She Died Then Showed Me, Book One of The Pioneer Ranch Saga, immerses readers in a world of art, mystery, self-discovery, and the complexities of family rivalries. Peyton Chase, burdened by her father's debts, embarks on a journey to unravel the secrets of her illustrious family.
Devastated by her fatherâs secret sale of her mother's paintings, Peyton is determined to reclaim what was lost and uncover the truth behind her mother's legacy, she must decipher the enigmatic clues hidden within the brushstrokes of her mother's masterpieces.
Amidst the chaos, Peyton's personal life becomes entangled with unexpected twists. Her ex-lover resurfaces, reigniting a spark, just as she crosses paths with a captivating new man. Overshadowed by her mother's prodigious talent, Peyton grapples with her hidden passion for painting, yearning to break free from self-doubt.
As Peyton confronts her deepest fears, she must summon the courage to embrace her true artistic potential. Through triumphs and adversity, Peyton's journey intertwines with the power of art, revealing the extraordinary strength of the human spirit and the enduring legacy of love, resilience, and self-discovery.
Ultimately, Peyton Chase finds that the journey of self-discovery is a lifelong love story filled with profound hurdles and selfless sacrifices.
She Died Then Showed Me, Book One of The Pioneer Ranch Saga, immerses readers in a world of art, mystery, self-discovery, and the complexities of family rivalries. Peyton Chase, burdened by her father's debts, embarks on a journey to unravel the secrets of her illustrious family.
Devastated by her fatherâs secret sale of her mother's paintings, Peyton is determined to reclaim what was lost and uncover the truth behind her mother's legacy, she must decipher the enigmatic clues hidden within the brushstrokes of her mother's masterpieces.
Amidst the chaos, Peyton's personal life becomes entangled with unexpected twists. Her ex-lover resurfaces, reigniting a spark, just as she crosses paths with a captivating new man. Overshadowed by her mother's prodigious talent, Peyton grapples with her hidden passion for painting, yearning to break free from self-doubt.
As Peyton confronts her deepest fears, she must summon the courage to embrace her true artistic potential. Through triumphs and adversity, Peyton's journey intertwines with the power of art, revealing the extraordinary strength of the human spirit and the enduring legacy of love, resilience, and self-discovery.
Ultimately, Peyton Chase finds that the journey of self-discovery is a lifelong love story filled with profound hurdles and selfless sacrifices.
AbiquiĂș, New Mexico
Â
âThereâs no money. I wonât put you through the wretched reading of a heartbreaking will,â Mr. Jennings said after the funeral. He had been the family lawyer since before Peyton was born.
She peered back at him, covered in mourning black. âSorry? I thought this was only a formality. Every generation leaves the ranch to the next better than when they inherited it.â
âNot this time.â
Peyton loathed the way he fixed his hooded eyes on her, staring over narrow reading glasses. âWhat do you mean?â
He eased himself onto the sofa in her fatherâs study and gestured for her to sit down, but she remained standing. âThere isnât enough cash to maintain this massive estate, and thereâs no selling the land without the Big House, the stables, horses, the cars and whatnot, and furthermoreâŠâ Mr. Jennings huffed, hesitant, reminding Peyton of a horse prodded up a steep hill. âYour mother, rest her soul, asked me to take care of you, and I endeavored my best to honor her wishes, but attorney/client privilege prevented me from warning you earlier. Your father, may he rest in peace⊠errâŠâ
Jarring memories of the last time Peyton saw her mother, Harlow, alive walloped her. On the day Harlow died, she had struck her twelve-year-old daughter hard enough to cut her lip. âMom personally asked you to take care of me?â
âMore than once.â
Peyton rubbed her hands up and down her arms, a habit pirated from her mother. She recalled opposite moments when Harlow danced with her, twirling her from room to room until they both collapsed from dizziness and laughter.
Mr. Jennings went quiet.
She covered the divide between them in three steps and placed a manicured hand on his forearm. âWhatever it is, itâs not your fault. Iâm not a little girl anymore. Not at thirty-three. I donât need protection, but I need the truth.â
He tugged at his collar and patted her hand. âThere comes a point a fellow canât get any wetter, and a time when he canât get any sadder. Today is already dreadful. Might as well allow for the downpour.â He reached for the bourbon at his elbow and quaffed it. âThe estate is highly leveraged.â He removed an embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his brow. âEven with some financial miracle, keeping all this property will make you estate poor. Itâll reduce your life to a more modest lifestyle, and Iâve never known the Chases to settle for whatâs modest. Thatâs not allâŠâ
âJust lay it all on me, Mr. Jennings.â Peyton poured him another drink with trembling hands. âGo on, please.â She sat on her hands to keep from wiggling, and bit her cheek, bracing for the punch to come.
He cracked a sheepish smile and swilled his second drink. âThe cars and furnishings are free and clear if you have room for them, but no more expensive horses, and something will have to be done about the cattle.â He shook a thick finger. âIâve been to a few of your fatherâs lavish parties. I donât know what your style is, but it canât be like Sorensenâs.â He tried to keep judgment out of his inflection, but failed. âI know youâre a reputable art restorer and earn your own income. I donât discount that.â
Shock hijacked her tongue. For a moment, she froze, her heart thudding in her head. âWhy didnât Dad tell me anything?â
âWish I had an answer for you, Peyton, but I donât.â
She thought of the paintings lining the walls of the upstairs gallery, what remained of her motherâs work. Sheâd been famous for her audacious interpretation of everything indigenous. Like Georgia OâKeeffe, Harlow Peyton Chase captured New Mexicoâs gorgeous landscapes. She had also settled in AbiquiĂșâwith hundreds of paintings to her name. To Peytonâs knowledge, her mother had made a private fortune selling her works. Her obituary in The Los Angeles Times read, âHad she not lived only half a lifetime, she wouldâve dazzled for the ages.â
Peyton collected herself. âI canât imagine this life without the ranch. But thereâs more?â
Mr. Jennings removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. âThatâs the worst of it, Iâm afraid, Peyton. You donât have any paintings.â
She shot to her feet. âExplain!â Her fatherâs voice echoed from the past, reminding her of the Chase standards of decorum. âPlease,â she added, her tone lower, and sat down.
âYour father sold them privately. In fear of discovery or reprisal, he had them all copied and restored to their original spots in the gallery. Never disclosing he was no longer in possession of hisââ
ââinheritance? My inheritance, you mean.â She thumped a fist on her chest and hardened her features. âNot hisâmine. He had no right. Mom left them to me.â Her lips quivered. She was eager to cry at the betrayal, but had none to give. She shook her head, staring out the window at an expanse of mountains hued purple and gold, and at dunes of clouds seen only in the Land of Enchantment, some called New Mexico. âItâs not even about the money. How can I live without her paintings? Youâre sure theyâre all gone? Itâs all I had left of her.â
Mr. Jennings swallowed, sweating. âWell, legally, your mom never stipulated to whom she bequeathed those paintings. Why Sorensen never apprised you of that before is beyond me.â
âWhat?â Peytonâs chest heaved, and she balled her fists. âBut I was always told theyâre mine.â
âYour father may have considered them yours, but they were his to sell as far as the law goes.â
She darted to the massive French doors leading to the terrace, every muscle in her body aching to run and keep on running until she collapsed in a mound of dirt.
âAbout the copies upstairs⊠err⊠theyâre superb. They might fetch a few thousand each.â
It was like offering a sugar pill to a heart patient.
Peyton paced, clicking on the pink Numidian marble floors. She stared at the violet veins coursing through the rare ancient marble, as if they were runes capable of foretelling her future. âYou canât buy Numidian marble any longer.â She stared at Mr. Jennings. âHalf of what built this estate is scarce, priceless. Why did Dad need all that money? Why sell and borrow us to ruin?â
He clasped the bourbon bottle, refilled and guzzled. âAfter the mines dried up, the expenditures didnât abate. Your father took to selling assets to maintain the same lifestyle. You knew him best of all. He was a bon vivant with expensive taste.â He took another minute before saying, âYour father left this estate in good shape structurally, I must say. You wonât need major renovations or expensive new equipment any time soon. He kept it all up. That wouldâve also been expensive. Itâs an enviable house, but you donât need me to tell you.â
âIf I am personally debt free, itâs because my father taught me how to budget. This makes absolutely no sense to me.â
âSometimes people advise others of what they wish they could do, but fail in themselves. Sorensen maintained the assets. Your problem is cash flow and lack of asset income.â
âI have profound love for my father, but according to you, the bank owns my house.â Peyton slumped on the deep leather sofa, frozen when her world felt on fire. She ruminated over clues she must have missed to be blind-sided to this degree. âIâll not be the one Chase to lose it all.â She curtained her face with both hands, as if to shield from the carnage. âHow long do I have to decide?â
With a creased forehead, the lawyer asked, âTo decide on what to do with the estate?â
âWell, yes.â
âYou must list the estate. Certainly, donât default on any payments. You have months, not years.â
âNo! My family has lived on this land since before this country existed. This house was built when New Mexico had only two main roads. For Godâs sake, the heart of the house is still the original adobe built in 1671. How much does the estate owe?â
âThe mortgage your father took out stands at a principle greater than five.â
âFive what? You canât be telling me Pioneer Ranch owes over five million?â
âAbout that, yes. Sorry. Itâs all in the will.â
Peyton stretched to her model height, straightened her tailored jacket, and smoothed down her pencil skirt. âMy mother gave me her last name for a Christian name, so Iâd never forget I come from hardworking, brave settlers. The first pioneers.â
Mr. Jennings drank the last of his bourbon and placed the crystal tumbler on the nearest coaster. âCome and see me anytime. Iâm in my Santa Fe office on Thursdays & Fridays, and in Albuquerque the other three.â He pointed to the thick file on the massive vintage desk where her father composed much and read more. âI also had my paralegal email you the will, with annotations. Iâm sure youâll have questions.â
Fossilized in loss, Peyton had never felt more alone in the world. Her father was dead, her history was not as sheâd known it, and her future was jeopardized. Truth always comes at a price. She worried it would cost her what she guarded, not ownedâthe Chase heritage.
âWhat skills do I have for this disaster?â Peyton looked at Mr. Jennings with a compressed chest. âFinal thoughts?â
He tapped her on the arm. âYou canât work for yourself, as you do, and not be enterprising. Youâll know what to do.â
Peyton extended her hands, her way of dismissing Mr. Jennings with the grace of her upbringing. âIâll drive you home.â He protested, but Peyton raised a finger like a mistress reprimanding a schoolboy. âAh-ah, Iâll have your car transported as well, but perhaps not till tomorrow. I know how hard it was for you to deliver such dreadful news to me today. Youâre a kind man, Mr. Jennings. Thank you.â
âItâs a stupid question, but are you all right?â
Rooted in the middle of the desert, in the sunny space of what used to be her fatherâs studyâhis inner sanctumâPeyton said, âI canât get any wetter.â
âThere are those who get wetââ
ââand there are those who walk in the rain. The Book of the Samurai. One of my favorites as well. Dad made sure of it.â Peyton gestured to the thousands of volumes lining the walls. Her father had expected her to be a warrior. Was she that fighter now? She pressed her temples, wondering to what degree she had let her father down. She must have. How else could he have concealed crucial facts from her? Memories of her father sitting in his oversized leather chair rose like smoke out of an oil lamp. âLast I saw Dad alive was three weeks ago. He stood in the spring rain waving to me. I had no idea it would be the last time Iâd see him.â
A knock on the door was followed by a familiar voice asking for permission to enter.
âIâll give you some privacy.â Mr. Jennings gathered his belongings. âI want to say hello to some folks out there.â
At the sight of the man she considered the love of her life, Peytonâs mouth went dry. Ashtonâs presence was as unexpected as the news Mr. Jennings had just delivered.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, he took decisive steps toward her. âIâm so sorry about your father, Peyton.â
He was close enough for her to smell his Creed Aventus cologneânotes of musk, patchouli, and bergamot. A scent associated with the best days of her lifeâand the worst. âAshton Grant.â She realized he was about to hug her and took a step back. She was too fragile to handle the touch of someone once fused to her soul. Last she saw him he was supine and naked, sleeping in sunshineâan image seared on her mind by the trails of lava he left behind. âIâm astonished to see you.â
Â
In this first book of the Pioneer Ranch Saga, Samar Reine takes us on a journey exploring Peyton Chase's life as she knows it. Peyton is a strong personality but like most other people, she too has baggage from her childhood. Her relationship with her parents was a loving one yet there were complications that she deals with on a day-to-day basis. Upon passing of her father, she is overwhelmed with dealing with this loss as well as the financial liabilities she inherited from him. She understands his actions and demeanor better now that she has the necessary perspective to look back and evaluate the situations, he was in.
Her relationship with her mother, who is an enigma, is everything to Peyton. It motivates her, it is the reason she is who she is, and it is also the most testing part of her life. A negative reinforcement loop that she has created to cope with the eccentricities of her mother's personality.
She oscillates from a state of despair to a state of desperation and back trying to navigate the maze of relationships, revelations, and reconciliation. What she stumbles upon on the way are surprises about her own personality. Cherries on the cake in a true sense. Aspects she did not even know existed but come roaring out at the appropriate times.
Be prepared to get enthralled by incredible, vivid imagery of scenic beauty, detailed and lively descriptions of characters. However, sometimes, the metaphors seem a bit forced. The writing style is wonderful and evocative. Characters are intriguing with a palpable level of mystery. If you let the situations ruminate in your mind, shades of grey overpower the overtones of black and white. Incredibly complex relationships that the general population is a part of have been showcased with elegance. Interestingly, the relationship dynamics evolve over time with just as much ease. One important aspect of the writing is that it is leisurely written. The book is designed to be enjoyed, not rushed through. An undercurrent of the inevitable curiosity looms over the story but the situational dilemmas and tension keeps you engaged in the moment as well. Alongside the 'what' you will also find yourself asking 'why' and 'why not' quite frequently.
People looking for a novel that they can enjoy and not rush through will love this one. The author takes her time to build up the situation and the conundrums that Peyton, the central character, faces. I would give the book a 4-star rating and recommend it to people with a recommendation to relish the writing and not get entangled in the mystery alone.