“Relax.” Betty Mathers laughed. “She has to get the will through probate, and then she has to list the property. The housing market is in the basement right now, sweetie. She’d have to give it away to sell it.”

“Thanks,” Michelle said huskily. “You don’t know how worried I was...” Her voice broke, and she stopped.

“There’s no reason to worry,” Betty assured her. “Even if she does leave, you have friends here. Somebody will take the property and make sure you have a place to stay. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

Michelle was really crying now. “That’s so kind...!”

“Michelle, you’ve been a fixture around Jacobs County since you were old enough to walk. You spent summers with your grandparents here and you were always doing things to help them, and other people. You spent the night in the hospital with the Harrises’ little boy when he had to have that emergency appendectomy and wouldn’t let them give you a dime. You baked cakes for the sale that helped Rob Meiner when his house burned. You’re always doing for other people. Don’t think it doesn’t get noticed.” Her voice hardened. “And don’t think we aren’t aware of what your stepmother is up to. She has no friends here, I promise you.”

Michelle drew in a breath and wiped her eyes. “She thought Daddy was rich.”

“I see,” came the reply.

“She hated moving down here. I was never so happy,” she added. “I love Comanche Wells.”

Betty laughed. “So do I. I moved here from New York City. I like hearing crickets instead of sirens at night.”

“Me, too.”

“You stop worrying, okay?” she added. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“I will. And thanks.”

“No thanks necessary.”

Michelle was to remember that conversation the very next day. She got home from school that afternoon and her father’s prized stamp collection was sitting on the coffee table. A tall, distinguished man was handing Roberta a check.

“It’s a marvelous collection,” the man said.

“What are you doing?” Michelle exclaimed, dropping her books onto the sofa, as she stared at the man with horror. “You can’t sell Daddy’s stamps! You can’t! It’s the only thing of his I have left that we both shared! I helped him put in those stamps, from the time I was in grammar school!”

Roberta looked embarrassed. “Now, Michelle, we’ve already discussed this...”

“We haven’t discussed anything!” she raged, red-faced and weeping. “My father has only been dead three weeks and you’ve already thrown away every single thing he had, even his clothes! You’ve talked about selling the house... I’m still in school—I won’t even have a place to live. And now this! You...you...mercenary gold digger!”

Roberta tried to smile at the shocked man. “I do apologize for my daughter...”