“I wanted you to come with us when I took Louemma on the boat. Anyway, I’ve ignored spreadsheets and billing. I’ll put my afternoon to good use.”
“See you tomorrow, then, when you drop off Louemma for her lesson. Oh, if someone could jot down a typical evening’s schedule for her, it would help me.”
“Sure. I’ll stick it in her bag, along with her favorite teddy bear. She likes him on her bed at night. It nearly kills me that she can’t hug him like she once did.”
“She is improving, Alan.” Laurel squeezed his arm. “I’m afraid I agree with the doctors who said it’s a subconscious affliction. There are times I see her almost reaching out. She wants to, but just as fast, the spark disappears.”
“She loves Dog, and she looks forward to coming here. If anything happened to take that away…” He blinked rapidly and stared into the distance.
“What could, Alan? Goodness, I’m only asking for a little time to myself.” She hooked her arm through his and moved with him toward the footbridge.
He waved as he drove off. It felt as if she was asking for more than a breather. But he might be reacting to her ex’s call. The man had been silent for months, then wham. Yes, that was probably all it was, Alan decided, feeling slightly foolish once he reached home.
He phoned Laurel that night before he went to bed, which had become their habit. They didn’t talk long, but she sounded like her old self, and he fell asleep happy.
In the morning, a lost shipment to one of Windridge’s best clients caused Alan so many headaches he had to sweep everything else from his mind. Everything except Louemma. She practically bounced off the walls in her excitement about the sleepover with Laurel. All afternoon, she drove Alan crazy, wanting him to pack half the treasures in her room.
“Land’s sake, child,” Vestal said at three, sounding exasperated. “Alan, didn’t you make it clear she’s only staying one night, not two weeks?”
“Laurel said for me to bring puzzles and games and my favorite video.”
“Maybe one puzzle and one game,” Alan suggested.
“But what if Laurel doesn’t like what I pick? I want her to invite me again.”
“Honeybee,” he said, unable to resist her plaintive cry, “take whatever you want. I’m sure Laurel can find someplace to store the stuff you want to leave. I have no doubt she’ll invite you more than just this once.”
“I hope so.” At last Louemma had pared down her luggage to one small suitcase and one bag of toys. By then, Alan knew that if they didn’t leave immediately they’d be late for her lesson.
“I’m warning you,” he murmured to Laurel some time later, when he was preparing to leave after depositing Louemma’s things in the cottage, “She’s going to try to pin you down to a time to do this again. She might be thinking once a month. She even brought a calendar for you to mark the nights she can stay. You’ll have to be firm and limit her, or she’ll be over here every night.”
Laurel smiled. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind. I always wanted a little sister.”
“Not a daughter?” Alan asked, realizing he didn’t know if Laurel wanted children or not. That sort of information fell in the realm of intimate details they’d shied away from sharing. Now he wished they hadn’t been so…careful.
“I’d love a child. Children,” she corrected. “But I decided a few years into my marriage that I couldn’t, not with Dennis. Keeping food on our table became enough of a struggle. Imagine the nightmare if we’d had babies. And you, Alan, produce and sell a product responsible for putting millions of women in that position.”
“Stop it, Laurel. This argument hasn’t come up in months. Why now?”
“I’ve been rereading the engineering study. I’m having trouble saying yes to something I know will put more whiskey out in the world.”
Alan took her by the elbow. “If you’re going to yell, let’s step outside, out of Louemma’s hearing.”
Looking guilty, Laurel glanced over her shoulder to where the girl worked at her loom, all the while chatting nonstop to Dog. He had his chin planted firmly on her thigh, his eyes shut in doggy ecstacy.
“I don’t want to pick a fight with you, Alan. It’s my frustration over not being able to tell you yes that you’re hearing.”
“Slow down. You’re stuck in one rut. For every alcoholic, there are many more responsible, perfectly rational social drinkers. I told Hardy this morning that you hadn’t made up your mind, and that I wouldn’t push you. He’s unhappy, but I want you to reach a conclusion on your own.”
“Thank you. I know it means dollars and cents to you. That’s eating at me, too. I will decide soon, Alan. By the end of the week. You have my word.”
“Hey, that’s good enough for me.” He tugged her partially out of the loom cottage, so he could steal a kiss. So far they hadn’t kissed in front of Louemma. Alan assumed it was because they were both hesitant. Now he wondered if it was only his problem. When the kiss ended, he asked abruptly, “Is there a reason we’re hiding our—you know—relationship?”
“From your family? The town? Who, exactly, would we be hiding from?”
“Everyone. You find reasons to refuse to go to a restaurant with me or elsewhere in town. Is it because you don’t want people to think we’re a couple?”
“Not at all. I, uh, we agreed to let any relationship develop naturally. I’m a private person. I got the idea you were, too. Is something wrong?”
“Not if that’s the only reason. Oh, I hear Louemma calling you. She probably broke a thread.” Alan dropped another fast kiss on Laurel’s mouth. “I’m crossing my fingers that tonight goes well. Call if you need me for anything.” He backed down the steps.
As she turned aside, Laurel had no intention of calling him. Did he think her incapable of entertaining one small girl for one night? She loved Louemma. It was certainly no hardship. The child was smart. She learned quickly, and she had Alan’s laugh.
Laurel very much feared she was falling in love with Alan Ridge. She’d thought she’d gotten past his occupation. In fact, she’d been making headway—until Dennis called from rehab, reminding her of all the problems whiskey caused. He’d called again last night, and once this morning. To clear the air between them, he said. To explain about his childhood. In all the years they’d been married, he’d never referred to his childhood. As Laurel suspected, Dennis came from a broken home. If only she’d known he was a product of two alcoholic parents…
She’d asked him not to call tonight because one of her students was spending the night. That was when she’d seen the first sign of the old Dennis. His jealousy was palpable, even over the phone. Laurel had no doubt that he’d call to make sure she was entertaining a child and not another man.
Well, if he phoned and Louemma figured it out and told Alan, there was little Laurel could do. Alan had his own jealous streak. Why couldn’t he see that after investing seven years trying to save Dennis from himself, she couldn’t turn her back on him when he finally seemed to be making an honest effort to put his life together?
Dennis hadn’t phoned by the time she and Louemma had finished their evening meal. “Hey, want to help me bake chocolate chip cookies? I bought all the ingredients yesterday.”
The girl’s eyes lit with interest, then she banked the flame. “I can watch. I can’t stir or dump stuff in the bowl. I watch Birdie make cookies. She says I’m a big help ’cause I keep her company when Nana takes a nap.”
“That’s good. That’s important so Birdie doesn’t feel lonely. I know a lot about loneliness. It’s not enjoyable.”
“Yeah, but you have Dog.” The girl smiled down at the animal, who’d stayed close to her side.
“And I have Cinnabar and Coal Fire. By Christmas, I’ll add a colt or a filly, as soon as Cinnabar has her baby. Before I start the cookies, I need to go feed the horses and give Cinnabar her vitamins. Want to come?” she asked casually, setting aside a bowl she’d gotten out.
“No! No, please no. Can I stay here w
ith Dog?”
Not wanting to upset the child, Laurel paused to give her a reassuring hug. “That’s fine, sweetie. I won’t be long.”
She rushed through her chores. Laurel didn’t know how Alan would feel about her leaving a nine-year-old alone for the fifteen or so minutes it took to feed her stock. That was something else they hadn’t discussed. At that age, Laurel had cooked, cleaned house and even shopped for groceries. But fifteen minutes alone might seem an eternity to Louemma Ridge, who had a real childhood.
Calling out to the girl as she opened the door, Laurel skidded to a halt at the sight of a man, a stranger, standing in her living room calmly chatting with Louemma.
“Who are you?” She glanced around for a weapon. “What are you doing walking uninvited into my home?” Her heart hammering in fright, Laurel found her first thought was to place her body between the man and Louemma.
“Louemma invited me in.” The man, who was probably about sixty, looked Laurel up and down before he extended a hand.
“I’m Dale Patton, principal attorney for Windridge Distillery. I assume you’re Laurel Ashline.”
She inclined her head, not making sense of the man’s words. How had he gotten here? And how had she missed hearing the approach of an automobile? “I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re here. Is there some legal form Alan needs in order for Louemma to spend the night?” She touched the girl, who was suddenly clinging to her leg. “If so, I should sign a stack. Louemma and I have already made three future dates.”
“I’m here regarding the creek. This land. The forty acres you think you inherited from Hazel Bell.”
Laurel frowned. “I did inherit. I’m Ted and Hazel’s granddaughter. Their only relative, I’ve been told.”
“I’m not disputing your relationship. I have here a copy of a land grant that supercedes the deed of title Hazel received from the circuit court when she petitioned for squatter’s rights.”
Taking the faded parchment paper, Laurel stared dazedly at a document she had difficulty making heads or tails of because it had been written in flowery script with a wide-tipped pen or quill. “Who? Uh—who does own the land?”
“Alan Ridge. Well, and Vestal.”
“Alan?” She gaped.
“How…uh, long has he known? Or does he?”
“It’d be hard for him not to, little lady. He’s the one who found the document in his grandfather’s office up at the distillery about six months ago.”
“Six months ago?” Laurel swallowed her disbelief. “Mr. Patton, just tell me what this is about. I want to know precisely what your visit means.”
“I’ve been out of the country on vacation, or this would’ve been cleared up before now. Our state superior court recognizes the validity of original land grants. This document tells you I’ve filed to rescind the decree issued to Mrs. Bell by the circuit court. And this one…” he paused “…is your thirty-day eviction notice. I hate being the bearer of bad tidings. And I can see you’ve settled in here.” He cleared his throat. “To say nothing of the fact that my wife thinks you’re a fine addition to Ridge City. She’s already bought two of your shawls.” The man flushed.
Fireworks exploded inside Laurel’s head. The light, the sound, the rending pain blinded her. The papers fluttered as her hand shook; she made an effort to keep them still—made an effort to understand what the lawyer said. Very little beyond the remark about eviction had penetrated. She was being thrown out of her home. Something that had happened too many times during her childhood. And Alan—Alan had known for six months.
“Well, I need to be going. My wife’s keeping my supper warm. She’s none too pleased that Hardy insisted I handle this ASAP. ’Course, they’ve got a construction crew on an expensive retainer.”
“Wait. Alan didn’t have you bring me these papers?”
“No, and yes. Hardy’s the GM at Windridge. Alan is president and Vestal is board chairman. It’s all in the judge’s report that I’m giving you.”
“I see.” Laurel didn’t, though. “And you represent the family or the distillery?”
“Ultimately it’s one and the same, little lady. Since Jason died, I deal more with Hardy on legal issues than I do with the family. But fundamentally it’s all the same.”
“So if I wanted to fight this in court I’d be fighting…who?”
“Windridge and the Ridge family. Take my advice, that’s a fool’s game. You’d be shelling out money for nothing. That’s free advice, and lawyers rarely give anything away for free, Ms. Ashline.” He had the audacity to wink.
“The lawyer who handled my grandmother’s affairs said she had clear title to this property. All duly recorded with the county assessor. She paid property taxes. I did, too, plus an inheritance tax. I think, Mr. Patton, that you need to inform your clients they’ll be hearing from my counsel very soon.”
Dale Patton revealed nothing of his personal feelings as he snapped his briefcase closed and walked out. Laurel imagined him rubbing his hands together, adding up future fees in his head for all this “little lady,” as he’d called her, would cost his clients in billable hours.
“Are you mad at my daddy?” Louemma ventured timidly as she watched Laurel take out her irritation on the cookie dough.
Laurel’s head shot up. “Here I thought I was doing a fair job of hiding my anger. I should know you can’t fool a kid. Honey, I don’t want you worrying about any of this. The big bonus attached to being your age is that you don’t have to fight any battles. You get to leave all of that up to the adults in your life.”
“You are mad at Daddy.” She sighed. “He made Mama mad, too. But I thought you were different, Laurel. I thought you made my Daddy happy.”
Dog, as if sensing his little friend’s distress, whined repeatedly, sounding almost human. Clearly, Louemma was upset. Laurel felt rotten, because if anyone knew how badly thoughtless adults could hurt a kid, she did.
“I won’t lie and say your dad didn’t disappoint me. He did. But I’m not mad. And I cross-my-heart swear that our differences won’t change my friendship with you. Will you trust me on that?” she begged, setting the dough aside as she bent to the child’s eye level.
“Those days marked on my calendar? I still get to sleep over?”
Laurel nodded vigorously. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make sure we have those times together. And we’ll continue your lessons.” She didn’t add that the lessons might not be in the loom cottage. Merely thinking about having to move her grandmother’s old looms, spinning wheels and spinning mules threatened to bring on the tears that hovered very near the surface.
Yet she hadn’t lied to Louemma. It wasn’t anger she felt toward Alan. There was only pain. Her heart felt shredded by the betrayal. She’d trusted him, body and soul. They’d been as intimate as it was possible for a man and a woman to be.
And he’d done this in return. Through his henchmen. She honestly didn’t know how she’d even make it through the night.
But she’d do it the same way she’d managed to survive every other heart-bruising episode in her life. She would weather this setback, too. But not until it was almost time for her alarm to sound a new day did she actually believe she’d mustered enough strength to face Alan when he came to collect Louemma.
He might consider himself better than Dennis, but Laurel put them on the same level. Alan didn’t even have an illness to excuse his underhanded tricks. He’d slept with her, then pretended to let her think she had a choice over allowing him access to the headwaters of the creek. All the while, he’d possessed a document virtually guaranteeing he’d win.
Dog alerted them to Alan’s arrival just as Laurel finished feeding Louemma a breakfast of toast, eggs and melon.
Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, Laurel opened the door. She soon discovered she wasn’t at all prepared to face a freshly shaved, bright-eyed, whistling traitor. Her fingers curled into her thighs the moment Alan stopped whistling and leaned in the door to ki
ss her full on the lips.
“D-don’t,” she stuttered, so totally wrung out of all emotion she couldn’t say any of the things banging away inside her brain. She felt like a wretched mess of tears, mourning the loss of yet another dream.
“Laurel?” Alan reared back as soon as it dawned on him that she wasn’t returning his kisses. “Uh-oh.” He stepped inside, closed the door softly. “Louemma’s been a trial for you.”
She knew red must be streaking up her neck, even spilling into her cheeks. “Louemma and I got on famously. But you, Alan Ridge, have some nerve. Too bad you’re a snake in the grass instead of being more like your precious daughter.” She shoved the suitcase and bag of toys into his stomach. “Here are her things.”
“Oof!” Alan grabbed twice to keep from dropping everything.
“Louemma,” she called. “Your father’s here to pick you up.”
“What the hell’s eating you?” he muttered. “You get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“My sleeping—or waking—habits are no longer your concern,” she retorted, frantically checking over her shoulder, anxious for Louemma to get in here. Girl and dog slowly made their way toward the kitchen door. Relief flooded Laurel.
“Great. You toss out a comment like that just as my big-eared daughter shows up,” he said, frowning. “I have to dash home, too. Vestal left me a memo about a board meeting I didn’t have on my calendar. It starts at nine, apparently.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Laurel said sarcastically.
He gave her a puzzled look. It is. God, but I’m having a hard time reading you this morning.”
“You know what, Alan? You’ve never read me correctly.”
Louemma had finally reached the door, even though it was obvious she’d rather not leave Laurel’s.
“Hi, honeybee.” Alan bent awkwardly around the stuff he held, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Hey, did you grow two inches overnight? No?” He waggled an eyebrow, and Louemma giggled. “Okay, I’ve got it. Laurel fixed your hair. That’s why you look all grown-up to me.”
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