Lakota Justice
Page 18
“So, what’ll it be this time, Mother? Book reviews for the blog again?”
As a reviewer, she fit the definition of judging a book by its cover. Of course, if anyone discovered she based her star factors on the front of the book more than the story, she’d lose the credibility it still amazed her she had. A prominent blogger once said a review by Rebecca Heller could make or break an author’s career. God. If only they knew.
Her mother’s self-satisfied nod and smug tone of voice drew Becca out of all her self-praise. Something told her, this time she could expect worse than reading a few unheard of authors.
“No. You’re going to help your grandmother.”
Had she just said… “Grandmother? Since when?” Intriguing. Worthy of investigation. But not before Becca could function without a skull explosion.
“My mother. She raises geese on a small farm in California.” Landra’s eyes narrowed on a smile. The smug little curve of passion-pink lipstick over capped, blinding-white teeth never meant anything but trouble for Becca.
She didn’t expect this to be any different and sat up. This wealth of information trumped a skull explosion. “Geese?”
Becca choked on a laugh then swallowed hard. Her mother didn’t make jokes. Ever. And California? Hell no. Beaches and surfer boys? She loved her concrete jungle, the high-rise buildings, the Starbucks on every corner. The antithesis to California, which she considered he cesspool of American civilization.
Her mother’s blonde highlights caught the sun with every shake of her Botox-injected head and every purse of her fat-infused lips. “On a farm.”
“Are we talking like sexy cowboys and ranch hands?” A bright side after all?
Landra crossed her arms, and the evil smile returned. “We’re talking little white birds with orange beaks. No one but you and my mother.” She even chuckled. “And good luck with that.”
As Landra paced to the window to look out over the prize-winning rose garden complete with statues of the family, Becca’s stomach knotted. Sent away? From the house and the bank…and oh God. Her car. She glanced up at her mother. “I’ll pay for the car. Whatever.” Petulant, but an acquiescence that normally worked.
Until it didn’t. “Too late for all that now. No.” She spun to smirk at Becca. “I think this is better. You’re going to help your grandmother with chores, and I guarantee you…six months with her, and you’ll be begging to appreciate all your father and I have worked so hard to give you. And, if you want to see your shiny little Mercedes ever again, you’ll keep your nose out of trouble while you’re there.”
Becca swallowed back a smart-ass comment. Her mother didn’t make threats. She made promises to be broken at a later date. Seemed she’d found a way to up her game, and Becca had to say…she didn’t care much for her mother’s new behavior.
“Whatever.” She would cave. She always caved. And if not, Daddy would. Becca flopped onto to her belly and waved Landra out of her room.
As her mother stomped away, an evil laugh trailing behind her, Becca’s eyes flipped open wide.
***
Dylan Laugherty rolled to his side and glared at the clock. Five a.m.? Whoever stood on other side of the door…
He snatched his jeans off the floor and yanked them on, composing a mental list of the ways he planned to murder the person still banging their fist into his sleeping hours.
“I’m coming!” he shouted when the knocking became more insistent. “Just a damn minute.”
At times like these, when tired and more than a little grumpy, the twang of his Texas upbringing poked through his practiced Western accent. He hated sounding like one of those good old boys, but at five a.m. speech patterns didn’t make the list of his top priorities.
He stomped through his living room to fling the door open, fist clenched, ready for battle.
Mable? She didn’t look hurt or ill. Quite the opposite. Her eyes, sparkling blue, shone brighter than usual, and her cheeks almost glowed with color. He stood back, not that he had much choice as she brushed past him.
“Oh, Dylan. I waited as long as I could, but I just had to come over and tell you the news.”
Some cat in town probably had a new litter of kittens. In Ranger’s End, a fresh batch of fur balls headlined the most newsworthy information Mable ever delivered. God, he loved it here.
“Well, whatever it is, it must be good to bring you out so early.” Of course, a nice pot of hot coffee would make her news all the more interesting.
She followed him to the kitchen. “It’s such…I’m so excited. I almost can’t contain myself.”
“I can see.” He pulled down two mugs then stared at the coffeemaker. He had no idea how this thing worked. His mama had programmed it when he moved into the house a year ago, and he hadn’t had to do anything but drop in the prepacks at night ever since. But no way he’d ever be able to wait another two hours for the programmed pot to brew. He needed caffeine now. “Hmm.”
Mable used her hip to scoot him out of the way. “Remind me to get you a percolator.”
She hummed while she worked, but her feet never stopped moving, as if she couldn’t stop the dance inside herself from breaking out. With the coffee brewing and Dylan waiting, she turned and braced both hands behind her against the counter. “My granddaughter is coming to visit.”
“Granddaughter?” Oh no. Not another fix up. Between Lucia and Mable—sisters who thought singledom a sin—he’d met every available woman on the West Coast, and thanks to his mother, some from farther inland. At least it seemed he had, anyway.
“From New York.” Her eyes widened, and she clasped her fingers together as if in prayer. “But she’ll be here in two days.”
“Great.” Mable smiled. Anything powerful enough to make her this happy…but another granddaughter?
She chewed her lip. “I need to get things in order. If she’s anything like her mother, no doubt we’ll have a rocky start.” Before he could ask what she meant by rocky, or like her mother, she went on. “I need to paint the spare room.” Her face pinched, and new lines formed around her eyes. “Oh. I should have got the electric man out to fix the house. And the plumber to put in a bath.” She fell into the chair beside him. “She’s going to hate it here. Who am I kidding? I’m just some old lady she never met in a house not good enough for her mom and not good enough for her.”
Dylan covered her hand with his own, gave it a squeeze of silent solidarity. “Are you happy where you are, Mable?”
“God, yes. I love my little house. But she’s a young woman, and a bit spoiled if I know my daughter. Rebecca’s going to take one look at my place, and I won’t be able to move fast enough to keep her from racing back home.” Her frown tore at him. “She’ll be gone before I ever get to know her.”
There was a story in there he’d yet to hear, but he could wait. He wanted to see Mable smile. She’d been like a second mother to him, helped him adjust to his new life. He owed her this.
“She can use my house to shower and whatever else. And we’ll go to town and pick up some paint right now. You just be your wonderful self, and I promise you, she’ll never want to go home. House or not.” And he smiled as if he believed every word he’d just said