The first Monday in August the phone rang at 7:00 a.m. and had her rushing out of the shower. She grabbed it on the fourth ring, thinking something must be wrong at work. The oversized towel she’d wrapped around herself didn’t protect the carpet as beaded water dripped onto it.
“Miss Lainie Johnson, please.” She caught the accent—pure Texas—but didn’t recognize the man’s voice. She identified herself, caught her reflection in the mirrored closet doors and the frown lines that furrowed her brow.
“This is Stuart Malcolm, Lainie,” said the precisely correct voice, and she realized why she hadn’t recognized it. A strain she’d not heard before distorted the lawyer’s speech. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Numbness started in her gut. She sat on the bed, unmindful of the dampness seeping into the bedding.
“Rosalie found Miles yesterday morning. She’d thought he was just sleeping later than usual, but...he...well.” She heard him clear his throat. “He died in his sleep,” he blurted out, the words rushing together. “Stroke. Massive. He didn’t suffer, Lainie. Too quick. Doc Talbot says he just went to sleep and never woke up.”
Her gaze found the envelope propped next to her purse with his name on it, the birthday card she was going to mail today. He hadn’t made seventy-seven. He’d missed it by five days.
Stuart’s voice droned on. He seemed to want something from her, but she couldn’t break out of her stupor. She’d lost everyone. No one was left with whom she could share this loss, and she felt lonelier than ever before in her life. When she broke into loud racking sobs, she hung up. In the midst of the tears she thanked God over and over again for Miles’s trip to California last year. She and her grandfather had found each other, and they’d made peace.
The lawyer called again the next evening, wanting to know when she’d be arriving, and she politely declined. It’d been on her mind constantly, but she’d decided her presence at the funeral would serve no purpose other than stirring up embers that didn’t need stirring.
“I don’t mean for the services, Lainie. I mean for the reading of the will.”
She frowned. “But I don’t need to be there. Miles and I talked about this. He was going to change his will...”
“He did, last November.”
After he’d gone home. “Then I don’t understand the problem. Why do I...why do you need me there?”
“Lainie, you really should be here for the formal—”
“For crying out loud, Stuart. Just give me the gist of it. My understanding was Reed would get the ranch. Now is that so, or not?”
“No.”
He was reluctant to divulge more, but she persevered, threatening she’d never show and he’d have to sit on it, and finally she got the main points. Then she sat quietly, eyes closed, letting them sink in. Miles was still throwing curves. They’d made their peace, but he hadn’t changed. He was still one conniving son of a...
He hadn’t changed his will, had merely added a stipulation. Everything still went to Lainie—on the condition that within thirty days of his death, she spent three consecutive days and nights in residence at Lone Tree. Otherwise the estate would be sold, displacing everyone, and the proceeds distributed to a list of charities.
She shook her head, slowly, several times. It wasn’t fair, not to her, Reed, or anyone else at Lone Tree. One way or another, Miles had to have control. Dead or alive, he wanted his way.
And once again he would get it.
“Are you still there?” Stuart still didn’t handle change, or silences, well. How could he be so good at doing what he did?
“Yes, I’m here,” she said curtly. “I’ll call the airlines and book a seat. And then I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Might take me up to a week. And, Stuart.” She paused, waiting.
“Yes.” He sounded relieved, like he’d agree to anything.
“Three days. That’s it. Understood?”
A week later she flew into the Midland-Odessa airport, rented a car and headed west on Highway Twenty. It’d been breezy in the Bay Area, and she’d worn a cardigan over her white tee and khakis, but she didn’t need the sweater here. It rested across the single suitcase in the back seat. That was her only luggage, and she remembered how crammed her car had been when traveling to Lone Tree two long years ago. The contrast made her heart heavy, and a nervous pit formed in her gut.
She drove slowly, in no hurry, but gradually old habits surfaced. Her speed rose to eighty and kept creeping. She hadn’t yet gotten a speeding ticket on the Texas highways, and she wondered if she’d finally be caught on this last trip.
Deliberately, she drove through the ranch gate without giving it—neither the name carved in it nor the plaque that hung from it—a direct look. After parking in front of the small cottage that’d been her home for a year, she sat still for a long time. Memories surfaced, but she wasn’t as bombarded as she’d feared. Her heart hadn’t eased since she’d alighted from the plane, but she was grateful the pit in her stomach had calmed.
Braced for the heat—and emotion—she got out of the car, but the first sense that assailed her was smell. A whiff of Rosalie’s fried chicken caught and held her, making her want to cry and run at the same time.
Rosalie had been like a surrogate mother. But leaving the way she had, Lainie had snubbed everyone. And everyone would now know of her familial history with Miles as well as her subterfuge. But she had to face them, every person. Unsure of how she’d be received, Lainie walked to the side door that led into the kitchen.
The housekeeper looked up from a cobbler dish, a strip of pastry in her hands. Her face sobered and her eyes moistened. She put the pastry down, wiped her hands, went to Lainie and wrapped her arms around her.
Lainie returned the embrace, her own eyes moist. They parted, wiping at tears.
“Oh, my,” Rosalie said through her sniffles. Then, “What did you do to your hair?”
“I let the blond grow out. Thought I needed a change.”
Rosalie grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “I liked the color better, the way you used to wear it.”
Lainie lingered, and was brought up to date on local news. Glen Charles was a father again, for the third time. Randy had completed his first year of college, and Bobbie Ann had decided she wanted to study veterinary medicine. They exchanged another hug and then Lainie left Rosalie to her pastry. The car would quickly turn into an oven. She needed to get her suitcase out of it and then shelter it in the enclosed shed.
On her way to the main house after parking the car, she’d reached the porch when she recognized the sound of a vehicle, the engine as smooth as the first time she’d heard it. She turned and watched the red truck approach, again creating its own little dust storm. She noted the color was more faded and the truck’s body had survived a few more dents.
Her gaze remained fixed on Reed as he braked. The engine didn’t cut off but remained idling as he stared at her, his arm resting in the open window atop the driver’s door. Lainie stared back, holding on to her composure through sheer resolve. She’d lost Miles, and she’d lost Reed. But now Reed was right there. She didn’t know how everything inside her could break and yet she could still stand there, all in one piece.
His expression was hard, uncompromising. He remained motionless, and for an instant she thought she saw hot anger simmering behind his eyes. But the expression vanished as quickly as it arose, leaving cold disdain in its place. His gaze moved unhurriedly forward and the truck pulled away.
Lainie let her breath out, unaware till then she’d been holding it, and watched the vehicle until it was out of sight. So that was the way he was going to play it. Her prevailing emotion was relief. Cold and stony was easier to deal with. She had concentrated on building cool indifference and a businesslike attitude, but Reed could make things very difficult if he chose.
She entered the house, walked the hall that was so familiar, and entered Miles’s office. Slowly, she closed the door behind her, then leaned against it and
closed her eyes. The room was empty, overpoweringly so, without Miles in it. She’d not expected ever to be in this room again and was filled with such conflicting emotions it was difficult to separate one from another. Most prevalent was grief, complicated by confusion from the past and apprehension about the future. The resulting heaviness in her heart and gut wanted to weigh her down.
She opened her eyes and looked at the patio doors, the fireplace and portraits, Miles’s oversized desk, her old desk. Nothing had changed.
But she had.
She drew in a deep breath. Today was Monday. When she’d called Stuart to tell him when she’d be arriving, he’d told her she wouldn’t be able to get out of here until Friday at the earliest. That was the best he could do. She’d agreed but wondered now how she was going to manage because she felt like she’d already used up, in this first day that hadn’t even ended yet, what strength she had.
Forcing herself to walk to her desk, she got busy. She looked up Stuart’s number, called, and once he came on the line she did all the talking. Next she called Tom Forrester and had no problem with him either. Business transactions weren’t hard; it was the personal dealings she dreaded.
Those calls completed, she sat and stared at the phone. Jackie Lyn should be next, but Lainie didn’t have it in her to make that call right now. She wanted to see Jackie, but—
Abruptly she put her arms on the desk and laid her head on them. She cried for a long time, but by the time supper chimes sounded, she was in control. She’d needed that cry, and it had served to strengthen her. With her face washed and her hair brushed, she arrived in the dining room and found everyone there—still standing as if waiting for Miles to appear and say grace.
Unnerved, Lainie stood as if rooted in place. Then Rosalie entered, placed a platter of steaming cornbread squares on the sideboard, bowed her head and said the words. When Lainie closed her eyes for the blessing, a tear welled. She wiped it away before it could fall.
Reed ignored her—they’d sat at opposite ends of the table—but everyone else was congenial. Glen Charles was across from her, and she congratulated him on his newborn daughter.
“Two boys, and I finally got my baby girl,” he said proudly. “That’s it. We’re done.”
The corner of her eye caught Reed pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. Every muscle she had tightened. He replenished his coffee cup, not sparing her a glance, and returned to his chair.
“Got some news,” Carter said. “Melanie and I are gonna have our own new arrival come next spring.”
Congratulations passed around the table, hugs and handshakes and thumps on the back. Carter’s smile split his face. Fatherhood had created layers of emotion in the seemingly unemotional man.
Lainie’s hair drew various comments. Each man said it in his own way, but the consensus was that they preferred her as a blonde.
She ate lightly and then said an early goodnight. It’d been necessary to greet everyone, and she felt better that she had, but she now needed to be alone. And she’d also been aware of the strained atmosphere. The men were friendly, yet reserved. Tension hummed between her and Reed like a live wire, affecting everyone, and making the room seem too small.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tom had told Lainie her name was still on the household checking account, so the next day she paid bills that’d stacked up. Miles had again let things slide.
The familiar routine was both comforting and saddening.
Every time she heard an outside sound, she snapped her head toward the patio doors. She halfway expected—feared—to see Reed there. She’d seen ice in him yesterday, but knew there was heat in him as well. He’d kept a low profile at supper last night, which had only served to remind her of Jackie’s comment about keeping a tight lid on a bubbling pot.
She called Jackie and they made a date for supper for the next evening. Jackie sounded like her old self, yet reserved, and Lainie realized both of them were preparing for goodbye as well as hello.
As she accomplished each task, Lainie felt stronger. She glanced across at the portraits. She’d be taking them home with her, and she also wanted her mother’s snapshots. So she decided to visit her mom’s room now, for the second and last time, before her newfound strength deserted her.
No one else was around as she walked the hall to the personal wing, and she was reminded of the furtive, guilty feeling she’d had the only other time she’d visited Elizabeth’s room. When she opened the door she found it as she remembered it: clean, neat, so impersonally empty. Now that Miles was gone, the room should no longer be kept as a memorial, and she resolved to talk to Rosalie.
She’d only wanted the pictures, but once there, she chose to explore. She crossed to the closet and slid open the mirrored doors. Taking her time—surprised and grateful that the sadness she felt was almost sweet instead of the heartbreaking loss she’d known for so long—she fingered each garment. Sundresses, pantsuits, skirts in various colors and lengths, blouses in silk and cotton and wool, western-style shirts—
Lainie’s hand halted in midair.
She let her breath out, then shakily took in another one. With trembling fingers, she withdrew the hanger that held a shirt with stripes of garish colors, now muted by sun and wear and age. Was it hers, or had her mother had one just like it?
No. Not unless Elizabeth had also lost a cuff button and replaced it with the last one near the hem, where it wouldn’t be seen or missed because Lainie always wore it tucked in. And the thread she’d used was a half-shade lighter than the original dark red. It’d always bothered her, though she’d had to look for the defect to find it.
Oh, Miles, she thought. Oh, Miles.
She hung the shirt back in the closet with fingers that trembled. Her eyes burned and her throat felt raw.
*
On her way to supper that evening, Lainie rounded her side of the main house just as Reed appeared at the other end. Neither faltered, though she mentally kicked herself for taking this route instead of shortcutting through the kitchen.
Their attention remained on each other and they reached the door at the same time.
His features could’ve been carved out of stone. His gaze was cold, manner unyielding. Suddenly, Lainie decided she’d had enough of implacability—his and hers and everyone else’s—to last her a lifetime. With her gaze holding his, she lowered her head and tipped her hat with the forefinger of her left hand.
His expression softened as she mimicked him, but his smile didn’t get far. She reached for the doorknob, but his hand got there first. She dropped her hand and looked back at him. He kept his silence for a long, taut moment. Then he said, tone lacking inflection, “Way you’re wearing your hair now, you look better with your hat on.”
Though there’d been no humor in his face or voice, out of relief she gave him what was probably a weak smile. Of the many subjects he might introduce, her hair was the least distressing.
Not smiling back, he asked, “You moving in?”
She cleared her face, shook her head once.
His shirt was a new one, in drab olive green. She didn’t think she’d ever before seen him in a solid-colored shirt. It lacked sparkle, as did the rest of him.
“You’re just here for the stipulated three days?” he asked, and she nodded.
He was deeply tanned, more so than before. His skin had a dry, leathery look, as if he wasn’t taking care of himself. She might also appear a bit harder and older to him; she felt that way.
He said nothing more, yet didn’t open the door. She glanced pointedly at his hand on the doorknob, then back at him.
“Right talkative, aren’t you?” His voice was clipped, and she now heard anger in it.
She made no response. In the blowup last year, he was the only one innocent of wrongdoing, yet he’d also been hurt. Badly hurt, and the least she could do now was let him vent.
“Just like last year, when you couldn’t move yourself to call or to write. Now I know what the t
erm silent treatment means.”
She looked away, as silent now as then. Nothing would excuse her actions. Forgiveness would be hollow without the man along with it anyway, and life with Reed was less possible now than it had been a year ago. Too much time and distance. Too many mistakes.
“A year and a half and I got exactly three words from you,” he went on. “The same three words you left me with. And, while we’re on the subject, precisely what does ‘Reed, I’m sorry’ mean, anyway? Sorry you were leaving? Sorry you didn’t trust me enough to talk to me? Sorry you weren’t brave enough to say goodbye face to face?”
All of the above and more, she thought. Emotional strain had her physically tightening her muscles; she feared that if she let go, of anything, for even an instant, she’d fall apart.
He removed his hand from the door, exhaled heavily and looked out over the horizon. “I thought I was over you, I really did. But if I was, I wouldn’t be this angry.” He looked back. “Appears I’m having difficulty putting you behind me. Where you belong.”
She winced at the sneer in his voice.
“Don’t you think we need to talk?” he asked after a long moment, his manner again cold and even more distant. “About your plans for the ranch?”
The question put them on a business level.
“Yes.” She heard the tightness in her voice, in just that one word, and she tried not to take a deeper breath than was necessary. She had to steel herself to look up and meet his eyes. They were so familiar, yet not at all the same—so flat, no humor, no emotion.
“I’m meeting with Stuart Malcolm on Thursday,” she said. “That’ll take most of the day, but then I need to talk to you. Can we meet Friday morning?”
He was quiet for so long that Lainie felt wary. She could read nothing in his face and worried about what he was thinking.
“So she can talk after all,” he said, and she again heard unfamiliar derision. “We’re having a real conversation.”
She reached for the doorknob, but his hand closed over hers. She pulled back as if she’d been burned. She waited a beat, not looking at him, then said, “Open the door, Reed. Please.”
Lone Tree Page 28
