Boston, Massachusetts
Beacon Hill
Returning to an empty kitchen, Scott sought out his dear friend in the next logical place. If memory served him correctly, which it did, Winnie was found content with her needlework by the sunny window in the sitting room.
“I thought ye be showing yer little cousin the finest Boston can offer.”
“We are. Kinsey is selecting the correct hat so she can be seen in public. We should be leaving in an hour or so.”
Winnie let out a snorted chuckle as she reached for the next article of clothing that needed her attention with the thread and needle.
“I wish you could see her on the ranch. She takes an old hat of mine and puts it on her head and she’s done.”
“I think a hat is the least of the difficult decisions that are occurring in this home at the moment.” Winnie paused to rethread her needle. “ScottyGarrett, do ye know what has kept me on God’s green earth perhaps longer than most?”
“The brandy you have hidden in the kitchen pantry?”
Scott observed the raised eyebrow parked neatly above Winifred’s “evil eye”.
“No. Patience. Which is why I will patiently wait for ye to tell me the real reason why yer home.”
Scott smiled thinking how many times he used this same strategy to extract answers from Johnny and more recently, Kinsey; patience and wait.
“Fletcher Garrett left his entire estate to Kinsey. We found out a few days ago.”
Winnie’s lack of response indicated she was patiently waiting for Scott to continue.
“The assets are in a trust fund so in six years Kinsey will be officially a wealthy little lady.”
Scott watched a seamstress that was in no hurry to hear the answer she was looking for.
“Grandfather was the executor of the trust until two months ago when Fletcher revised his will and named me as the trustee.”
Winnie’s needle came to a rest. “And therein lies the rub.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This did not sit well with yer grandfather?”
“Ludicrous question, Winifred.”
Scott regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. Before he could apologize, Kinsey, bounding into the room for approval, pointed to the hat perched on her head. “Yes?”
Smiling at Scott’s nod, the younger cousin proclaimed it was time to go and left as quickly as she appeared.
Again, Scott attempted the necessary apology when Winnie held up her hand. “Apology accepted. They're waiting for ye.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Winnie wasn’t upset. She knew it was a ludicrous question. As the morning biscuits were baking, Kinsey had told Winnie why they were in Boston.
And then Kinsey had told Winnie more.
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