by Gold, Kristi
That information could have been held until morning, which led Savannah to believe the proverbial other shoe was about to drop. “Okay. Is that it?”
“No.”
Great. She was thirty years old and about to be lectured by her mother—or grounded for the duration of her visit. And like an adolescent, she felt the need to defend her actions. “If you’re going to scold me about going out so soon after Dad’s funeral, I needed to be around my friends so I wouldn’t feel so sad.”
Ruth clutched the book against her chest. “You’re a grown woman, Savannah. It makes no difference to me how you spend your time. I just wanted to say that dredging up the past isn’t always wise.”
“You mean hanging out with old acquaintances?”
“I mean you and Sam.”
Had her mother been spying on them? Of course she had. The curtain shielding the front window was wide open, giving Ruth Greer a bird’s-eye view of the front drive illuminated by the yard light. Although there hadn’t been all that much to see, Savannah could imagine how it might have looked. “We’re just friends.” A bit of a stretch, but she was too exhausted to go into more detail.
Ruth shook her head. “You’re so caught up in your own little world, you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”
Anger as sharp as a carving knife sliced through Savannah. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Sometimes it’s best to quit running away from the truth, or one day you’ll wake up to find you’ve run out of places to go.”
She was too tired to decipher her mother’s riddles. Too rattled by the night’s events to argue. She clung to self-control only long enough to say, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Without waiting for a response, Savannah headed into the hall and sprinted up the stairs. She’d be damned if she let her mother get to her again. The same held true for Sam, although tonight she’d almost lost that battle.
She did agree with Ruth on one count—dredging up the past wasn’t necessarily a smart thing to do. In fact, if you let it sneak up on you, it could be downright detrimental to the heart.
“YOU TRYING TO SNEAK out, boy?”
After only two hours’ sleep tops, Sam had been so preoccupied, he hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone when he walked into the kitchen. He also wasn’t in the mood for a chat. But out of respect, he turned from the back door to find his dad seated at the breakfast nook wearing a white T-shirt and light blue boxers, a cup of coffee in hand. “I thought I’d get an early start.”
Jim glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even close to dawn. Are you gonna work by candlelight?”
“Last I checked, we had electricity in the barn. I need to fix a couple of stalls.” Hammering a few nails might alleviate some of his frustration. “What are you doing up so early?”
“You were making a lot of racket in the bathroom and I’m a light sleeper, thanks to you.”
Nothing like being blamed for a parent’s poor sleeping habits. “What have I got to do with that?”
Jim scooted his chair closer to the table. “I had to learn to sleep with one eye and both ears open to make sure you didn’t leave the house after your curfew.”
Yeah, he’d managed to do that a time or two, and he’d almost always been caught. Almost. “That was a lot of years ago and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a grown man. I should be able to come and go as I please at this point in my life.”
“Yep, you should at that.”
Someday soon he’d build a house of his own so he wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of living at home. “If you’re finished playing watchdog, I’m leaving now.”
“Gracie won’t like it if you don’t have your breakfast first.”
“I’ll come back in for breakfast.”
Jim gestured toward a chair. “Have a cup of coffee first. We need to chew the fat a bit.”
No use in trying to fight the man when he had a bone to pick, Sam decided. He strode to the kitchen counter, poured a cup of coffee from the pot and took the seat across from his dad. Might as well get to it so he could get to work. “Talk.”
Jim leaned back and rested his hands atop his belly. “Darlene called looking for you last night.”
He predicted his ex might have taken exception to him leaving Jamie at home for the evening, but it wasn’t as if he’d completely abandoned their daughter. “What did she want?”
“After I told her you were out with the old gang, she told me to tell you that since it’s festival weekend and the kiddo wants to be there, she’ll pick Jamie up on Saturday instead of Friday.”
He hadn’t really planned to attend the annual event, but if his daughter wanted to go, he’d suffer through it. “Fine. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” His dad stretched his arms above his head and stacked his hands behind his neck. “She asked if Savannah was going to be at the get-together last night, I told her yes and then she said something about you following her advice.”
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.” Oh, yeah, he did.
Jim took a drink of coffee and smacked his lips. “At first I thought maybe she was pleased to hear you’ve been with Savannah, but I can’t quite wrap my mind around the ex-wife encouraging the ex-husband to make time with the ex-girlfriend.”
Sam couldn’t imagine where that was anyone’s business. “Darlene told me to get out more, and I did. End of story.”
“But did you get reacquainted with Savannah?”
“No, and I don’t intend to.” After what he’d done to her last night, he’d pretty much guaranteed that wouldn’t happen. “Now if you’re finished with the questions, I need to get started.”
“Just one more thing. Ruth called and said the attorney’s coming by this afternoon to read the will. He’ll drop off the lease paperwork from Wainwright in the next couple of days for you to go over before you sign it.”
At least Sam could move forward on that front. But he couldn’t help but wonder how Savannah would react once she learned that the old home place was about to sell, and that he was going to be the one working the land.
He figured she’d do one of two things—accept the inevitable, or raise holy hell. He would lay down money on the last one.
“EXCUSE ME, MR. FARLEY, could you please repeat that?” Not that Savannah really needed to hear the attorney’s words again. She’d understood exactly what he’d said—she just didn’t quite believe it.
The balding, bespectacled lawyer smiled as if repeating the will’s terms didn’t bother him a bit. “Since the property is jointly titled, all proceeds from the sale of the house, equipment and land will go to Ruth.”
She stared at her mother, who sat on the floral sofa, stiff as a skateboard. “But you’re not going to sell the farm now, correct? This clause is in case you want to do that in the future.”
“I’ve already sold it.”
“Who bought it?” Savannah asked.
“Edwin Wainwright,” Farley said.
Savannah could barely contain her shock. “Mother, you have got to be kidding.”
Ruth sent her a quelling look. “We’ll discuss it later. I’m sure Mr. Farley would like to finish up so he can go back to Jackson.”
“I do have one more appointment,” Farley said. “But as soon as we go over the last of the details, feel free to look over the will, Miss Greer, and then call if you have any concerns.”
Oh, she had some concerns, all right, but most had to do with her mother’s decision to sell the farm to Wainwright, not her father’s last wishes.
To that point, her aunt and uncle had been standing against one wall in the parlor, observing the proceedings. Savannah had all but forgotten their presence until Farley said, “Mr. Taylor, Mr. Greer bequeathed you his autographed baseball collection. And Mrs. Taylor, he wished you to have his stamp collection.” He leaned over and handed Bill a document. “This is the appraised value of the items.”
From the way her uncle raised his eyebrows, she as
sumed they were of some monetary as well as sentimental value. Many an evening Savannah had sat at the dining room table and listened as her dad talked about those collections. And several times she’d regretfully cut him off to join her friends or finish her homework.
“Ruth and Savannah, you are to divide any remaining keepsakes how you see fit,” Farley added. “But there is one item your father specifically designated you be given, Savannah. The wooden cradle made by his great-great-grandfather.”
Savannah recalled the beautiful spindled cradle stored safely in the attic. No matter how long or hard she’d begged as a child, her mother hadn’t allowed her to play with it. With adulthood came insight, and she now understood why that rule had been established. Her father had hoped to one day see his own grandchild occupying that treasured heirloom, something that would never happen now. That fact alone threatened to send Savannah into an emotional tailspin and with great effort, she stopped the urge to cry.
Farley then handed her an envelope. “He also left you this.”
Savannah wanted to wait to open it, but it seemed everyone expected her to reveal the contents right away, especially her mother. She lifted the flap and withdrew a five-thousand-dollar life insurance policy naming her as the beneficiary. And attached to the certificate, she found a personal note.
Dear Savannah,
I know it’s not much and you probably make more money than this in a week, but I wanted you to have something to put away for your children. Just let them know that their old granddad loves them, even if he never had the pleasure of knowing them.
Love, Your Dad
Savannah stared at the letter through a mist of tears she’d tried so hard to keep at bay, her emotions battered by the realization that her offspring would never know how wonderful her father had been. They would never know how much he had influenced her, how much he had adored her.
Then and there, she silently vowed to keep his legacy alive by sharing the stories he’d told her, the lessons he’d taught her, provided she decided to have children.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing, raised her chin and said, “Thank you, Mr. Farley. Is there anything else?”
“No, ma’am.” The attorney came to his feet and hitched up his pants. “Again, if you have any questions, just get in touch with my office. Your mother has my number.”
While Ruth saw Farley to the door, and Bill and May left the room, Savannah sat quietly clutching the envelope in her grasp. She wanted to take shelter in her old bedroom for another long cry, yet she had too many burning questions, and she didn’t want to wait a minute longer for the answers.
Once she heard the front door close, Savannah called to her mother in case she, too, decided to escape the inquest. Ruth entered the living room, head held high, and reclaimed the chair she’d been occupying a few moments before.
Savannah decided to get right to the point. “Why are you selling the farm?”
Ruth focused on some unknown point across the room. “Because I got a good offer and those are hard to come by these days.”
She didn’t buy that for a minute. “But this place has been in your family for at least three generations. How could you let it go to someone like Wainwright?”
Ruth raised a thin brow. “Do you plan to live here?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then why would I want to keep it if I have no one to pass it on to?”
Obviously her mother didn’t believe her daughter would produce any offspring. “Where are you going to live?”
Ruth twisted her wedding ring round and round her finger. “I’m moving back to Knoxville. Bill and May are heading home tonight and they’ll be back first of next week with a trailer to get what furniture I plan to take. I’ll move in temporarily with May until I find a place of my own. I have enough money to buy another house in Knoxville, or maybe I’ll just rent an apartment in a retirement community.”
Savannah couldn’t fathom her mother residing in senior-citizen housing with no garden to tend to. Yet she saw no use in arguing with Ruth Greer. Once she had her mind set on something, no one could persuade her to do otherwise. “Fine. By the way, what does Wainwright plan to do with the house?”
“He’s probably going to tear it down since he’s already leased the land.”
The hint of satisfaction in Ruth’s voice, the thought that the place that held many good memories would soon be gone, rendered Savannah momentarily speechless. “How can you be so unaffected by that? You and Dad made a life here. It’s as if you’re okay with destroying all the memories.”
Her mother’s expression went bitter as brine. “He can burn it down, for all I care. Not every memory tied to this place is a good one.”
Savannah recalled her aunt’s assertions that life had been hard on the farm following their mother’s death. But she couldn’t imagine it had been so terrible that Ruth would want to demolish the place. “I can certainly understand how horrible the memories of Grandmother’s and Dad’s illnesses must be, but surely you have some good ones, too. I remember you talking about playing hide-and-seek with May in the attic and Dad courting you on the front porch.”
“I see no need to live in the past,” Ruth said.
“I see no need to raze a perfectly good house,” Savannah countered. “And what if you change your mind and decide to come back?”
Ruth raised her ever-present emotional wall and stood. “I would never do that. The faster I can get away from this place, the better. It’s poison.”
Poison?
May breezed into the room, interrupting the uncomfortable conversation. “Ruth, can you tell me where Floyd kept his collections? I thought we’d go ahead and take them back with us now and anything else you’d like us to take.”
Ruth avoided making eye contact with Savannah as she said, “I’ll show you where everything is.”
The opportunity to prod her mother further might have escaped Savannah now, but before she left for Chicago, she was determined to have some answers to Ruth’s cryptic statement. But she did have one more question she needed answered immediately.
She hurried into the hall and found her mother climbing the stairs behind May. “Any idea who’ll be leasing the land from Wainwright?” she asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer.
Her suspicions were confirmed when her mother glanced back and simply stated, “Sam McBriar.”
HE COULD HEAR THE ECHO of rapid footsteps in the metal building, but he couldn’t see who was about to pay him a visit since he was on his back beneath a truck. More than likely, he was about to be summoned by his child.
As soon as the steps stopped, Sam asked, “Is it time for supper, kiddo?”
“It’s time for us to have a talk.”
That voice sure as heck didn’t belong to Jamie, but he recognized it all the same. He turned his head slightly to see a pair of strappy high heels exposing pink-painted toenails. And above that, some really nice ankles. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see the legs attached to those ankles unless he came out from under the truck. From the sound of Savannah’s tone, he might better stay put. But if he made up some lame excuse and sent her on her way, he’d still have to face the music at some point in time. Besides, he wanted to see her, even if she had her panties in a twist.
“Sam, are you coming out here or am I going to have to drag you out by your boots?”
Like she was strong enough to do that. And speaking of panties… “I have to ask you something first. What are you wearing?”
“This is no time for sex talk.”
“That wasn’t what I had in mind, but now that you mention it—”
“I’m running out of patience.”
And he was running out of excuses. “I’m just saying that if you’re wearing a dress, you might want to walk backward a ways if you value your modesty.”
A few seconds ticked off, she muttered, “Oh,” and took his advice.
Sam slid from beneath the truck, stood an
d grabbed a rag from the nearby workbench before facing her. While he made a futile attempt to wipe the grease from his hands, he managed a quick look at her clothes. She had on a pale blue sleeveless dress that hit her right above the knees and highlighted her curves like a neon sign that flashed Touch Me. Most would consider the outfit decent enough, except to a guy who was having some pretty indecent thoughts.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“One of your workers pointed me in the right direction. I didn’t realize you employed so many men.”
“Do I need to call them all in here as reinforcements?” When she glared at him, he decided to test the stormy waters. “Look, if you’re still pissed off at me about last night—”
“That’s not why I’m here, although I’m still not too thrilled with your game-playing.”
Little did she know, this wasn’t a game. Not in the way she assumed. “Then what did I do this time?”
She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. “You lied to me.”
Here it comes. “About what?”
“My mother’s decision to sell the farm.”
“It wasn’t my place to mention it.”
“Even though you’re going to lease the land from Wainwright?”
No way out except to tell the truth. “It doesn’t matter one bit to you what I do, so I saw no reason to say anything about it. And that means I didn’t lie.”
She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You lied by omission.”
“Not really. The farm is your mother’s business and leasing farmland is my business.”
She rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you heard of common courtesy? Oh, wait. I forgot you don’t know the meaning of courtesy.”
He was on the verge of getting as riled as she was. “When have I ever not been courteous to you?”
She tapped her fingertip against her chin and pretended to think. “Aside from last night, I believe I remember something about a scene in a diner twelve years ago when you treated me like dirt.”
