by Kristy Tate
#
Declan showed up at his mom’s house on a Saturday night. He found her in the kitchen nursing a coffee while shuffling through a pile of papers full of glossy images of beautiful homes. She glanced up when he walked in, gave him a brief smile, and returned to her work.
“I want to meet my grandfather,” Declan announced, leaning against the kitchen counter.
His mom’s shuffling paused for a second then resumed. “I thought you understood that we should wait for him to initiate contact.”
“Why?”
A scowl settled over his mom’s forehead and she lifted her gaze to meet his. “A relationship with your grandfather is a tightrope act. I thought you knew that.”
“I don’t know my grandfather, and I’m afraid at this rate, I never will.”
“Justified fear. But what I don’t understand is why you feel a need to know him.”
“He’s my grandfather. He’s half of who you are. A quarter of me.”
His mom sipped her coffee, swallowed, and thought for a moment before responding. “I like to think that I am nothing like my father, and I can say with some assurance that you are nothing like him at all.”
“I’d like to form my own opinion.”
Gloria placed her mug on the table. “Of course I can’t stop you from reaching out to him, but I have to warn you of the risks.”
“Risks?”
“There’s a lot of money involved. Right now, as far as I know, I’m still his sole beneficiary, but that could change in a heartbeat.”
A cold, hard knot formed in Declan’s throat. He tried to talk around it. “So, you don’t want me to meet my aging, sick grandfather because you’re afraid that I might piss him off and he’ll cut you out of his will?”
“Sweetie, please don’t make me into a mercenary...”
“I didn’t make you a mercenary!”
Gloria hugged her papers to her chest as if to protect her heart. “It’s not just the money. My father is manipulative and cold. It took me years of therapy to be free of his voice in my head. I don’t want you to be hurt by him.” She paused. “He’s not evil. I don’t want you to think he eats babies for breakfast or sells virgins to the highest bidder. He’s just... He is who he is, and I am who I am. Together we’re oil and water. We don’t mix. He’s too used to getting his way.”
Declan lifted his shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s possible he’s changed in the ten years since you last spoke with him?”
“A tiger can’t change his spots.”
Declan thought about pointing out that tigers have stripes, not spots, but he held his tongue. For a half second. “He’s a man, not a tiger.”
“Says you,” Gloria said with a snort.
“People change all the time, especially when they get old and sick.”
Gloria took a long breath and blew it out through her nose. “Still...there’s the will.”
“How do you know he hasn’t changed it already?”
Gloria winked at him. “Leo Cabriolet is his attorney.”
Declan knew that Godwin and Cabriolet played tennis every Tuesday at the club. He’d heard about Cabriolet, but had never met him.
“That’s convenient. Isn’t there lawyer-client confidentiality?”
“Don’t be a pain.” Gloria picked up her coffee and took a long swallow. “You know I don’t like it when you get like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re the adult. You’re still a kid.”
Declan blinked at his mom, trying to remember her as the fun-loving woman who had read him Horton Hears a Who complete with animal noises. After a moment, he gave up, rolled his eyes, and turned to leave.
“Darling,” Gloria called after him.
He slowly turned.
“There’s a party at the Westmoors’ ranch this weekend. Would you be interested in catering?”
He’d catered numerous times at business functions for his mom in the past. The money was always good, and the work was as easy as keeping the trays full of hors d'oeuvres. “Sure.”
Gloria smiled. “See? We all do what we can if the price is right.”
At that, he thought about turning down the job, but the thought of escaping to Duke made him bite his lip and bang out the back door.
#
Lizbet was standing in the backyard singing to the chickens when the big black Mercedes pulled down the drive. Her voice caught in her throat when the car doors opened.
“Who is it?” the chickens clucked and bobbed around her feet.
Lizbet squinted against the early morning sun and watched the passengers spill from the car. Declan, a woman in a navy pantsuit with a silky paisley scarf, and the tall dark man she’d seen earlier with Josie. She wondered at the Declan connection.
“Friend or foe?” the chicken Lizbet called Spotty wanted to know.
“I’m not sure,” Lizbet said, “but I’m sure they won’t hurt you or your eggs.”
“But are they here to turn the ranch into a wannabe cowboy playground?” Bachman, the rooster, demanded.
“I’m not sure,” Lizbet said. “I’ll go and find out.”
She walked slowly, because she really didn’t want to meet Declan and these well-groomed people in her mud-spattered overalls, but since her curiosity matched the chickens’, she straightened her shoulders, tucked her basket of seeds over her arm, and went to greet them.
Her steps faltered when Josie’s familiar BMW turned down the drive. Lizbet turned and headed for the house. She sprinted up the stairs, stepped out of her farmer clothes, slipped into her favorite skirt, pulled on a lacy blouse she and Maria had picked up at the thrift store, tied her hair into a loose knot at the back of her neck, and smeared on lip gloss. After a quick look in the mirror, she felt ready.
But she didn’t know what for.
#
Declan’s heart lifted, as it always seemed to do, the moment he saw Lizbet. She wore a black wrinkly skirt with a scattered pattern of daisies on it and a lacy white blouse. Everything about her was breezy and casual, especially in comparison to his mom’s stiff business wear. He couldn’t help smile. He could tell she was nervous by her doubtful eyes and the way she held her back tall and straight, and her chin high.
“So is this the girl Josie told me about?” Gloria whispered under her breath to Declan.
“I don’t know. What has Josie been telling you?” Declan returned.
Gloria pressed her lips together and lowered her eyebrows as if she were concentrating on a puzzle with missing pieces rather than looking at a waiflike girl with riotous dark curls and a funky style of clothes.
Godwin, on the other hand, halted as if frozen. He stood beside the Mercedes, his expression intentionally blank as if he were betting on a losing hand in a game of poker.
Declan reached his hand for Lizbet. To his relief, she took it. He had wondered if she would. “Mom, Godwin, this is Lizbet Westmoor. She’s Elizabeth Westmoor’s granddaughter.”
“Daugherty’s daughter,” Gloria said, plastering on a fake smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, finally. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“From Josie?” Lizbet asked, sounding as if she knew that Josie wouldn’t have had said anything good about her.
“And others.” Gloria laughed, but it sounded harsh. “You have to admit, you have an unusual story.”
Lizbet gave a small nod, acknowledging the truth of Gloria’s statement. “People have been talking about me?”
“Everyone is anxious for Daugherty to get well and tell her side of things,” Gloria continued, “and hopefully that will happen soon, but until then, we have only you to fill us in.”
“Mom.” Declan sensed Lizbet’s discomfort and squeezed her hand. To his surprise, it was Godwin who came to Lizbet’s rescue.
“Gloria, we don’t have time for you to fill your gossip teacup. We have an event to plan,” Godwin said after rousing from his momentary paralysis.
“Of course,” Gloria said
. “But you will come to our little get-together, won’t you?”
“I wasn’t planning—” Lizbet began.
“You have to come!” Gloria turned to Declan. “Tell her she has to come. Everyone will want to talk to you. It was awfully brave of you to live on that island alone.”
“I didn’t live alone. I lived with my mom. It was all I knew, which means it was more convenience than courage.”
“But how did you manage?” Gloria pressed.
“Gloria, I know you’re curious,” Godwin interrupted her, “but we’re on a tight schedule. And maybe Miss Westmoor doesn’t want you prying into her life.”
“It’s okay,” Lizbet said. “I don’t blame her or anyone for being curious.”
“So you’ll come?” Gloria pressed.
Lizbet turned to Declan for answers, but he didn’t offer any. “I wasn’t planning on it,” she said, directing her attention back to Gloria. “I wasn’t sure Josie wanted me there.”
“Maybe not, but everyone else will,” Gloria pressed. “Say you’ll come!”
“Sure.”
“Fabulous!” Gloria clapped her hands together and looked as pleased as a kitten with a bowl of milk.
“Now that we have at least one confirmed guest on our RSVP list, I suggest we decide where to actually hold the event,” Godwin said, taking his wife’s arm and leading her to the white split-rail fence that separated the driveway from the pasture.
“You’ll be coming, right?” Lizbet asked Declan.
“Yes, but not as a guest.”
“What does that mean?”
As they walked along the fence, he explained to her that he would be catering the party.
“Can I do that, too?” Lizbet stooped, grabbed a handful of tall grass, and fed it to the Arabian nickering and tossing his head.
“Why would you want to?”
Lizbet stroked the horse’s nose and the creature leaned toward her as if drawn by an invisible string. “I’d like to earn some money. I can’t get a job because I don’t have a social security card. I asked Elizabeth to help me, but with moving, she has a lot on her plate.” Lizbet paused and added in a soft tone, “Either that, or else she keeps forgetting.”
A small black and white goat pressed himself against the chicken wire lining the fence, trying to get closer to Lizbet.
“Is that possible?”
Lizbet nodded. “I would never want to admit that Josie might be right, but Elizabeth is...forgetful.”
“In what way?”
“Little things. The teakettle left on the stove too long. The chicken pen’s gate left unlatched.”
A trio of robins sat on the fence inches from them, as if they, too, wanted to be close to Lizbet.
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?”
“I could probably get you a job at the nursery. You seem to have made a really great impression on Mr. Neal. He asks me about you almost every day. It kills him when I tell him we’re just friends.”
“Do you really think you could get me a job at the nursery?”
“Sure!” Declan answered much more confidently than he felt.
“That would be great.” She let out a happy sigh and gave him a quick hug.
“These animals...” Declan began.
“What about them?”
“It almost seems like...”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s like they’re drawn to you. As if they love you.”
She laughed. “Is that so hard to believe? That anyone could love me?”
Heat rushed to his cheeks and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. “Of course not. But they’re animals.”
“What does that mean?”
His cheeks grew warmer. “I’m not sure.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “Of course they love me. I feed them.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but she pressed her lips together for a long beat of silence. “They love me because I love them.”
Reaching out, she tousled the horse’s mane between his silky ears. “This is Trotter. He likes to jump, and he can gallop really fast.” She bent down so that she was nose to nose with the goat.
The creature studied her with his black beady eyes.
“This is Forest. He will eat anything!” She rubbed the fur between his horns.
“Do you have names for the birds, too?” He smirked and nodded at the robins lining the fence. The birds gazed back with shifty but intelligent eyes.
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. Not at all.” Declan felt chastised, as if he’d been making light of something sacred. He scrambled for a change of subject. “Do you want me to ask if you can help cater? It’s easy money. The tips are usually good and I can tell my mom you need to be paid in cash.”
Indecision and something else, an emotion Declan didn’t know how to read, flashed across Lizbet’s face. If he’d seen it on anyone else, he would have called it calculating. But since that was a characteristic he would never associate with Lizbet, he immediately dismissed it.
But later that night, as he lay in bed thinking about her, that flash in her eyes was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures, especially through my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day; and you give light through him. And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor! Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.”
―Francis of Assisi
From Declan’s Research
On the day of the party, Lizbet tucked a basket under her arm and headed outside. Tennyson trotted beside her. She hoped to be gone before Declan arrived, but when she got to the back porch she spotted the catering tent lying in the pasture. The poles had yet to be erected and it looked like a giant white deflated balloon. The scrunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of one white catering van as it turned down the drive. A second, followed by Declan’s stepfather’s giant Mercedes arrived.
With her hand on the still-open back door, Lizbet debated. She could go inside and hide out, but then it would be hard to be in contact with the animals. She needed to be somewhere close to Tennyson. Although she loved her cat, she didn’t want any of the animals to get hurt in their effort to save the ranch and she knew that Tennyson placed little value on the lives of rodents, rabbits, squirrels, and...actually, anyone that wasn’t a person or a cat.
Declan, wearing a pair of black pants, a silky bowtie, and a white button-down shirt, climbed out of the catering van and headed her way. He held two white aprons in his hand and the strings fluttered around his legs.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes softening as he gazed at her, “my mom said you turned down the catering job.”
Lizbet nodded.
“Is it because of Josie? Did she pressure you to say no? Because if she did, I can talk to Mr. Croft. He’s the caterer.”
“No, it wasn’t Josie.”
“Then why don’t you want to do it?” His eyes pleaded with her. “It’ll be more fun with you there.”
“I don’t like large groups of people,” she admitted. It was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. She hoped nothing in the tone of her voice would tell Declan that.
Declan’s hopeful expression faded. “I guess I get that.”
She hated lying to him. Placing her hand on his chest, she said, “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait! Where are you going?”
She nodded at the basket draped over her arm. “I’m going to pick mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms? Seriously?”
“There are very few things as serious as a good mushroom.”
“Okay, now I know you’re lying. Are you really just going to disappear?”
“I don’t want to be around when my aunt gets here. If you haven’t figured it out yet, she pretty much hates me.”
“That’s just because she’s threatened by you.”
“What? Why would
you say that?”
Declan sucked in a deep breath. “Her relationship with her mom isn’t great, right?”
Lizbet agreed with a nod of her head.
“And suddenly you’re here and she loves you. Elizabeth fell in love with you on the spot while Josie has been trying to make her mom love her for most of her life.”
“Well, she hasn’t been trying very hard,” Lizbet said.
Declan looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could overhear them. “If she were honest with herself, she’d probably disagree with you. The trouble is, she doesn’t know how to—“ He cut off his words when his mom rounded the corner, her expression tense.
“Declan! There you are,” Gloria said. “How are things going with Mr. Croft?”
“I’ll go check,” Declan said. And yet he didn’t move.
“And what are you doing?” Gloria asked Lizbet with a brittle smile.
“Making myself scarce.”
Gloria’s scowl deepened. “It really is a shame you won’t stay for the party.”
“Large crowds make me nervous.”
“Well, if you were my daughter, I’d tell you to buck up. You live in the real world now.”
Declan elbowed his mom. “She’s not your daughter.”
“I just think she belong here,” Gloria said, looking increasingly put out. “She shouldn’t be hiding. She’s Elizabeth Westmoor’s granddaughter and as such—”
“Mom! You aren’t one to lecture on familial bliss.” Declan put his arm around his mom’s shoulder and steered her to the now-billowing catering tent. He shot Lizbet an apologetic smile over his shoulder.
The tension in Lizbet’s shoulders eased as she watched them walk away. She almost felt bad about what was about to happen. “I can’t stay here to watch,” she whispered to Tennyson. “How bad will it be?”
“It won’t be bad at all. It will be glorious and gory!” the cat retorted.
“Gory?” Lizbet squeaked. “You promised me no one will get hurt!”
“Well, gory might not be the right word. How about messy?”
“Do you want to tell me what you have planned?”
The cat craned his neck to look at her. “You don’t want to know.”
Apprehension clawed in Lizbet’s belly. “I’ve got to get as far away from here as possible.”