Alan was in the middle of his quarterly conference with Louemma’s tutor. Rose Robinson had Louemma’s school-work spread out on his desk and had temporarily set the phone on the floor by her feet.
He’d assumed Hardy had ordered the study Laurel was asking about; he’d have to check. But in his shock over the fact that she’d actually called him, Alan was thrown off-kilter. “If you’re home,” he said, “may I call you back, in say, half an hour? Better yet, I’ll gather together what you need and run it over. That might take me more like—” He turned to the tutor. “Can I see you later, Rose?”
At the other end Laurel heard the same soft voice assure Alan they could resume anytime he wanted. “Wait, don’t cut short your, uh, visit for me,” she said. “Just bring the information tomorrow.”
“But I thought you needed to go over it before the lesson?” Alan clearly didn’t understand Laurel’s sudden backpedaling. Why take time out of her busy schedule to phone, he wondered, if it was okay to look at the records later? He stretched the phone cord to its limit. “I’ve been inundated with work, too. I’m glad you called. Otherwise I’d have forgotten you needed those records. If you do have a few minutes, I’ll come by shortly. Louemma’s tutor just said it’s no problem rescheduling our conference.”
“That was Louemma’s tutor? She’s the one who answered your phone?” Now Laurel sounded flustered. Furthermore, she felt like a fool. What would Alan think now? He’d probably decide she cared who he was seeing romantically.
Alan was baffled by Laurel’s erratic comments. “So, you do have a few minutes, or not? Is everything okay over there?”
“Um, I’m at the loom cottage. When Dog announces your arrival, I’ll come down and meet you in the clearing so you won’t even have to leave the Jeep.”
“That’s not necessary,” Alan objected. The buzzing in his ear told him she’d hung up. Rose Robinson was eyeing him speculatively. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That was Laurel Ashline.”
“I answered the phone, remember?” She laughed. Rose had been Alan’s third-grade teacher; after teaching for thirty years, she’d retired. A member of the same garden club as Vestal, Rose had volunteered to help her friend and her former student by tutoring Louemma when it became apparent she was having difficulty in the classroom.
“Vestal said Ms. Ashline’s an occupational therapist.”
Alan watched Rose stack his daughter’s test scores. “She’s not. But Laurel had success helping Donald Baird regain the use of his left arm after his stroke. She’s a master weaver, but she’s not medically certified. So I’m not expecting a major breakthrough for Louemma,” he said philosophically.
“Don’t be such a cynic, Alan. I keep telling you faith can move mountains.”
He laughed. “Well, that’s appropriate, too. I need Laurel to move a mountain. More or less.” He raked a hand through shaggy hair that probably needed another cut. “She’s standing in the way of our expansion. I’m sure Vestal told you we’d like to dramatically increase our foreign trade.”
“Yes, and I’ve also heard her muttering over how Hazel Bell pulled a fast one. She and I were once friends, too. Until I suggested Hazel clamp down on Lucy’s wild ways. Young as your father was, even he’d washed his hands of Lucy. Oh, that must’ve been six months before she left town. Of course, Carolee could never abide Lucy Bell.”
“Why? I don’t know much about any of them. Were they classmates?”
“Yes. And Carolee hated that Lucy and your dad hung out so much. Pure jealousy. Mark and Lucy were raised practically like siblings. But not even Mark could influence Lucy once she met that laborer she eventually ran off with. He was at least ten years older and lived in his car. But Lucy Bell was as stubborn as she was wild.”
“I’ve heard that. I guess I never realized Dad had been such good friends with Ted and Hazel’s daughter.”
“Before your time. It was great gossip around town. Everyone assumed Ted would have Mark go after Lucy and bring her back. Some believe that was the catalyst for his marriage to Carolee. Mercy, is that news to you?”
“Yes and no. Not that anyone said stuff like that within earshot. But I know my parents argued constantly. They were often the talk of the town,” he added wryly. “Mom needled Dad over women, although I can’t recall her naming names. It’s interesting what you said about Lucy Bell being stubborn. It’s a trait her daughter inherited.”
“But not the wildness, I hope.”
Alan thought over what he did know about Laurel. Her movements were graceful and calm. Her skin was as velvety as her voice. Not that he should be remembering how her skin had felt under his hands. “No, not the wildness,” he murmured, shaking his head to dislodge the vivid picture. “Well!” He blew out a breath. “In the time we’ve spent talking about the past, we could’ve completed our conference, Rose. But you heard me tell Laurel I’d bring her those reports.”
“No problem. I left Louemma listening to a talking book.” Rose heaved her matronly body out of his chair collected her papers. The door had barely closed on her when Alan began leafing through the file Hardy Duff had left. He didn’t find a water assessment, and picked up the phone. “Hardy, Alan here. I’m looking for a copy of the architect’s civil engineering report. Dave requested an analysis on the total cubic feet of water produced by the spring, didn’t he? Fact is, I don’t see any water volume impact studies in his folder.”
“Dave Bentley said it’d be a wasted expense. Hell, Alan, we all know that stream floods twice a year, in spring and fall.”
Alan shut the folder. “Floods, yes. From rain runoff. Before we go diverting half the creek, I want to see the predicted long-term effects. Tell Dave it’s my money, and that I want an expert’s opinion on how much water they estimate the spring will produce over the next hundred years.”
“What? That’s nuts! Oh, I get it. Is that Ashline woman stonewalling?”
“I’m not voting to put money into an expensive new building if our operation is going to deplete the deep water table. And Laurel Ashline isn’t stonewalling. Well, not exactly. How can you expect her to agree to give us access if we can’t prove her creek won’t dry up?”
“It’s your creek, Alan. What’s this her creek crap?”
“Just call Dave. I’m trying to save us time and money and avoid going to court. Hazel Bell didn’t do anything illegal according to Kentucky squatter’s rights statutes.”
“Oh, all right,” Hardy grumbled. “Dave’s gonna ask why you can’t go straight to Judge Hollowell with your original land grant. He’ll have that squatter petition reversed.”
“This isn’t Dave’s business. It’s mine.” Alan slammed down the telephone in irritation. He knew Duff and the board didn’t see things the way he did. Too damn bad.
Alan found Louemma’s medical records. Not bothering to make copies, he informed Birdie and Vestal where he was going and tore out of the house. If he drove fast enough, maybe the wind rushing in through the open windows would drown out the little voice that sounded a lot like Hardy’s. A voice asking why Alan wanted the grief he’d invited by admitting he’d begun to harbor an attraction for Laurel Ashline.
DOG TROTTED TO THE LOOM cottage door, pricked up his ears and began a deep-throated barking. Shushing him, Laurel opened it a crack and listened. “What is it boy? All I hear is wind in the trees.” But the dog wouldn’t let up and Laurel accepted that Dog’s sensory perceptions were far superior to hers. Soon she was able to distinguish the rumble of an engine down the road. Thanks to her early detection system, she crossed the bridge and met Alan’s Jeep as he parked next to her pickup.
He climbed out, pausing only to pat Dog. “You shouldn’t have come out here to wait, Laurel. Now I feel doubly bad for tying up your valuable time.”
She could’ve told him that because of Dog, her wait had been short. But Alan had already moved on with an explanation for his delay. “I couldn’t find the hydrology study in the folder Hardy brought me the other night. Turns
out our architect never ordered one. I’ve remedied that. I should have results within two weeks.”
“I’m in no rush. The money sounds tempting, but…” She gave a quick shrug. “I really don’t know how you convinced me to consider selling, anyway.”
Alan had retrieved Louemma’s medical folder from the Jeep. “What does that mean? You’re backing off because we didn’t order one study?”
“It could be an omen.”
“Maybe you spend too much time hobnobbing with superstitious mountain folk. Promise you’ll keep an open mind until I can get an honest answer to your question, Laurel.”
“All I said was that I didn’t know how you’d gotten me to consider your offer. Yes, I’ll reserve judgment until I see the tests. Is that folder you’re mangling the findings on Louemmm’s medical exams?”
Realizing he’d rolled up the thick folder, Alan straightened it out again. “Originals. I decided not to take the time to make photocopies. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait while you look them over. That way, maybe I can clarify anything you don’t understand.”
“Oh. Then come inside while I read them. I’ll fix us a glass of lemonade.” The moment the offer left her lips, Laurel wanted to snatch it back. Since she’d moved here, the cottage had been her sanctuary. No one except she and Dog had darkened its door. But…at some point she had to start expanding her social circle. If she didn’t, she might as well say goodbye to any hope of living a normal life, ever.
“Lemonade would sure hit the spot.” Alan handed her the file and matched his stride to hers.
The first thing he noticed after Laurel had unlocked the cottage and stood aside so he could pass was that she made no apology for the condition of her house. It struck him as odd, because Emily and Charity Madison, too, always made some comment, even if their homes were scrubbed and polished to perfection.
Laurel excused herself to get the lemonade, leaving him to his own devices. Which suited Alan just fine, as it gave him a chance to observe her tastes without having to hide his curiosity. The room gleamed. She was uncommonly neat. Alan saw evidence of her talent in every direction he looked. Whether it was in a couch coverlet, a chair cushion or wall hangings, her eye for color had turned what was once a drab interior into a place of warmth. By contrast, he’d have to call his home formal. He chose an overstuffed chair and then fought an urge to kick off his boots as he sank down.
Laurel returned with a tray holding a pitcher of iced lemonade and a pair of unmatched glasses, also without apology. “I see you made yourself at home.” She set the tray on the low coffee table. As she picked up the pitcher to pour, her nervousness became patently obvious in the rattle of glass against glass, a result of her shaking hands.
“You’ve done a fine job sprucing up this old place, inside and out.” Alan let the remark fall casually, wanting to dispel some of her unnecessary misgivings.
“You’re my first guest,” she blurted.
“I’m honored, then.” Leaning toward her, he took a glass out of her hand. He didn’t want her to spill lemonade all over a rag rug woven in autumn shades. “I’m guessing you made the rug and the other weavings. They’re great,” he rushed to add. Standing, he walked over to examine a wall weaving, a mountain scene. “I know every step that goes into producing a bottle of good bourbon,” he said. “The right charred white-oak barrels, the depth of an earth floor. In winter I know exactly when to pump steam through a warehouse. It’s a balancing act. I imagine your craft’s the same.”
“I hardly think the two comp—” Laurel broke off, swallowing the hostility that automatically flared. She picked up her glass, feeling Alan’s eyes on her suddenly stiff shoulders.
“Alcoholism is a disease, Laurel. Healthy men and women can enjoy the smooth, mellow taste of my bourbon without ill effects. I accept that you have reason not to drink, but I won’t be held accountable for one man’s weakness. Or even one man multiplied by hundreds.”
Alan set his unfinished drink on the tray. He lifted the files he’d left on an end table between the couch where Laurel sat and the overstuffed chair. “You probably feel sorry for Louemma, being born into a home you can’t bring yourself to set foot in.”
Laurel gripped her glass tightly in both hands and yet the lemonade still sloshed over the edge as she jumped up. “Now who’s being unfair? Anyone with eyes can see you’re a devoted father. A good man. I…can’t help how I feel about what you do for a living. But I’d never project that onto your daughter.”
“How about my grandmother? She and Birdie are bugging me to invite you for a meal. I’ve run out of excuses. What do you want me to tell them?”
“I don’t know. That I’m too busy. I am, thanks to Vestal. She recommended that Charity Madison invite me to give her Camp Fire troop a demonstration, and I’m getting invitations from women’s groups, too. But with the girls…I felt compelled to offer them classes. And one class has become two. Unless you’re now saying you’ve decided to withdraw Louemma.”
That had indeed run through Alan’s mind. But if he walked out and severed this tie with Laurel, he’d not only disappoint Louemma, Windridge could say goodbye to any kind of a compromise regarding the creek. Alan had to decide whether he had the stomach for letting Hardy and the board take Laurel to court.
And he discovered he didn’t. If it lay within his power to settle things amicably, he would. Not only was that his natural inclination, he didn’t want to be yet another man causing Laurel pain. He placed the file next to the tray on the coffee table.
“I don’t think you really need to wait while I read Louemma’s file, Alan.”
He bounced his hands on his thighs. “Okay. Sure…I’ll collect it when we come for her lesson tomorrow. If you have any questions, you know my number.” He skirted the couch.
Laurel’s phone rang just then, interrupting Alan’s walk to the door. He could have let himself out, but he’d left his cell phone in the Jeep, and it crossed his mind that the caller might be family trying to reach him. Vestal and Birdie knew where he was.
Before Laurel answered the ringing phone, she sensed who it was. Damn, Dennis had surfaced again, just when she’d begun to relax her guard. She shut her eyes and clamped a steadying hand against her stomach.
Even from where he stood, Alan could hear a loud stream of vitriolic language pouring from the receiver Laurel gripped in a white-knuckled hand. He was seconds from ripping the phone away and taking on whatever madman had called her. But Laurel seemed entirely in control. She spoke in a calm and level tone, with the barest hint of taut nerves. “Dennis, I’ve told you repeatedly that I won’t talk to you when you’re in this condition. You need help, and you know where to get it. Stop calling me. Our lives are no longer connected. I’m hanging up now. Don’t call again, because I won’t answer.”
Alan would’ve ripped the phone out of the wall, or failing that, would’ve banged the receiver into the cradle, but Laurel set it down carefully. He saw that her control was quickly disappearing, however. She clasped her hands together so tightly her fingers turned red and then white. Her lips were pinched and her eyes wide open with shock.
“Does he do that often?” Alan inquired in a soft voice. “Can’t you get a block put on your phone? Or else have it unlisted?”
She turned sightless eyes in the direction of the voice penetrating the old fears that held her in their grip. Blinking several times, she slowly felt herself emerge. “Oh, Alan. I thought you’d gone.” With an effort, Laurel separated her hands and raised a badly shaking one to smooth back her hair.
He crossed to her side and gathered both of her hands, chafing them gently. “I asked why your phone isn’t unlisted, Laurel.”
“I need it for business. Anyway, Dennis is clever and devious. I actually did have it unlisted when I first moved here. Somehow, he got hold of the number. The phone company apologized and gave me another, which Dennis also found.”
“At the very least, get caller ID.”
She realize
d suddenly why warmth and feeling were returning to her body, and she disengaged their hands. “My Women’s Legal Aid divorce lawyer said some alcoholics feed off an ex-partner’s attempt to thwart them. A counselor at a women’s survival group recommends repeating the same firm message I just gave Dennis, each and every time he calls while drunk.”
“So, then eventually the calls stop?”
“I certainly hope so. But really, Alan, this is my problem. You have quite enough worries of your own, what with Louemma’s condition and all.”
“I know, but I have a support team of doctors and others to call on when I need them. Like Vestal and Birdie and Rose…”
“Louemma seems so isolated. Don’t forget, I’ve witnessed how her friends acted toward her.” She paused. “The gossips in town say you’re determined to weather your storms alone.”
“Who said that?” But as the words left his lips, Alan experienced a wash of guilt. He’d cut off everyone he and Emily used to see regularly—so he wouldn’t have to deal with their sympathy, or with their ill-concealed speculation as to what had prompted Emily’s unscheduled trip. He paced in circles around the chair.
“Don’t let me keep you, Alan,” Laurel said. “I’ve already taken too much time from a project I need to complete before the girls’ lesson tomorrow. As well, I want to set aside a couple of hours to study Louemma’s records.” She grabbed up the thick folder, glad it gave her something to do with her hands.
“I’ve been thrown out of other places. Notice I didn’t say better places, and certainly never as nicely,” Alan drawled.
A flush crept up her neck. “I wouldn’t exactly call it throwing you out. Before the phone rang you were already headed for home.”
“So I was. I only stopped because I’d left my cell phone in the Jeep. With my grandmother’s recent illness, and of course with Louemma, I ought to keep the phone on me at all times. I thought maybe the call was for me. Then I heard the garbage spilling out of that jerk’s mouth. I wouldn’t have left you on a bet.”
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