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Golden Chances #2
The Interloper
A fast-moving, dramatic California saga about the people--Spanish, Anglo, Mexican and Indian who struggled, fought, made mistakes, loved and survived to build the foundations of the Golden State.
* * *
Stella came for Angelica's funeral and took over all the arrangements to Diarmid’s great relief. She never left, sending word to El Doblez for Lucita to send her belongings to the ranch and putting Lucita and her son in charge of the cantina.
Diarmid never mentioned marriage to her and she never indicated she expected him to. She took over the raising of Davis and Meg as "Aunt" Stella.
Diarmid saw to it that Davis learned all there was to know about running the ranch and when the lad turned eighteen, he sent him to Leland Stanford University, up near San Francisco. On the first morning after Davis came home for the summer in June of 1898, Diarmid rode with him around the property and, as usual, they argued.
"What's wrong with raising race horses?" Davis demanded, reining in his mount at the top of a rise overlooking the orange groves. "Mr. Stanford does very well training and racing his. It's true the horses might not show a profit immediately but--"
Diarmid’s snort cut off his son’s words. He halted his horse and scowled at Davis. "They're teaching you a load of nonsense up there at Leland Stanford University."
"How do you know it's nonsense?" Davis shot back. "You never let me try out any of my ideas. Some day I'll be running the ranch, you might let me have a chance at a few things now."
Diarmid didn't reply immediately. Davis take over from him? Not damn likely, as long as he was able to draw breath. Race horses! Couldn't the lad see raising such horses would be a poor investment, taking time and men away from what they did to bring in money? Not that his son was a fool, he was as bright as they came. Too bright, maybe, too eager. He needed someone with experience standing over him, showing him where he was wrong.
Hank Jarvis, Diarmid's lawyer and fishing friend, had been at him for years to include the ranch in the corporation that handled all his other properties.
"All you think about is hobbling me with legalities," Diarmid had grumbled the last time they met.
"Face it, you're not getting any younger, Darm," Hank told him. "If the ranch is part of the corporation, it'll be simple enough to set up a trusteeship until your boy's mature enough to know what to do. He's still a youngster, he'll need advice--unless you plan to outlive us all, Davis. included."
Diarmid had brushed Hank's words aside at the time but they'd come to mind often since. Davis and he didn't seem to see eye to eye on the management of the ranch or anything else. What would happen to his holdings if he died tomorrow and Davis took over? Never mind the cannery, the sugar refinery or the fruit packing warehouses--it was the land that mattered. The land must not be lost.
"To tell you the truth, Davie lad, I'm thinking of including the ranch in the corporation and setting up a trusteeship until you're old enough to run things," he told his son. "I won't live forever, you know."
Davis slanted him a disgusted look. "With all your old cronies as trustees, I won't ever have a chance to try out a new idea."
"Wait just one damn minute. I haven't decided who'll be--"
"I'll bet I can name them right now. Jarvis, Manuelo Amato, Stein and, let's see, Bothwick's dead so probably his son, Warren. Right?"
* * *
Stella came for Angelica's funeral and took over all the arrangements to Diarmid’s great relief. She never left, sending word to El Doblez for Lucita to send her belongings to the ranch and putting Lucita and her son in charge of the cantina.
Diarmid never mentioned marriage to her and she never indicated she expected him to. She took over the raising of Davis and Meg as "Aunt" Stella.
Diarmid saw to it that Davis learned all there was to know about running the ranch and when the lad turned eighteen, he sent him to Leland Stanford University, up near San Francisco. On the first morning after Davis came home for the summer in June of 1898, Diarmid rode with him around the property and, as usual, they argued.
"What's wrong with raising race horses?" Davis demanded, reining in his mount at the top of a rise overlooking the orange groves. "Mr. Stanford does very well training and racing his. It's true the horses might not show a profit immediately but--"
Diarmid’s snort cut off his son’s words. He halted his horse and scowled at Davis. "They're teaching you a load of nonsense up there at Leland Stanford University."
"How do you know it's nonsense?" Davis shot back. "You never let me try out any of my ideas. Some day I'll be running the ranch, you might let me have a chance at a few things now."
Diarmid didn't reply immediately. Davis take over from him? Not damn likely, as long as he was able to draw breath. Race horses! Couldn't the lad see raising such horses would be a poor investment, taking time and men away from what they did to bring in money? Not that his son was a fool, he was as bright as they came. Too bright, maybe, too eager. He needed someone with experience standing over him, showing him where he was wrong.
Hank Jarvis, Diarmid's lawyer and fishing friend, had been at him for years to include the ranch in the corporation that handled all his other properties.
"All you think about is hobbling me with legalities," Diarmid had grumbled the last time they met.
"Face it, you're not getting any younger, Darm," Hank told him. "If the ranch is part of the corporation, it'll be simple enough to set up a trusteeship until your boy's mature enough to know what to do. He's still a youngster, he'll need advice--unless you plan to outlive us all, Davis. included."
Diarmid had brushed Hank's words aside at the time but they'd come to mind often since. Davis and he didn't seem to see eye to eye on the management of the ranch or anything else. What would happen to his holdings if he died tomorrow and Davis took over? Never mind the cannery, the sugar refinery or the fruit packing warehouses--it was the land that mattered. The land must not be lost.
"To tell you the truth, Davie lad, I'm thinking of including the ranch in the corporation and setting up a trusteeship until you're old enough to run things," he told his son. "I won't live forever, you know."
Davis slanted him a disgusted look. "With all your old cronies as trustees, I won't ever have a chance to try out a new idea."
"Wait just one damn minute. I haven't decided who'll be--"
"I'll bet I can name them right now. Jarvis, Manuelo Amato, Stein and, let's see, Bothwick's dead so probably his son, Warren. Right?"
Nook
First published September 21, 2011
14 people want to read
About the author
Jane Toombs
172 books31 followersJane was born in California, raised in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, has returned "home" to live in the beautiful Upper Peninsula on the shore of Lake Superior--with the Viking from her past. Jane has five children, two stepchildren, seven grandchildren, a calico cat named Kinko and two computers.
She's the author of over seventy published books, both in paper and electronic. These include the various romance genres--gothic, suspense, contemporary, historical, Regency and paranormal--as well as other genres such as mystery, fantasy and horror. Jane has used pseudonyms--Ellen Jamison, Diana Stuart, Olivia Sumner--but is now writing under her own name except for her Zebra/Pinnacle romances for which she uses Jane Anderson.
She's the author of over seventy published books, both in paper and electronic. These include the various romance genres--gothic, suspense, contemporary, historical, Regency and paranormal--as well as other genres such as mystery, fantasy and horror. Jane has used pseudonyms--Ellen Jamison, Diana Stuart, Olivia Sumner--but is now writing under her own name except for her Zebra/Pinnacle romances for which she uses Jane Anderson.
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