regular communication with Sam. They all wrote and phoned. When he returned, he never mentioned Marla or Hannah. The only reminder of those lost years was a few pictures and some homemade cards, and the cheques he sent Marla Kristoferson every month.

When Sam was admitted to the hospital, he asked the family to try to find Hannah so he could see her before he died. By the time they finally found her, Sam had been dead and buried for three weeks.

Ethan pushed himself off the couch. He didn’t need to give Hannah or her mother any more headspace. He had too much work to do and too little time to do it in.

Chapter Two

Hannah paused at the entrance to the acreage to check the name on the sign: Dan and Tilly Westerveld. She put the car in gear, took a calming breath and turned down the driveway. The tall spruce trees lining the driveway could have been welcoming or sinister, depending on one’s mental state.

Right now, echoes of Hansel and Gretel were teasing her memories. Though Hannah was pretty sure no tempting gingerbread house complete with wicked witch lay at the end of the graveled driveway, a sense of foreboding still surrounded her as she drove.

The driveway gave one more turn and then opened up into a large open space, also surrounded by spruce trees. She slowed, then turned toward an area she presumed was a parking lot. It was occupied by a small white car and the same bright red truck Hannah had seen her first day in town.

Hannah locked the car and, as she slipped the keys into her purse, took a moment to look at the Westerveld home. The house was large, all shades of cream and brown, and set off by a heavy fieldstone foundation.

Contemporary, imposing and probably expensive.

The house had two wings connected by a thirty-foot-high section composed of glass, creating an abundance of natural light.

Dan Westerveld must share Sam’s love of gardening, from the look of the large landscaped lawn broken up with clumps of shrubs and flowers. Beyond the house Hannah caught a glimpse of a fountain and a gazebo flanked by flower beds.

Spikes and a few patches of green broke through the dirt. She would love to see this place in the summertime, she thought with a tinge of disloyalty, letting the peace and quiet of the place surround her.

It had taken a lot of money and a lot of time to make this place look like this. The house alone would have set them back beaucoup bucks, never mind the landscaping costs.

What was a simple hairdresser with plans of buying an old, decrepit salon thinking this family owed her?

Her anger and her grief over Sam were inextricably intertwined with her anger against his family. If they hadn’t interfered, she might have had a father yet. If the Westervelds had stayed out of their business, her teen years might have had some cohesion and order instead of the chaos and confusion it fell into after Sam left.

She strode up the brick walk, marched up the slate steps to the recessed front door and pressed the doorbell.

Hannah, taking charge.

After a few moments, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman clad in blue jeans, a corduroy blazer over a white T-shirt and a polite smile.

“You must be Hannah. Come in.” She stood aside to let Hannah in. “I’m Tilly Westerveld. Welcome to our home.”

The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. The entrance soared two floors, lit by the wall of windows.

“Can I take your coat?” Tilly asked as Hannah’s eyes were drawn, against their will, to a staircase arching gracefully up to the second floor. To her right, through a set of sliding wooden and glass doors, she saw upholstered chairs pushed up to a gleaming wooden table in a dining room, also open to the second floor.

“Sure,” Hannah said, feeling a bit dazed by her surroundings.

“Dan and Ethan are in the study. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea before you go in?”

“Um…no, thanks.” She gave Tilly a belated smile.

“Would you like me to show you the way?”

Tilly’s own smile was as polite as before but Hannah caught a hint of tightness around her mouth. She guessed Tilly Westerveld wasn’t elated to see her.

“That’s not necessary. Just tell me how to get there.”

“The study is just past the stairs. Turn to your left and then left again. The door is open.” Tilly waved her hand toward the hallway leading off the foyer.

“Thanks.” Feeling vulnerable without her jacket, Hannah folded her arms over her stomach and followed Tilly’s directions, a sense of unreality surrounding her like a cloud. She tried not to stare as a double set of glass doors off the hallway to her right afforded her a glimpse of another large room, the great room, she suspected, with its massive fireplace, numerous leather chairs and couches and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. A woman sat curled up in one corner of the couch. She looked up as Hannah passed and lowered her book, her features transforming from curiosity to bored disinterest.

Hannah heard the sound of murmuring voices and made another turn, focusing on the reason she was here. The door to the study was half-open, so Hannah knocked lightly on it and waited.

“Hannah Kristoferson?”

The door opened and a man stood in front of her, tall, slightly graying hair, friendly blue eyes with laugh lines radiating from their corners. Just like Sam’s. His genuine smile created a hitch in her heart which, compounded with the embarrassment of being caught snooping, made her feel flustered.

“Yes. Sorry. Your wife…told me to come here—” she waved backward, down the hallway in the general direction of the rest of the house “—so I…I’m here. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just…your yard. It’s…it’s lovely.”

And…stop.

“Why, thank you, Hannah.” Dan Westerveld walked toward the window and beckoned for her to follow. “Come here and you can have a better look.”

“No, that’s okay. I mean, I’m here for a meeting, right?”

“Don’t fuss on account of me,” she heard a deep voice drawl from the other side of the room.

A tall figure stood in front of a set of bookshelves covering the entire wall, floor to ceiling. He held a magazine in one hand, and continued flipping through it while he watched her.

His faint smile mocked her even as she read the interest in his eyes.

“Uncle Ethan.” Ethan Westerveld.

Well, she wasn’t reciprocating his interest. Coming to this Westerveld stronghold had never been a goal. Cozying up to one of “them,” certainly not on the list, no matter how good-looking he may be.

Besides, his whole posture, that look on his face, the smile bordering on self-confident smirk all added up to consummate flirt. Shades of Alex.

She turned back to Dan Westerveld, determined to regain some kind of ground. “Looks to me like you’ve got peonies coming up in the front. What kind are they?” she asked, making conversation as she walked to the window, allowing herself a good look at the yard she had so admired.

“They come from hearty prairie stock my mother’s mother planted on their home site.” Dan stood beside her, his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Sam gave me some cuttings a few years back. He farms…farmed, the old place.” Dan laughed lightly. “Have to get used to the idea,” he said softly. “He was a good man, my brother.”