“And he loved her too, right?” Lindsey said. She knew it was a stupid question, but she needed the confirmation.
“He used to say the sun rose and set in her eyes.” He gave Adie a strict, fatherly look. “What’s Lindsey doing here, anyway? Bud’s estate was simple as could be. You ought to be done with it by now.”
Only then did Lindsey realize how seriously Adie took attorney/client privilege. She hadn’t even told her father about William Ward.
The realization warmed her heart. She’d hate for her grandfather’s old friend to see Bud in this new and unflattering light. Whatever had happened, it would remain a secret—between her, her lawyer, and now Grace.
“We’ve gotten to be friends.” She smiled her thanks at Adie, who smiled back. “She’s more than a lawyer.”
So she would follow Adie’s advice and take her grandmother out to lunch, do a little shopping. Then they’d talk this through. Grace might be dreamy and misty-eyed most of the time, but there was a part of her that was strong as forged steel. Lindsey would find that part of her grandmother, and the two of them would find a solution together. They had to.
“You’ll be fine,” Adie said, as her father went back to his reading. “I think your grandmother will surprise you.”
“She usually does.” Lindsey smiled. “That’s one thing I can always count on.”
Chapter 37
Lindsey normally enjoyed shopping with Grace, but a mild tension headache grew into a real thumper as the day progressed. Her secret seemed to grow in size and importance with every dress Grace tried on, every smile she gave Lindsey over jewelry and purses and hose. How long would her grandmother’s eyes have that carefree twinkle? By the time they reached the Red Dawg, Lindsey had worried so much she was numb.
Lindsey had been to the Red Dawg with her granddad a dozen times, back when she was a kid. He’d scan the parking lot as they drove past and make a sudden turn into the lot when he spotted a pickup he recognized. She’d sit beside him at the bar, sipping a ginger ale and feeling very grown up while he chatted with a neighbor.
Back then, the place was loaded with genuine Wyoming character, and much of it remained. Rough-hewn rafters spanned the ceiling, providing footing for glassy-eyed critters ranging from a prowling cougar to a nimbly balanced mountain goat. A flock of ducks was forever stilled in flight over the pool table, and the ubiquitous Wyoming jackalope sat behind the bar. At the front door, an enormous bear stood on its hind legs, an effective bouncer for anyone drunk enough to believe he was real.
The place had changed hands since then, and the new owners had brought in even more dead critters, along with a lot more customers. They’d put up a sign featuring two broad-butted, red-necked cowboys on bar stools, and increased the menu to include everything from all-American steak dinners to french-fried frogs’ legs. They allowed smoking, which was outlawed in restaurants in Cheyenne and Casper, so city folks who still wanted a little tar and nicotine with their dinner flocked there in droves.
Lindsey was glad to see the place thriving, but somehow, the decorative elements that had once proven the place’s Western authenticity had been transformed into kitsch by the mere presence of tourists. As Lindsey and Grace entered, a group of women dressed like Junior Leaguers sat in one corner, staring at the taxidermy as if they’d never seen a live animal before, let alone a dead one. At a center table, a family struggled to hush an obstreperous two-year-old who kept shouting “Duck! Duck!” and pointing at the pool table.
A few middle-aged men decked out in brown-and-gold University of Wyoming gear sat at the bar, along with some locals—retired ranchers with big hats and no more cattle to herd. They reminisced about the old days and flirted recklessly with the dark-haired barmaid.
The ranchers transferred their flirting to Grace when she entered, and it took Lindsey a while to steer her grandmother to a table in front of the window, where they could talk without being overheard. Lindsey’s heart skipped and skidded, tossing and tumbling in her chest to a wild, unruly beat. She needed to orchestrate this conversation carefully, but she had a terrible feeling that the story of William Ward was liable to shoot out of her mouth by accident, like a bullet from a dropped gun.
She busied herself unwrapping her silverware from her paper napkin. Catching Grace’s eye, she made her spoon and fork do an elaborate dance together, complete with do-si-dos and pirouettes. Grace clapped, but her bright eyes didn’t miss a thing.
“All right,” she said once the flatware had taken its bows. “Spill it, girlie. I know something’s up.”
Lindsey started out slow. “Why do you think Bud left me the ranch?”
Grace gave a drama-queen shrug and rolled her eyes. “Who else would he leave it to? You’re his favorite granddaughter and his only heir.”
His only heir. There was an opening there, but Lindsey wasn’t ready to take it. “What about you?”
“He was just skipping a step, dear. It was always going to be yours. There’s no one else.”
Another opening. There’s no one else.
Deep down, Lindsey had been hoping that her grandmother knew about William Ward, and they could have a good laugh over keeping the same secret from each other in a mix-up worthy of a screwball comedy. But it was starting to seem like nothing was going to make this easy.
The bartender appeared beside their table, order pad in hand. “What can I getcha to drink?”
“Iced tea,” Grace said.
“Diet Coke.” Lindsey was grateful for the interruption, and made the most of it by studying her menu as if the fate of the Western world depended on her choice of a Rip Roarin’ Pulled Pork Bar-B-Q Sandwich or a Cowboy Burger Deluxe with Bootstrap Onions.
Meanwhile, Grace didn’t even open her menu. She was too busy staring across the table at Lindsey, a bemused smile playing across her delicate features.
“I think what Bud intended was to make you happy,” she said. “But it doesn’t seem like he succeeded.”
“Oh, I am happy, and grateful.” Lindsey set down her menu, feeling fairly certain she wanted the hamburger. “It’s just such a big responsibility, and I want to do the right thing.”
“Do what you want. It’s yours. Sell it, keep it, raise wild African monkeys…”
The waitress returned with their drinks. “You need more time?”
Yes, Lindsey thought. I need all day. All month. All year.
But Grace was already ordering a BLT, so Lindsey decided on the pulled pork.
“What about your job in Charleston?” Grace asked once the waitress left. “It seems like that would be a factor. Do you want to keep it? Are you happy there?”
“I don’t know,” Lindsey said. “We’re doing well. Our client roster’s growing really fast. We’re even thinking about bringing in another vet.” She smiled. “Rodger didn’t think I’d make it without his money, but I’ve hardly noticed he’s gone. I don’t have much cash on hand, but I’m paying the bills.”
“I didn’t ask if you were making money. I asked if you were happy.”
Lindsey folded her napkin in half, then in half again. “It’s good. I know I’m lucky to have my own practice.”
“Stop shoulding on yourself,” Grace said.
Lindsey nearly choked on her Diet Coke. “What?”
“You’re shoulding on yourself. You should be grateful. You should do what Bud would want you to do. And you still can’t talk about your practice, the practice you own, without mentioning Rodger.” Grace shook a pointed finger as only a grandmother could. “The only person you need to please is yourself. Nobody runs your life but you.”
Lindsey felt a warning heat behind her eyes. Tears filled them before she could regain control, and she swiped at them with her napkin.
“Someone’s always running my life.” She thought of William Ward. “Nothing’s ever easy.”
“It might be, if you’d trust people, let them help you.” The smile returned, along with the twinkle. “Like maybe your old grandmot
her. You might be surprised at the things she knows.”
There it was. Another way into the topic she’d been dreading.
Lindsey took a deep breath and prepared to tell the truth.
It was probably the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Chapter 38
Lindsey reached across the table and took her grandmother’s hands. Taking a deep breath, she let out the difficult truth she’d been hiding so long, releasing it in a torrent of tumbling words.
“Grandma, you said you know things, but do you know about William Ward? He says he was grandpa’s—grandpa’s son.” A surge of emotion billowed from her heart and nearly choked her. “I’m so sorry, Grace. I didn’t want to tell you, but he wants a piece of the ranch. Well, actually, he wants money, but he says he’ll contest the will if I don’t scrape up enough cash to buy him out.” Confronted with her grandmother’s innocent, questioning eyes, her confidence in her grandfather waned. “Maybe Granddad made a mistake. I know he loved you. You know he loved you. But men…” She flapped her hands uselessly. “Men are—I don’t know.”
Amazingly, Grace was still smiling. “No, dear. Bud’s only child was your mother. There was no son, except…”
Remembering the two small stones in the graveyard, Lindsey’s surge of grief nearly swept her away. Grace rarely spoke of the stillborn son she’d had, or the infant daughter who’d died.
“Oh, Grandma.” She was crying for real now. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard to hear it, but this guy was at the funeral. He looks just like Grandpa. Just like him.”
Stop talking, just stop talking, she told herself. You’re making a mess of this. Just stop.
But her traitorous mouth babbled on, fed by her idiot brain.
“He says he didn’t know who his father was for most of his life. But sometimes his mother would have money, and she said his father sent it. He found a whole boxful of envelopes when she died, all from Bud. Notes, saying he wanted him to go to school, things like that.” She bit down on her lower lip and closed her eyes tight. She hadn’t meant for it to be this way—so quick, so brutal.
But did it really matter how your heart got broken? It could be shredded bit by bit, or smashed to smithereens with a hammer. The end result would be the same.
She opened her eyes, expecting to see her grandmother dissolving in tears. Instead, Grace’s blue eyes were twinkling as if this was all a good joke.
“Oh, Lindsey.” She stretched her hands across the table and Lindsey took them in her own. The old woman’s skin felt dry and fragile, yet Lindsey clung to those old hands as if they were the only lifeboat in a tempest-tossed sea. “You’ve been hiding this secret all this time, haven’t you? Agonizing over it, and trying to solve the problem all by yourself.”
Lindsey nodded, miserable.
Grace leaned forward, giving Lindsey’s hands an earnest shake. “I know all about William Ward. And I know Bud wasn’t his father, though it’s natural he’d like to think so.”
Lindsey wanted her grandmother to be right. She wanted her granddad to be the man she’d always believed him to be. But maybe Grace was in denial.
As the waitress delivered their food, Lindsey silently berated herself, questioning every decision she’d made. She should have trusted Shane and told him first. Then she could have brought him along. After all, he knew her grandparents much better than she did.
She should have told Grace right away. Then this whole thing would be over by now, and she’d know the truth.
She should, she should, she should… Her grandmother was right. She should stop shoulding on herself, stay calm, and help her grandmother cope.
“Grandma, I couldn’t believe it. I still don’t—I don’t think I do, anyway. But he looks just like Granddad.”
Grace took a healthy bite of her sandwich and chewed, then washed it down with a sip of iced tea. “Let me tell you a story.”
Lindsey wanted to remind her grandmother that they were dealing with reality, not fiction, but there was no stopping Grace once she’d launched a story.
“Do you remember Bud’s brother? Your uncle Dave?” Grace asked.
Lindsey tilted her head, bringing up a shadowy memory from the past. “Sort of. I remember being kind of scared of him. Didn’t he die?”
“Yes, he did. You were scared of him because he was a drunk, Lindsey. A mean drunk. And he died just after his son was born.”
“His son? I have a cousin?” Lindsey had always bemoaned her tiny family, especially after her mother passed away. But she wasn’t sure she was happy to see all these new relatives and potential complications coming out of the woodwork at this particular moment.
“Uncle David’s son was William Ward.”
Lindsey had stopped eating long before, and now she clapped her hand over her mouth. “He’s not Bud’s son? He’s Dave’s?”
Grace nodded. “Dave died in a drunk driving accident just after Bill was born. Dave was the drunk, and he killed some poor girl. We never cared much for Dave’s wife, but Bud always tried to help the boy, sending him money every month. He even sent Bill to college.”
Lindsey’s heart was skipping and stumbling as she tried to absorb this new version of reality. It rang true, but then again, it was what she wanted to believe. She needed to be cautious.
“If Bud sent him to college, why is he asking for more?”
Grace suddenly looked her age. “Bill saw Bud’s name on a check and convinced himself he was his father. He and his mother were living in California then, and she encouraged him in that belief.” Her lips thinned to a grim line. “He finally contacted us after college—after everything was paid for and the money stopped coming.”
Lindsey nodded.
“He knocked on our door one day, loaded for bear. Wanted to know why Bud was such a lousy father, never visited, all that sort of stuff.” She sighed, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “He was there to ‘claim his birthright,’ he said.”
“So you told him who his real father was?”
Grace nodded. “It was a very rude awakening, though Bud tried to be kind.”
Grace waved away the waitress, who was hovering over her nearly empty plate. Lindsey had barely started her sandwich, but Grace had decimated her own in record time, despite the storytelling. She might have looked delicate, but she had the appetite of a stevedore.
“So he knows.” Lindsey realized she’d been clenching her teeth, and now a headache was throbbing in her temples. “He’s lying.”
“He’s lying.”
Lindsey still couldn’t navigate the sea of facts and lies sloshing around in her brain.
“But he threatened to go to you, to tell you Bud had an affair.”
“He was bluffing.” Grace leaned forward and placed her hand on Lindsey’s. “And it almost worked. If you hadn’t told me, I never would have known what was going on.”
Lindsey picked up her sandwich, suddenly ravenous.
“You have to trust people, dear. Did you think I was too fragile for the truth? And how could you believe such a thing of your grandfather?”
“It was hard to believe,” Lindsey said. “But he looked so much like him, and he said he’d prove it with a DNA test.” She took a big bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing while she thought about her new reality. “I’d forgotten all about Uncle Dave. I think I only met him that one time, or I would have figured it out. I knew it had to be wrong.”
“Your grandfather loved me,” Grace said. “Me, and only me.” She got a foggy, faraway look in her eyes, and Lindsey knew what she was about to say, so the two of them said it in unison.
“Wild love.”
Grace smiled, and Lindsey felt as if someone had turned up the lights, both inside and out. The bar lighting hadn’t changed, but coincidentally, a ray of sun filtered through a layer of dark, distant clouds outside the window.
“Tell Bill Ward to get lost,” Grace said. “I’m sorry to be that way, but he’s no better than his fat
her was. He wants a free ride, and he’ll work harder to steal than he will to earn an honest living. I don’t know what it is with some people.”
“I feel sorry for him.”
“That’s because you’re a sweet girl.” Grace patted Lindsey’s hand. “He doesn’t deserve your pity. Bud did much more than he had to.”
“It sounds that way. It’s just sad that I had such a great family, and he had—I don’t know, a mother who lied to him, and a father who drank too much and died.”
“You had your own misfortunes.”
Lindsey nodded, playing with her fork. Her mother had coped with cancer all through Lindsey’s high school years and passed away when Lindsey was just eighteen. Her father had been so exhausted by the struggle that he’d bailed on both of them before the body grew cold. He’d remarried soon after Lindsey’s mom died, and Lindsey was sure he’d been having an affair with his new wife while her mother lay dying. She didn’t see him now. Didn’t even talk to him. He’d moved on, and so had she.
Unfortunately, she’d moved on to Rodger.
But that chapter of her life was over, and she was about to start a new one. Her experiences with men thus far had been pretty poor, so if she had any sense, she’d start it alone. But she wasn’t sure she had a whole lot of sense—and if she did, it all flew right out of her head every time she saw Shane Lockhart.
Grace reached over and patted Lindsey’s hand. “I’m glad you’re back, dear. I’m sorry Bud chased you off the way he did. We should have stood by you, no matter what your decision.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Men.”
“It wasn’t Granddad’s fault. I made a bad decision, and he was right to do everything in his power to stop me.” She sighed. “I’m just sorry I was too bullheaded to listen. And I’m really sorry I didn’t come back and apologize.” She sighed. “I just felt so stupid. Like a failure.”
“What did you fail at?”
Lindsey gave her grandmother a duh look. “Marriage.”
How to Wrangle a Cowboy Page 24