by Jane Toombs
Willa soon convinced Mari she had to go into town and buy at least one more outfit, assuring her this was a sufficient emergency to use the credit card. “You’re the Haskell heiress, gal,” she added. “You got to figure that in sometime.”
While she was in town, Mari stopped by the casino to tell Uncle Stan the latest turn of events.
He beamed at her. “I knew it. The minute I listened to Joe Haskell on TV, I got this hunch about you. Blanche may have broke me of gambling, but I was a good one in my day, and when us old gamblers get a hunch about a sure thing, the odds are dang good we’re right.”
Driving home with the new clothes she’d bought, Mari mused that her uncle had been more excited than she was. Her main feeling was numbness. It was as though some other Mari had been proved right in her claim that Isabel had been her mother. Though she was happy for Mr. Haskell—would she ever get accustomed to thinking of him as her grandfather?—she couldn’t quite grasp what it meant to her.
Everything had come too fast. Stan’s disclosure that Blanche was no blood relation to her. The discovery that Mari’s birth mother, Ida, was actually Isabel Haskell. Seeing her father’s grave and learning that at the very least he’d been an honest cowboy. If that wasn’t enough, in the midst of all this she’d met the man she’d believed might be the only one in the world for her, only to be rudely disillusioned.
The evening meal turned out to be a festive celebration. Willa had made her special New England boiled dinner and baked an apple pie. Stan uncorked the champagne saved for a special occasion.
“To our own Marigold, the missing Haskell heiress,” he said, raising his glass. “May she live long and happily.”
“Money won’t do it. She ain’t going to be happy lest she learns to follow her heart,” amended Willa.
Stan shrugged, and they all took a sip of champagne.
Mari smiled and did her best not to show her doubts. Not about being a Haskell—she’d pretty much accepted she was. But she was also a Grant, wasn’t she? However, in her heart she still felt like the person she’d been for all of her twenty-seven years—Mari Crowley.
The flight to Kennedy Airport in New York and the limo drive to Joe Haskell’s penthouse apartment went past in a blur. The first time she came out of her daze was when Mr. Haskell held out his arms to her and she walked into his hug. He held her away and brushed his hand lightly over her hair.
“I knew you were Isabel’s girl the minute I saw the color of your hair in that picture,” he said. “Had to let the legal boys satisfy themselves, but in my heart, I knew.”
Mari tried to force words past the lump in her throat. “I—I—Mr.—”
“Grandpa Joe,” he said simply.
“Grandpa Joe,” she repeated, surprised at how easy it was to say. “I can’t tell you what it means to actually have a grandfather.”
The man standing by the door cleared his throat, and Joe glanced at him.
“My dear,” he said to Mari, ‘this is my life-long friend Lou Simon, who worries about me far too much.”
Seen in person, the enemy didn’t look anything like an ogre. Not quite as tall as Russ, with gray hair rather than black, he smiled at her as benevolently as her grandfather had. His eyes, though, green as his son’s, remained watchful. “We meet at last, Ms. Grant,” he said.
The name startled her for a moment. Was that who she was? “Please call me Mari,” she murmured.
“No wonder he was smitten, Joe,” Lou Simon said.
Grandpa Joe chuckled. “Russ knew who she was long before you’d admit it. Lawyers stop seeing with their hearts early on.”
“My son’s an attorney, too,” Lou reminded him.
Joe shook his head. “Get over it. He raises horses. Profitably and happily, I might add.” He turned to Mari. “Don’t mind Lou and me. We enjoy sparring.”
“I’ll be going along,” Lou said. “I’m glad you’re here, Mari. Joe needs you.”
Her grandfather’s housekeeper, an older woman named Rose, showed Mari to her room so she could freshen up. Then Mari returned to the living room, where Grandpa Joe was waiting.
“I know you must be tired,” he told her, “but I do want to see that pendant, if you don’t mind.”
Mari unclasped it from around her neck and handed the pendant and chain to him. He studied it, plucking a small magnifying glass from his shirt pocket for a closer look. After a time he nodded and looked at her. She saw the glint of tears in his hazel eyes as he handed the pendant back to her.
“If I had any doubts, and I admit to none,” he said, “this would be the clincher. Many years ago, my dear wife, who was especially fond of lilacs, had this platinum pendant made for your mother’s tenth birthday. Isabel always said it was her favorite gift, since she shared her mother’s love for lilacs. She took the pendant with her when she ran off with that blasted drummer.” He smiled wryly. “Though you’re my beloved granddaughter under any circumstances, I must tell you I was relieved when your father turned out to be someone other than Mort Morrison.”
“Elias Grant was the last honest cowboy,” Mari said.
Joe nodded. “They told me about the inscription. A man couldn’t ask for more.”
“I don’t have any pictures of him,” Mari said, “but I suspect I may resemble him, since I don’t look like any pictures of Haskells I’ve seen.”
“Russ told me you found Isabel’s portrait in the cupola room. Which reminds me. It was none of my doing that Lou roped his son in on vetting you. You must know by now why Russ consented to do such a thing.”
Mari was tempted to tell him she didn’t care to know, but she wasn’t well enough acquainted with Grandpa Joe yet.
“We all make mistakes—too often with those we love the most. Mine was with Isabel, Lou’s with Russ. When the boy refused the offer to join Lou’s law firm because he wanted to raise horses, Lou disowned him. So, what I figure is when your uncle’s letter came, Lou killed two birds with one stone. He wanted to protect me, and at the same time he saw a way to offer an olive branch to his son without losing face. The result was he asked Russ to check you out.”
“Russ didn’t have to agree!”
“Oh, but he did. He must have been quite aware of what Lou’s request really was. To say no would have been to reject his father all over again. Black-and-white is all very well, my dear, until you come to family issues—this was a gray area.”
Mari couldn’t help saying, “I hate to be lied to.”
He nodded. “No doubt as much as Russ hated lying to you.”
Though she understood what her grandfather was trying to tell her, she wasn’t sure she accepted it.
“But here I am, lecturing to you on the very evening of our happy reunion. Why don’t we save any further revelations until breakfast?” He rose and held out his hand.
Mari got up from her chair, taking his hand, and once again he hugged her. This time she hugged him back with more than mere politeness. She was beginning to like her grandfather.
“For a while I was sorry Uncle Stan wrote that letter to you,” she said, “but now I’m not.”
Alone in her bedroom, Mari tried in vain to sort out her thoughts, but they were in such a jumble she gave up and started to get ready for bed. She was reaching for her nightgown when she smelled the lilacs. Since she’d already taken in her surroundings, she knew there were none in the room. Finally she found the source—a lilac sachet tucked in the dresser drawer with the clothes the housekeeper had unpacked.
So, of course, Mari dreamed of Russ. They were on his sailboat heading for the Mackinac Bridge, gleaming high above them. When she protested that there’d be fog ahead, he smiled and pulled her to him.
“There’s always fog ahead,” he told her.
Just before they plunged into grayness, she woke up. After she settled down into sleep again, she dreamed once more. She and Russ were in a gazebo, but it wasn’t his father’s. It looked like the one on the Adams Ranch in Carson Valley, where her frie
nds lived. In the evening darkness he pointed to a bright star. “That’s the one I’ll come from to rescue you,” he said. “Watch for me.” Then he was gone, and she was alone in a chilling night breeze.
When she woke in the morning, the shards of the dreams clung to her. In an effort to dispel them, she told herself that, however romantic the legend of Arch Rock might have been, she was not a trapped Chippewa maiden needing rescue, and Russ certainly wasn’t one of the Sky People. He was Lou Simon’s son. Though she had to admit the elder Simon wasn’t the ogre she’d expected, she wondered if she’d be able to like him.
At breakfast, Grandpa Joe was much more solemn than he’d been the evening before. After greeting him, she asked how he felt.
“I’m fit enough for the bypass, my dear, and the date is set for a week from now. I was determined to get you here before then and I have.”
“So soon,” she said. “The operation, I mean.”
“I’ve been putting it off,” he admitted. “Finally they told me if I didn’t have the bypass done, the next time my heart acted up would be the last. ‘You waited pretty late, Joe,’ Doc Van able said. ‘So this is a case of better late than never.’”
“That’s what Aunt Blanche said when she gave me the lilac pendant,” Mari told him, then related the whole story.
“I’m glad you had loving parents,” he said. “I’ve only myself to blame for not trying to find you earlier.”
Mari found that after breakfast she was scheduled, with Joe, to meet with not only Lou Simon, but other attorneys from his firm. “No one going under the knife can be sure of survival,” Joe explained. “It’s best you have some idea of what responsibilities you may be facing.”
She couldn’t prevent her alarm from showing, and he reached over to squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry.”
That afternoon, his secretary, Natalie, took her shopping in stores Mari had heard of but never been in. No mention was made of cost as Natalie talked her into buying far more than Mari thought she needed, convincing her she definitely would require the clothes for various events she’d be expected to attend.
Since Grandpa Joe was resting before dinner, in the late afternoon Mari retreated to her room for a rest herself. Being a Haskell was going to change her life far more than she’d realized.
As the week passed, Mari met so many people she had trouble keeping them straight in her mind. Natalie again took her shopping, for a watch Grandpa Joe insisted on giving her, plus shoes.
When Mari protested that he was spending too much on her, he said, “You must remember you’re a wealthy young woman now. For one thing, you’ve inherited the trust fund I set up for Isabel years ago in case she ever did return.” He named an amount that knocked Mari back on her heels. “I’ve also set up a monthly allowance for you.” Again the sum rattled Mari.
“I—I don’t need that much,” she protested.
“Think about it, my dear. You now have the means to pay off the mortgage Russ told me is on your uncle’s ranch. If you’d like to have Lou set up a trust fund for your uncle to draw interest on, just let me know. I hope to meet Stan Crowley one of these days, for I certainly owe him.”
The ranch free of debt? Mari could hardly imagine that.
She did enjoy her grandfather’s company and the sightseeing trips she took under Natalie’s guidance, but it all seemed unreal, so far removed from her horses and the ranch in Nevada. Of course, she wouldn’t dream of leaving Grandpa Joe until after he had the heart surgery and was fully recovered. Nevada seemed so far away, so out of reach. She longed to be back, but that would have to wait.
Joe Haskell surprised his doctors by coming through the quadruple bypass with no problems and undergoing a smooth and rapid recovery. “I told them I was too mean to die,” he said to Mari when he was recuperating at home.
“You’re not mean at all.”
His smile faded. “But I was, my dear. More so than you can believe. It takes some of us a long time to learn life’s lessons.”
Which reminded Mari of Willa, and she told him all about her friend. Her grandfather was fascinated, and so she related more stories about Carson Valley and her friends there, fueling her own desire to return. Finally, toward the end of September, when it was evident her grandfather was in much better condition than he’d been before the bypass surgery, she mentioned her longing to go back to the ranch.
“Why, of course, my dear,” he said. “You can visit your uncle anytime you wish. I’ll arrange to have you flown to Nevada as soon as possible.”
The word he’d used—visit—brought home to her the fact that she was a Haskell now, and so her life was not really her own. The thought was unnerving. Her grandfather expected her to live with him and she did want to spend time with her only blood relative, but she missed her uncle Stan, who’d been a father to her all her life. She also missed Willa. The ranch was home. Mari sighed, realizing she could no longer call it that.
“I hope you’re happy here with me,” Grandpa Joe said.
While she assured him she was, which was true enough, she didn’t try to explain her feelings to him. And she certainly wouldn’t admit to him or anyone how disappointed she’d been that Russ hadn’t once come to Grandpa Joe’s apartment since she’d been there. She knew he’d come to see him in the hospital, because Joe had mentioned it.
Was Russ deliberately avoiding her? She should have been happy about that, since she’d certainly made it clear she didn’t want his company, but she wasn’t. It was almost as though she missed him. Which was ridiculous.
Chapter Thirteen
Mari hadn’t been back at the ranch for more than a day before she discovered Russ’s purchase of the property up the road from hers was the talk of the valley. Her uncle had met him and pronounced him a right one.
“Knows what he’s doing, no greenhorn,” Stan said at their evening meal on the second day. “He’s rebuilt the barn and has ’em working on the house.”
“It was in pretty bad repair,” Mari said, glad to have something neutral to comment on.
“He’ll be over this week to pick up Lucy. Asked did I think she’d go on a lead without any problem.” Stan scratched his head, making gray tufts stand up. “Truth is, I don’t know, since we never tried it.”
“You’re right. I got Lucy behind the fence by luring her in with oats. But it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’s one stubborn mare,” Willa commented. “Far be it for me to advise you about horses, but maybe you forgot how balky she can be when you want her to do something she don’t have a mind to do.”
“I imagine she’s been on a lead sometime in her life,” Mari said, but she was replying without really thinking what she was saying. Her mind was fixed on the fact that Russ would be coming to get Lucy. Mari would be seeing him, and she both longed to and dreaded it. Maybe she should try to be somewhere else when he arrived.
As if in answer, Willa said, “I’m thinking you best be around when the time comes for Lucy to leave here. That mare’ll do more for you than for anyone else.”
“She took to Russ,” Mari said, recalling how he’d sweet-talked Lucy into good behavior.
Willa nodded. “People around here took to him, as well. Saw him riding with Zed Adams the other day.”
“Charm does tend to get you places.”
Willa frowned. “So does ability. You’re looking at that young man skewed.”
“Come on, Mari, you don’t make a go of raising horses on charm,” Stan protested. “You got a hate against him for some reason?”
Since she hadn’t told Stan anything about her involvement with Russ, Mari shook her head. Deliberately changing the subject, she said, “Just who’s the patsy around here?” she asked him. “You accused me of being too softhearted when I brought strays home, but I sure wasn’t responsible for that dog with six puppies out there in the shed.”
“Maisie was starving to death,” Stan said. “Can’t have that. I expect those pups’ll make good hunting do
gs—got to be some Lab in ’em. Might even make a profit selling ’em.”
“Her name’s Maisie?”
He shrugged. “That’s what she looked like to me—a Maisie. Just like that big dapple-gray looked like a Lucy to you.”
Mari grinned at him. “Can’t argue with logic. But Lucy’s a Blue, not a gray.”
“That’s what Russ claims. Can’t see it myself, but he makes a good living raising whatever they are, so I don’t argue.”
The very next day Russ arrived at the Crowley Ranch bright and early on a gorgeous black gelding. Mari was busy grubbing out the stables, but told herself firmly it made absolutely no difference if he was seeing her in her manure clothes. Wasn’t he a horse person, too? Besides, she didn’t care what he thought of her—not anymore. Unfortunately, her heart didn’t seem to understand, because it sped up and something happened to her breathing.
“Hi, Russ,” she said as lightly as she could. “That’s a magnificent black. What’s his name?”
He swung off the gelding before answering. “Black Knight, what else? Want a hand?”
She eyed him. His jeans and shirt had seen a lot of wear, she noticed as she looked him over. No matter what he wore, he was as gorgeous as Black Knight. “Thanks, but you’re not quite grubby enough,” she told him. “Besides, I’ve finished mucking out. Stan’ll take care of the rest of it. They finally got another bartender at the casino, so he won’t be working there as soon as the new guy gets trained.”
She knew she was babbling, telling him what he probably already knew, but if she could keep a barrier of inconsequential words between them, maybe she wouldn’t want so badly to touch him. “I suppose you’ve come to get Lucy.”
“Right. I’m going to try to lead her back to my place.”
“Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll help you get a lead on her. There’s coffee on in the kitchen. Muffins, too.”
Without waiting for a reply, she strode to the back door of the house, stepping out of her boots and dumping her work gloves before going inside. In her room, she hurriedly changed into jeans and a T-shirt and ran a brush through her hair. Glancing in the mirror, she wished she’d at least put on lipstick earlier. To do it now would announce that she cared how she looked to Russ. She didn’t!