She was desperate to know more.
But scared to death of the ugliness she might be bringing with her. "What should I call you?" Part of her knew it would be wiser to keep some distance until she understood more, but part of her was a greedy eight-year-old dying to call someone Grandma or Nana or… A memory of writing out various grandmother name choices—some the usual, some a little out there like Mimsey—had her grinning.
"What's tickling your funnybone?"
Scarlett stared. "Mama used to say that all the time."
Pleasure tangled with grief in Ruby's eyes. "My own mama said that to me, too."
In that moment, Scarlett's longing nearly overcame her good sense, but she was a stranger in a strange land, and she'd made serious errors in judgment only recently. "How about if I call you Ruby, just for now?"
"You didn't learn that caution from Georgia." But she nodded. "That comes straight from me. Ruby, it is…at least until I earn something better." She turned to mount the steps.
"Ruby, I didn't mean…you don't have to earn anything."
Her grandmother turned back. "I lost my daughter, and it had to be my doing somehow. I assure you I do."
Scarlett started to argue, but caution—learned or inherited—kept her silent and instead she focused on stepping up to assist the woman she found more fascinating every second.
Wide concrete steps led up to a screened-in back porch filled with plants, despite the time of year. Ruby wobbled a little. Scarlett hurried to put one hand on her elbow.
"I'm not feeble." Ruby pulled her arm away.
Scarlett hesitated, then took her elbow again gently but kept her tone crisp. She understood not wanting to be pitied. "You couldn't possibly be. Restaurant work is tough, and the weak don't survive. You've clearly built something amazing. How long have you been open?"
Ruby glanced at her, let her gaze linger. "Longer than you've been alive, little girl."
Scarlett drew herself up straight. "Not so little. Bet I have a good inch on you."
Ruby snorted. "You wish."
They smirked at each other, and Scarlett wondered if her grandmother felt easier, too, with the lighter topic. By the twinkle in Ruby's eye, Scarlett thought she might.
Meanwhile they'd reached the porch without Ruby yanking her arm away again.
"You raised Mama here?"
Raw grief rippled over Ruby's face, and Scarlett could have kicked herself. "She's really gone?"
Scarlett's own eyes stung. She nodded. "Two years ago in November."
"I always knew it was likely she was dead, however much I didn't want to believe that. It shouldn't hurt now, but knowing it's too late, that I'll never…" With rapid blinks, Ruby wrestled back her tears. "What happened? Was she…did she suffer?"
Scarlett tried not to think of the moment when her mother died, but a thousand times she'd pictured it and worried, wishing she'd been there to guard her mother as she left this world. The only way she'd found to go on was to shove her imaginings into a box and lock them away.
She fell back on what she'd been told. What she tried to cling to. "The doctors said no. It was an aneurysm. It came out of the blue. She just—" Scarlett swallowed hard. Shared the one thought that had comforted her. "She wasn't alone. I wish I'd—" She shook her head. "Mama was at the senior citizens center where she volunteered. She did that most everywhere we lived. They loved her, the old folks—sorry."
Ruby waved off her concern. "When you're old, you're old. No sense pretending otherwise. Go on."
"At this place, she had a group of old men she played cards with once a week, and she painted with a group of ladies another night."
"She was still painting? When she left here, she didn't take any of her supplies with her." Ruby's eyes were wide with wonder.
"When I was a kid, she made me picture books. Did them in watercolor. When I was older, I tried to get her to submit them to a publisher, but she said they weren't good enough."
Ruby snorted. "She was good enough when she was only a child herself."
The line of connection, the thread winding through two divided pasts, nearly stole Scarlett's breath. "Do you have anything from back then?"
"Oh, child, I have just about every drawing Georgia ever made. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them. I always hoped…" Ruby looked both sad and inexpressibly weary, and Scarlett realized they'd been standing on the porch when Ruby needed to sit down.
"Here, let's get you inside."
Again Ruby bristled. "I am not an invalid. I can get my own self inside."
Cooking was clearly not the only thing she and this woman had in common. Fierce independence linked them, too—but how much longer had Ruby been alone?
She had so many questions. Who was my grandfather? What was Mama like as a girl? Why wouldn't she tell me about you? Anxiety built that she wouldn't get her chance if she didn't seize it now.
But she was afraid of answering questions Ruby might ask in return. She was more ashamed than ever of what a fool she'd been.
Anyhow, Ruby was exhausted and, truth to tell, Scarlett was tired herself, with more work on the horizon before she could rest. So she only grasped the handle of the door and held it open. "I have no doubt that you can."
Ruby cast her a skeptical glance.
Scarlett shrugged. "Hey, cut me some slack. I'm new at this granddaughter business. I don't know much about old ladies."
"Old ladies—hmmph!"
Scarlett grinned. "You said the truth was the truth."
Ruby's mouth curved. "You're my granddaughter, all right. Smart aleck. Now come on inside, and I'll show you your room before you get back to work."
"Slave driver."
They paused. Grinned again.
Abruptly Scarlett's eyes filled.
And she gave her brand-new grandmother a hug.
After a second's hesitation, Ruby grabbed her right back.
And held on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Inside the kitchen, an old man rolled his walker toward the door. "What's wrong? What are you doing here?"
Scarlett halted, taken aback at the accusation in his tone.
Ruby never even blinked. "It's my house, Judge. I'll come home whenever I wish."
"But you never do." Tall and leonine, his full head of white hair and dignified mustache lending him a gravitas at odds with the walker upon which he leaned, the old man narrowed his eyes. "You're favoring your right hip."
Ruby bristled and opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, the man's sharp gaze focused on Scarlett. "Who are you?"
It wasn't said unkindly, which Scarlett appreciated after all the suspicion next door. "I'm Scarlett Ross. And you would be…?"
His head tilted, a grin teasing his lips. "You have to be related—even if you didn't favor Ruby, you certainly have her moxie." While Ruby spluttered, he extended his hand. "I'm Daniel Porter."
"I'm her granddaughter." Scarlett gave him her own. "You're a judge?" He looked like one, dignified and stately.
"Retired for many years." He nodded out the window. "My courtroom was right over there. Building was headed straight downhill once the county seat moved, but Ruby's going to change that."
Scarlett glanced at Ruby, catching sorrow fleeting over her face.
Ruby shook her head. "Going to show the girl her room."
His eyebrows lifted. "You're staying?"
"Oh, no, I—I'm only helping out while Ruby recovers."
Ruby's sharp gaze shifted to her, but before she could say anything, Judge Walker bored in. "I knew you were hurt. What happened?"
His interest seemed almost proprietary. Exactly how many men in this town were in love with her grandmother?
"I am perfectly fine. Just a little kitchen burn. Scarlett here is making a big fuss about it when I am completely okay." Ruby patted his arm. "Don't you worry one bit, Daniel."
Then an older woman entered the kitchen, in appearance younger than the judge, but no spring chicken herself.
"What's going on back here? Judge, you should be taking your nap."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead," he muttered.
"You come on now," the woman urged. "Let me get you settled—oh! Didn't see you back there." She glanced between Ruby and Scarlett. "What's the matter? Who is this, Ruby?"
"It's her granddaughter, you meddling old woman," groused the judge.
The woman's forehead wrinkled. "Ruby doesn't have a granddaughter."
Scarlett opened her mouth to respond, but Ruby beat her to it. "Turns out I do. This is Scarlett Ross, Mrs. Oldham. She's all the way from Paris."
"I trained there," Scarlett explained. "But I've been back east most recently."
The other woman's eyes popped. "How on earth did you get way up there? You know, I once knew a gentleman who lived up there in New York City for a spell. He didn't like it one bit. Dirty and noisy, crowded as all get-out. Can't imagine why anyone would want to live in all that."
Scarlett felt a compulsion to defend Manhattan, but fortunately the judge leaped to respond.
"And that is why you will be a small town busybody all your life. Can't see the big picture. New York is a bustling place, full of interesting people and fine dining, all manner of cultural opportunities—"
"It's a heathen place, practically Sodom and Gomorrah—"
"Oh, what do you know? You've hardly read one book in your life—"
"I'll have you know I—"
Ruby tugged at Scarlett's arm. "They'll be at it for hours. A body could grow old and die, waiting for those two to finish."
"But—"
"You do not want to get in the middle of this, I promise you." Ruby headed down the hall toward a staircase in the front entry.
"Should you be climbing stairs?"
"And how will you find your room if I don't?"
"Directions?"
"That's no fit way to welcome strangers, much less family."
Scarlett touched Ruby's arm as they reached the bottom of a wide staircase that curved up and to the left. "Look, I'm not trying to make you into an invalid, but I'm pretty sure you want to be back at the café as soon as possible, right? Let me walk you to your room, then tell me where to find mine, but let me do the climbing, just for today. Please?"
She could tell the idea didn't sit well with Ruby, but it was a mark of how weary Ruby was that she stopped arguing. "All right." Instead of climbing, she moved around to the left of the staircase and down a hall, stopping at a door on the right. "This was once a library, and my uncle had his office in the next room, but I turned them both into my suite a number of years back. After a long day at the café, the stairs…"
"I hear you. Mama and I once lived in a fourth-floor walkup, and by the time I got home at night from the restaurant, my feet were screaming at me."
Ruby studied her. "In New York?"
She hesitated. Of course her grandmother would want to know her daughter's history, but Scarlett's own recent past was a minefield.
Ruby didn't wait for an answer. "I cannot picture Georgia confined in a city. She loved the outdoors as much as she loved painting and drawing."
"She did it for me. The noise just about drove her crazy." Scarlett had to swallow past a lump in her throat. Her mother had died in a foreign place, even more foreign than she'd ever realized, she saw now.
"Don't you fret. She wanted the bright lights badly when she was young." Ruby patted her arm. "I expect she found things to compensate."
"Maybe." Or maybe she just couldn't figure out where was home.
Ruby opened the door, breaking into Scarlett's bout with guilt.
There were bookshelves…everywhere. Untold numbers of books filled them, but more were stacked on tables or on the floor beside two overstuffed chairs that begged a person to climb in and retreat from the world.
Scarlett adored reading. In a life with little certainty, books had been the antidote to constant change. Even though she could seldom afford to own books because what she had should be ready to pack up at a moment's notice, she could find the dearest ones in most any library.
And these days she owned an e-reader, so that she could indeed take her most beloved books with her anywhere.
She glanced toward her grandmother, seeing her with new eyes.
But her gaze was caught by a portrait that was surely her mother when she was young. Drawn to it like a magnet to true north, Scarlett drifted across the room, greedily taking in the sight of her mother's face as she'd never seen it. Carefully she traced her mother's cheek. "She was always so beautiful," she said softly.
"You should have seen her as a baby. Folks would stop me on the street to exclaim over her."
Oh, Mama… Scarlett wanted to sink to the floor and curl into a ball.
But she didn't. Couldn't. Instead she responded to the longing she heard, revolving to face Ruby. "I have pictures in my car. Want me to go get them?"
The yearning she'd heard in Ruby's voice was nothing compared to that on her face.
Then Scarlett noticed the white-knuckled grip of Ruby's hand on the chair back. The slight sway of her body.
"You need to lie down."
Ruby snapped back to the moment. "I'll decide that for myself. Let me get you some towels. I'll make your bed in a bit."
And the subject was apparently closed.
"I can make my own bed. Please…sit down. We don't have to stand on ceremony. If you'd just tell me where the linens are, I can help. Please, Ruby…Grandmother," she ventured.
Ruby's eyes flew up to hers, naked and vulnerable.
For a very long moment, emotion swirled in the air, too much of it, painful longing, grief, guilt…
Ruby looked away. Pointed toward the hall. "There's a linen closet out there. Pick out what you like. It's only a double bed. We don't run to king and queen-sized here. Furniture's old, just like everything else here."
Scarlett seized the escape, desperately grateful to get away from the tumult of both her grandmother's feelings…and her own.
* * *
Ian knew better than to open the pickup door for his dad, even though his dad only had limited use of his left arm and a slightly halting gait with his left foot.
Gordon McLaren might not be the man he once was physically, but his ferocious independence was not one iota diminished. The struggle was painful to watch, especially since getting into the truck involved hitching himself up to a seat high off the ground, not sinking down into an automobile.
But if Ian pointedly looked away, that would be an insult. He admired the hell out of his dad, he just… Wished things between them could be easier, he guessed. More harmonious.
"We picking up Ben, you say?"
"Yeah." Ian started the truck and pulled away.
"Boy doing all right?"
"Can't say. Veronica's sure not."
"Teenage boys are a lot to handle."
Ian glanced over at his dad, who'd had to handle him and his rowdy foursome without a partner. Knowing his father wouldn't like a blatant display of emotion, nonetheless an acknowledgment seemed only fair. "You sure didn't have it easy."
Gordon huffed a little laugh. "'Bout wore out a belt on your backside, not that it did much more than delay you a little."
"I should probably apologize."
His dad turned toward him. "Nope. Just being a boy, doing what boys do. Though—" His dad grinned "—you could have one of your own and give me the pleasure of watching you go through it."
Ian met his grin. "A little thirst for revenge, huh?"
"Might be." His dad hesitated. "You should marry Veronica."
Ian's hands nearly fell off the steering wheel. "You're kidding, right?" A glance disabused him of that notion. "Dad, it would be like marrying, I don't know, Rissa or something. Next thing to a sister, both of them."
"You're not getting any younger, son." His dad stared straight ahead, his voice lowering. "You think you've got all the time in the world, a lot of good years left, and then…"
His f
ather never complained about the stroke that had so radically altered his life and removed so many of his options. What sort of plans had he had for his future that would now never come to fruition?
Sometimes life was so blasted unfair.
"I could drive you if you wanted to try physical therapy again," Ian offered. Maybe improvement could still be made, even if the doctors hadn't been encouraging.
His father shook his head. "That part's done now." He glanced over. "But you're spending the prime years of your life, breaking your back on this ranch, no woman beside you, no future McLarens to take your place."
Ian couldn't decide if his dad was praising him or complaining. Maybe a little of both. "Hard to meet a woman when you spend all day with animals and cowhands."
"Man needs a helpmeet. A good woman makes the rough patches smoother."
Ian's mind flashed to a petite frame, a full head of curly black hair and eyes that made him think of bluebonnets, that misty purple blue.
A city girl. A Paris-trained chef. Not even close to the kind of woman who could live in this area where the livestock outnumbered the people.
But she sure was pretty. Bossy bit of goods but a looker, heaven knows.
"That looks like a man with a woman on his mind."
Ian stirred. "What? Me? No way."
"So what's this I hear about a granddaughter showing up at Ruby's?"
"How'd you hear about her?"
"Got ears, don't I? She's the talk of the town. Not every day an old story resurfaces like that."
"Did you know Georgia, Dad?"
"Well, of course I did. Sweetgrass was small then, too. And she's from one of the original families. Everybody knew everybody."
"So why'd she leave? Why didn't she ever contact Ruby?"
"Georgia was a beauty—tall and a fine figure of a woman—but she had a restless heart. It was always just a matter of time before she took off. Ruby didn't want to hear it, that's all. Everybody knew she'd be gone at the first opportunity. What's her girl like?"
"Beautiful. Bossy. City girl all the way." Which was about the most damning thing he could say to his father, given his mother's desertion, and that wasn't fair to Scarlett. "She's small like Ruby, but she jumped right in to help when Ruby got hurt. And she's a good cook, breakfast at least. 'Course it's hard to mess up breakfast."
Texas Roots: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs Page 7