by Leigh Morgan
And with that he was out the door. Freya, Finn's feline hellion, hot on his heels matching him stride for stride as he headed toward the house. He had his own room at the house, across from Charlie's, and down from the one Jordon and Reed shared. Freya followed him the whole way, jumping on the bed and curling herself around the one pillow he usually slept with. Henry could have kicked her out, but he wanted the company. He wouldn't kick her out anyway, he was too pleased that the cat left her over-sexed and under-loved mistress to stay with him.
Henry threw his clothes and sandals in the corner and checked the monitors for any sign of activity, only allowing himself a quick glance at the monitors showing Finn's workshop. What he saw stopped him dead. Leaning into the monitor Henry did a double take, closed his eyes and looked again.
He ran one finger over the image on the screen. "Well Freya, is she crying because you left her? Or because I did?" Henry glanced at the bed. The feline goddess of love and war was sound asleep curled in the middle of his pillow, tail gently swaying.
"I'll bet you a can of tuna those tears are for you."
Henry scanned all the monitors again, checked his visual and audio alarm system, grabbed the round, hard pillow from the old wing backed chair in the corner and plopped down next to the cat.
Finn's tear streaked face followed him to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lily's dinner at the cottage was put off by a week due to the impromptu trip to New York with Reed. Jordon would have preferred his mother forget about the idea entirely, but Lily was like a dog with a bone. Once she got it, she wasn't likely to let it go until she ate it or buried it.
The way the week was shaking out for the residents of Potters Woods, burying was a more apt description for the morgue-like atmosphere inside and outside the house. Even the day residents seemed to pick up on the tension.
Jordon buried himself in Potters Woods' books and spent hour after hour with Finn on the expenses and income each facet of the business brought in and expended. It was a nightmare. If he had another month, he wasn't sure he could get Reed's elder care program far enough in the black to sustain the house and all the organic produce its patrons consumed. Added to that was the astronomical fee they were forking out every month for insurance, not to mention vet bills.
He worked all day, every day, on ways to bring Potters Woods out of the mire and into profitability. Jordon said he did it because he wanted to help Reed, and that was true to a point. What he wanted more, was to avoid her until he fell into bed every night, neck aching with the strain of too many hours in the same chair and too little time in the dojo. Too tired to argue. Too tired to make love. Too tired to do much of anything besides pulling Reed to him and holding her while he slept.
Jordon wasn't just avoiding Reed. He couldn't stand the puppy dog eyes Henry kept shooting at Finn whenever she wasn't looking, or the way Finn tensed, drawing invisible armor around herself, whenever Henry got within fifteen feet of her. Isolating himself helped with all of that, but still he was going stir crazy. So much so, he even considered attending one of Charlie's fru-fru poetry meetings.
By day three he'd done what he could with the books. He'd renegotiated the insurance to a figure lower than the stratosphere, and he'd even gotten a better price on organic produce from the local co-op with delivery thrown in. Try as he did, however, he couldn't get the vet to budge. Apparently if their bill wasn't paid in full they held Reed's animals hostage. He paid the bill himself and made a list of new vets to interview. The ladies of Potters Woods were particular about their animals, but there had to be a less mercenary veterinary clinic that serviced cats the size of toddlers and dogs taller than the kitchen counters. Then again, maybe he'd be better off negotiating a flat yearly rate.
Having stuck as big of a band-aid on Potters Woods' current wounds as he could, Jordon went in search of something more physical and less-hair ripping to do. The first person he ran into was Finn's old flame, Peter, and his watercolors. Henry smiled evilly at the kid, whose Adam's apple wasn't even fully developed yet, while rubbing his hands together. Henry's blatant hostility was completely lost on Peter, whose peace-on-earth-while-I-strive-for-enlightenment calmness was enough to make any man want to bury his fist in the man's jaw. It didn't help that Finn still kissed the kid every time she saw him. Henry didn't seem to care that it was always on the cheek.
"Hey, Jordon." Peter called to him before he could turn away. "How about some help with the supplies, brother?"
What are you? A monk?
Jordon watched Peter's reaction to Finn's tight tank top and running shorts as she completed her morning jog. Obviously not a monk. Not of any celibate order.
"Sure thing, Pete."
He'd just finished moving all of Peter's painting supplies to the meadow, including easels for everyone to use while painting in the afternoon light, when he was hit from behind. Jordon spun around so fast he knocked the last easel over onto his foot.
"Ouch. Damn it, Irma. Why do you keep running into me?"
"Saves me the trouble of having to shout up at you to get your attention."
"You could just ask."
"Where's the fun in that?" She had the gall to look honestly perplexed.
"Sometimes I swear you're a six year old boy trapped in an old woman's body."
"Takes one to know one."
Jordon put his hands on his hips enjoying himself despite the throbbing in his heel. "Yeah, and what goes around, comes around."
"Never spit in the wind."
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."
Irma laughed at him, genuine mirth lighting her watery eyes and bringing color to her cheeks. Jordon couldn't help smiling back at her. In the days since they'd first met, they played this game of one-ups-man-ship with bad clichés at least once a day. Irma generally won. Not today. Jordon's smile turned into a grin, his day was looking up already.
"You're too young to know that old ditty."
"Obviously not."
"Where did you get it?"
"Stop running into me and I'll tell you."
"I don't want to know that badly."
Irma's laughter turned to a cough, reminding Jordon just how sick she was. She hid it well, but even the small strain visibly tired her.
"Let me take you inside so you can rest for a bit."
She reached out one shaking hand to hit him but he saw it coming and stepped out of reach. She was old. And fast. And way too wily. Irma MacDonald was not a woman to be underestimated, even coughing in a wheel chair. She glowered at him when her swat hit nothing but air.
"Nonsense. Why would I want to rest? I'll get all the rest I need when I'm dead."
"Then what's your pleasure madame? I am at your disposal."
Irma's eyes narrowed like she was trying to figure out the catch, but Jordon didn't have one. Unless he wanted to paint, which he didn't, or pull weeds, which he didn't, or go back to figuring how to make Potters Woods carry its own weight, which he didn't, he had nothing better to do than spend the afternoon with Irma.
She eyed him warily for a second longer, raised her slight shoulders, and seemed to come to a conclusion.
"I want to go fishing." She said, raising her shoulders even higher, crossing her arms in front of her sunken chest.
Jordon couldn't remember the last time he took the time to fish. He used to love fishing, especially in Grand Teton National Park, right under the dam. He could almost taste the brown trout right now. Somehow he doubted fly-fishing was what Irma had in mind.
Irma gestured with a nod of her head toward the pond. "Here. Finn stocks it with bass and panfish. The blue-gills are usually good for a bite."
Not exactly the Tetons, but Potters Pond would do. "I'll get the gear. Try not to run over any of the painters while I'm gone."
Jordon took off toward the garage at a fast jog, whistling Son of a Sailor by Jimmy Buffett. It was one of his father's favorites, the one he always sang when they fished together, on thos
e few occasions Jordon made it back to Jackson after he started working for William. The choice was an odd one for a man who made his home in the Rockies, surrounded by snow seven months of the year, but the memory was a good one. There were no mountains in Potters Woods. No mountain lakes so powerful they needed to be dammed. No bison or antelope. No antler chandeliers, picture frames, or other home accessories dappled with leather and hide, yet this place reminded him more of home and his father than any other he'd been to in the fifteen years since James Bennett's death.
The memory of his father brought more joy than pain now for Jordon. It must have been triggered by the thought of sinking a line with Irma. He smiled and waved to Jesse on his way to get the poles and the small box of Mepps lures he'd seen on one of his earlier forays into the black hole Reed called 'the work room' attached to the garage.
"Hey, kid. Hope you're working on your appetite. We're having fish for dinner."
For Jordon, the day was definitely looking up.
...
The day started out badly, with the arrival of the hand-delivered gilded invitation, and spiraled down from there.
Reed knew the invitation was coming, Lily told her to expect it, she just didn't want anything to do with a dinner party for billionaires. Reasons she couldn't possibly attend rushed through Reed's head with the force of a coastal storm, sending her confidence crashing like a downed surfer under the crushing weight of the waves, hoping to relax and remember to breathe as it passes or drown.
Okay, she thought to herself, swallowing too much lake water showing off how many underwater summersaults you can do is not the same as getting pummeled by the ocean while surfing. And coughing up said water is more embarrassing than dangerous. But that didn't mean she was going to Lily's tsunami. She just wasn't equipped, no matter how she looked at it. And, drowning was drowning, whether it happened in a puddle or an ocean.
"I'm not going. Reason number ninety-nine: I don't have anything appropriate to wear." Reed talked to herself whenever she practiced her arguments for court. She needed to hear how the words sounded so she could fine tune them.
Now, they just sounded stupid, and refuting them seemed ridiculously easy.
Lily took care of her wardrobe issue in New York when she bought more clothes than Reed could possibly fit in her closet, from designers Reed had never even heard of. No one needed that many clothes. No one who now made her living at Potters Woods anyway.
Reed didn't have a clue how much money Lily dropped on clothes that Reed had nowhere to wear, there were no tags on any of it. Lily insisted that she try on sample after sample of everything from underwear to capes and hats. Reed was then pinned, poked, and stretched until the team of people doing the poking and prodding was satisfied with the fit. Reed was able to tell the end of the horror was near by their grunts. The finished garments were to be sent to Lily. Reed had yet to see anything Lily picked for her, but she'd easily tried on enough for ten fussy women. She'd even shucked her way into some designer jeans that were a mile too long and a half diaphragm of air too tight, at Lily's insistence.
In the short time she'd spent with Lily, Reed learned that the fastest way around Lily was to give in. All of these thoughts rushed through Reed's overworked brain in the five seconds between seeing Lily's man at the door and actually opening the door and forcing a welcoming smile. It wasn't his fault that her confidence dissolved in less time than Jell-O in July, especially when it came to her relationship with her husband and his family. He was just the messenger. She needed to kill the message.
Loki came out of the bushes and wound herself around the man's legs, purring loudly enough to be heard through the door. He couldn't be all bad. Loki was very good at smelling a rat.
Reed opened the door. "Good morning."
The man tipped his hat. Who wore a hat this time of year? "Morning."
"Any chance you've got the wrong house?"
The man smiled and bent to stroke Loki's ears. His sky-blue eyes twinkling at her as he said, "No Mrs. Mohr-Bennett, I've got the correct house. Correct woman too." He handed her the invitation.
Reed hesitated a moment before taking the gilt trimmed, hand painted envelope addressed to:
Mrs. Reed Mohr-Bennett
She looked at the envelope, trying not to touch it with more than her fingertips. She didn't want this. She really didn't. Reed looked from the envelope to the impeccably dressed, still smiling, gray-haired man who delivered it.
"What's your name?" She asked.
He seemed taken back by her question. Loki stopped purring and looked at her, head cocked to the side as if to ask 'why do you need to know'?
"Thorson, ma'am."
"Thank you, Mr. Thorson for delivering this. I'll put it right where it needs to go."
"It's just Thorson, ma'am. No 'Mr.'"
"Well then, thank you, Thorson."
Reed moved to close the door, she couldn't wait to toss the invitation into the trash, unopened. Thorson stopped her by clearing his throat in a polite-but-not-to-be-dismissed kind of way.
"I'm instructed to inform you that tossing that envelope in the trash won't do you any good. One of these is being delivered to each member of your household. I'm also to inform you that Jordon's self-proclaimed ex-fiancé` will be in attendance, and his wife is expected."
Reed gritted her teeth through what she hoped was a neutral smile. "Is that the same woman who insisted on waving all those diamonds in my face in New York?"
The man's smile turned from polite to one tinged with real working class empathy. "One and the same, Mrs. Mohr-Bennett."
Well at least the 'ma'am' was gone. He was starting to make her feel she was in her dotage.
"It's Mohr, Mr. Thorson. Reed Mohr." Thorson grinned at her, and Reed knew she'd made her point.
"Some friendly advice Ms. Mohr?"
"Sure. I don't seem to be doing so well on my own."
"Mrs. Bennett, or even Mrs. Mohr-Bennett will have an easier time this weekend than Ms. Mohr will. I suggest that you bring her out to play, if only for the weekend." His voice was soft and his eyes open and friendly. Reed understood he was trying to help her, the same way she gathered life as she knew it was about to be torn apart.
"Thanks. Really. I appreciate the advice, but I have no intention of going to Lily's party."
The man smiled, tipped his hat to her again, and walked away, Loki bouncing around his feet.
It took the time for her to walk to the kitchen and open the door under the sink, where she kept the garbage can, until Thorson's choice of words sank in. He said 'weekend'. Twice. Reed stared down at the heavy paper she had yet to throw away. It was hot in her hand and getting heavier by the second.
She flipped it over and opened the golden seal with a giant LB embossed on it. She pulled out the inner envelope and a handwritten scrap of lavender scented paper fell out.
Family dinner is Thursday at seven. Guests will arrive Friday for your reception. I have your wardrobe here, darling, so you need only bring your family, and of course my son who seems to forget he has a family. I'm sure you'll have an easier time than I have of reminding him.
Thorson has contracted a team of animal and botanical specialists to care for your animals and the grounds in your absence, so, as you can see, there is no reason for you to be concerned about staying with us for a few days.
Lily
P.S. If you are not here by five-thirty for cocktails I shall send Thorson with a car. I assume the tranquilizer gun will not be necessary, but I've stocked up on extra cartridges and have insisted Thorson practice twice a day since we met, so don't be late.
Your loving mother-in-law ~ Lily Bennett
Reed crinkled up the sheet of paper.
Late?
A few days?
Reception? When did dinner become a reception?
And a tranq gun? Come on.
"That's probably not the best way to introduce your daughter-in-law into polite society, Lily." Reed said out loud.
>
Not to mention way over the top, even for Finn, who'd pulled some doozies over the years, including kidnapping the dean of the law school when Reed's student loan hadn't cleared and she was put on suspension for a week. That was until Finn wined, dined, threatened, cajoled and God-only-knows-what-else until the dean saw 'the light' as Finn put it. But Finn got the concept that felonious bullying, commingled with charm, didn't always work, and most of the time was just plain wrong. She only pulled that skill set out when she'd exhausted all others.
Lily Bennett wielded the felony blade with the consummate skill of a samurai master. No remorse, just deadly accuracy. All poetry, art and love one moment, and able to deliver the death blow the instant that course of action proved more expedient.
Lily Bennett was one dangerous lady.
"Tranq gun, my Irish ass." Not much of an argument. No good for defense either, if Reed was honest, but there it was. There were moments when the best she had was her wits and her thick Irish hide.
Welcome to Clan Bennett.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
In complete control, pretending control
with dignified authority, we are charlatans.
Or maybe just a goat's-hair brush in a painter's hand.
We have no idea what we are.
Rumi~ 13th Century
Three white maned giants came lurching toward him at what looked like a forty mile per hour lope. "Damn those dogs are fast."
"Don't swear. You'll scare the fish."
Jordon looked down at the frail woman in the wheelchair who'd been gamely sitting beside him catching nothing for the past three hours.
"I'd say you already scared them, but that wouldn't be very gallant of me."
Irma grinned at him, red-rimmed green-blue eyes twinkling up at him. "No it wouldn't."