Spring at Saddle Run

by Delores Fossen

  “I think that’s the right spot for them,” Joe assured the boy.

  Little T shrugged, stepped back and spared the flowers the briefest of brief glances before he bent down again to pick up something from the ground.

  “It’s a nickel,” he announced with the same enthusiasm of someone who’d just found buried treasure. “Maybe it’s a magic one.”

  Joe wasn’t sure why Little T would think that, but then the boy was always coming up with something imaginative. “Could be a lucky one,” Joe suggested. “There’s an old saying. Find a penny, pick it up and all day long you’ll have good luck. You’ll probably have five times the luck since it’s a nickel.”

  The sound the boy made was one of awe as if that buried treasure had been worth a fortune. He stared at it a long time before he slipped it in his pocket and looked up at Joe. “You can go ahead and talk to Aunt Ella before we go,” Little T insisted. “I won’t listen.” He jabbed a finger in each ear and squeezed his eyes closed.

  Joe smiled, but he didn’t feel that smile in any part of his body. He was also sure there was nothing he wanted to say to his late wife.

  But he was wrong.

  The words just spewed out before he even knew he was going to say them. “I wish you could tell me why you were in that car,” Joe whispered, stooping down so he was eye level with Ella’s carved name. “I wish you could tell me a lot of things.”

  Of course, there was no response. No woo-woo kind of message from the grave like a rainbow or butterfly fluttering by. He hadn’t expected anything like that, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. This time though, it didn’t gush out. Joe slowed down. Calmed down, too.

  “I need to tell you something,” he said to Ella’s headstone. And because Little T might or might not be able to hear, Joe carefully chose his words. “I had s-e-x with M-i-l-l-i-e,” he spelled out.

  Despite Little T’s claim that he could read, Joe seriously doubted the boy would be able to follow along with the one-sided conversation.

  “I want to be with M-i-l-l-i-e again, but I can’t really give myself to her, not completely. Because you’re still there between us. Until I know what happened, why you were in that car, you’ll always be there between us.”

  Again, nothing.

  Joe felt the anger start to churn inside him. Anger mixed with hurt. With betrayal. And with all the other shit feelings he’d had since the woman he’d loved had died in the arms of another man.

  “Why the h-e-l-l were you with him?” Joe snarled. “Why?” he said far louder than Little T’s finger earplugs would block out.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just the whirl of memories. The past. And the future he wasn’t sure about.

  Joe looked down when Little T tugged on his arm again. “Did Aunt Ella answer your spellin’ question?”

  Yeah, Joe supposed she had. And it was an answer that somehow he was just going to have to learn to live with.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MILLIE HAD LEARNED something over the past week since Joe had proven to her that his key worked wonders in her lock. What she’d learned was that she thought about sex a lot, that she wanted it a lot. That she wanted it a lot with Joe.

  But a lot hadn’t happened.

  That’s because sex turned out to be tricky. Well, working out the timing of it was tricky, anyway.

  After Joe had spelled out that whole bit about this only being sex and nothing more and after Millie had spelled out her agreement to that, again, they’d had a scalding hot kissing session in the barn when Dara had been at a friend’s house. If there’d been more time, Millie knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Joe could have done a repeat performance of what no man before him had managed to do. Get her to climax while he was inside her.

  Millie was counting on Joe continuing to prove it to her.

  That’s why she’d arranged to introduce him to the porn of the Roaring Twenties. Tonight. They would soon run out of smutty antique things to puzzle over and ogle, but Millie figured Joe and she could figure out how to get off without the weird visual aids.

  Their date had taken some planning for Joe, too, because he hadn’t wanted Dara to know that he’d be gone for a night of sex. Millie totally got that, and she suspected it wasn’t something Dara would want to know about, either. Parent sex was ick info both now and across the generations. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken much for Joe to suggest that Dara spend the night with Frankie and Little T, so that meant Millie might have Joe all to herself.

  With that in mind and with her body already tingling, Millie closed the shop an hour early and started the walk to her house so she could change her clothes and begin getting ready. But she nearly ran right into Mr. Lawrence, the sculptor who often produced bad art. He was standing in front of the main window, apparently studying Monte’s latest display of Bram Stoker memorabilia.

  “Millicent,” he greeted, tipping his hat in the formal way he always did.

  Actually, most things about Mr. Lawrence were formal. The linen suits he always paired with crisp white shirts. The pewter gray hair. The pleasant but somewhat aloof expression. Since he was a Parkman, they were distant cousins, and Millie recalled her father saying that Mr. Lawrence and he shared a paternal grandfather.

  She forced a smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m closing early.” And she prayed he wasn’t there to try to sell her another piece of art. There hadn’t been even nibbles on the two pieces she’d already purchased from him. Not a surprise. There wasn’t a huge market for bad blog replicas of the Great Pyramid or the Taj Mahal.

  “It’s all right,” he said, his voice proper and a little prissy. “I was just passing by.” He paused a heartbeat. “Your mother mentioned the new display, and I thought I’d have a look.”

  Millie automatically bristled. “My mother? I didn’t know she’d seen it.”

  Even the nod he gave was formal, but his eyes widened a little, and he cleared his throat. Maybe because Laurie Jean hadn’t been especially complimentary about the display.

  “I should be going,” he quickly added. He tipped his hat again, muttered for her to have a pleasant evening and headed in the opposite direction from where she was going.

  Puzzled by his reaction, Millie stood there a moment and frowned. The display had been up for nearly a week, but to the best of her knowledge, Laurie Jean hadn’t come into the shop since then. However, it was possible her mother had seen it if and when she’d tried to get back in the shop.

  With her lover.

  With her lover, Millie silently repeated, and her mind whirled back to all the drawings of the Last Ride Society. Where Mr. Lawrence always sat directly behind Laurie Jean.

  Millie couldn’t recall the two ever having anything more than a casual and polite interaction, but perhaps they were interacting in a whole different way. It was hard to imagine her mother bouncing around with a man, any man, but if Laurie Jean were to take a lover, it would almost certainly be someone like Mr. Lawrence. Rich, cultured and an artist, in a general sort of way, that is.

  Still frowning over the possibility that she might have just ID’d her mother’s secret man, Millie forced herself to turn away from the retreating Mr. Lawrence and get home. She was nearly halfway there and toying with the idea of fixing a picnic supper for Joe and her when she heard the hurried footsteps behind her. For a moment, she thought it might be Mr. Lawrence hurrying to spill all, but Millie looked over her shoulder and saw Skylar running toward her.

  One look at the woman, and Millie knew something was horribly wrong.

  Skylar’s hair rarely had a strand out of place, but at the moment it was hard to see a strand in place. Her makeup was long past the smeared stage, and her eyes were red, no doubt from a crying jag. The proof of that jag was in her hands where Skylar held some wads of wet tissues.

  “Tanner broke up with me,” Skylar burst out, and she said it loud en
ough that Millie suspected they’d draw attention. At the moment Skylar probably didn’t care about that, but she soon would once the shock of the breakup had worn out.

  Millie took her by the arm and led her off the sidewalk and behind a large oak. People could still hear, but the tree would muffle at least some of the sound.

  Or not, Millie amended, when Skylar let out a loud wail.

  “I’m in love with him,” Skylar went on. “I told him that, and he broke up with me.”

  Millie didn’t like thinking about sibling sex any more than parent sex, but she could see how this would have played out. “You told Tanner you loved him when you were in bed?”

  Skylar nodded. Sobbed some more. “We’d just made the most perfect love, and I couldn’t stop myself. I just blurted it out.”

  Millie knew her brother well enough to know that’d go over like a lead Victorian inspiriting saddle. She debated how to go with this. No need to spell out that Tanner’s relationships rarely lasted more than a month. And that his relationships were mostly about sex. Mostly meaning about 95 percent. He had a horrible track record with romance, and no woman in her right mind should just hand him her heart.

  No. No need to spell all of that out.

  “Tanner isn’t in a good place right now to have someone in love with him,” Millie settled for saying.

  “It’s not Tanner,” Skylar argued. “It’s Laurie Jean. She’s the reason this happened.”

  Millie had to pause and give that some thought. “You mean because she went to see your parents?”

  “That and because she convinced Tanner that he wasn’t good enough for me.” Skylar was no longer crying, and she’d obviously found her mad. “She’s always trying to sling mud at him, and she finally got to him. He started to believe what she was saying and he broke up with me.”

  Again, Millie had to pause. “Tanner told you this?”

  “No, but I know that’s what happened,” Skylar snapped. “Your mother’s a stone-cold bitch.”

  Millie couldn’t argue with that, but there was no chance in all the levels of hell that Tanner would listen to Laurie Jean and do what she wanted. Just the opposite. Millie was surprised her brother hadn’t proposed to Skylar just to get a dig in at Laurie Jean.

  “I want to find some dirt on Laurie Jean,” Skylar snapped. “I want to hurt her where it’d hurt most.”

  Millie eyed her and was on the verge of asking her if she was behind the blackmail. But Skylar dropped a question that Millie definitely couldn’t and wouldn’t answer.

  “Do you think Tanner’s been seeing Frankie?” Skylar asked.

  Millie only hoped her face didn’t spill the truth. Besides, she didn’t know what the truth was, anyway. Tanner had slept with Frankie and she’d thought she was pregnant. That could be all there was to it.

  But Millie didn’t think so.

  “I don’t know,” Millie lied, and she justified the lie by convincing herself that it would not only save Skylar’s feelings but that it could prevent the woman from having a nasty confrontation with Frankie.

  Skylar stared at her a long time, maybe hoping that Millie would rat out any secrets she knew about Tanner. But she didn’t. She caught on to Skylar’s hand, the one without the wad of tissues, and gave it a squeeze.

  “Why don’t you go home and take a long, hot bubble bath,” Millie suggested. “Drink some wine, pig out on ice cream and watch a movie that won’t make you think of men, my brother or anything to do with romance.”

  After several owl-eyed moments, Skylar nodded, but she looked far from convinced that any of that would help. It would in a small way that might get her through the next couple of hours. Millie had firsthand knowledge of that since she’d spent many tearful nights because of Royce and Ella. Royce hadn’t broken up with her face-to-face, but the breakup had happened.

  When Skylar finally left, Millie continued the walk home. She took out her phone, intending to call Frankie to ask her about the pregnancy test that Ella had bought. But she shook her head and put the phone back in her purse. That was a question best done in person, and she’d make time to go over and see her on Sunday when both their shops would be closed.

  Millie sighed when she got home and saw Alma setting a cooler on her porch. The woman beamed with her usual sunny smile, but she also gave Millie the once-over that often accompanied grief grub deliveries. Alma was obviously checking to see if Millie was having a bad day, and that meant Alma hadn’t heard any gossip that Millie was seeing Joe.

  Though she was certain such gossip was going around.

  “Veggie stir-fry and a sugar-free, healthy version of carrot cake,” Alma said, pointing to the cooler.

  Millie had no idea why Royce’s aunt thought she practiced a healthy diet so she just smiled and thanked the woman.

  “I hope the meals help,” Alma added. “Grief is a long process. Just when you think you’ve got it licked, another little pocket of it bubbles up and kicks you in the tushy.”

  Those were wise words that made Millie nod. But other pockets bubbled up, too. Like these new feelings she was having for Joe. Part of her was deeply worried about ending up like Skylar. Sobbing and crying on the sidewalk when Joe ended things with her. However, the other part of her—and no, this wasn’t about her lock—wanted to keep going full steam ahead and hang whatever happened between them.

  Joe had already told her that he couldn’t give her tomorrow, but he had given her moments. Now she wanted a night from him. They could go from there, night by night, until he felt he had no choice but to back away.

  Grief could indeed take a bite out of you.

  “Oh, you’re looking sad now,” Alma said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, too, that I didn’t come to check on you last week. You know, on the anniversary of the car crash.”

  There’d been no need for Alma to clarify “last week.” Millie had been well aware of the red-letter day. She’d gotten thirty or so calls and texts, and probably that many visitors had dropped by the shop just to check on her. She’d appreciated their concern, but it had been a day that she wished she could have just x-ed off the calendar.

  “Look, if there’s any way I can help you, just let me know,” Alma added.

  “Fried chicken,” Millie blurted out. She winced a little but figured she’d better explain. “Please don’t feel you have to prepare more meals for me. Please. But if you do cook, I’d prefer fried chicken.”

  Alma smiled. “With mashed potatoes and buttered biscuits?”

  “That sounds perfect.” Millie smiled, too, and gave her a hug.

  “Are you all right?” Alma asked when she pulled back and met Millie’s gaze.

  “I am.” And while it wasn’t the total truth, it wasn’t anywhere close to a lie. “I’m getting better,” she added.

  “Good.” Alma patted her cheek. “Because if anybody deserves to be out with the old and in with the new, it’s you. You deserve a big ol’ serving of happiness.”

  Millie had no idea why she’d earned such praise from Alma, but she was definitely feeling better when the woman said a cheery goodbye. Millie hauled the cooler inside, carrying it toward the kitchen.

  But she stopped outside Royce’s office.

  “Out with the old and in with the new,” she repeated.

  She stared at the door. Something she’d done hundreds of times since Royce’s death two years ago. And each of those times, Millie had walked away, vowing to keep it shut. Out of sight, out of mind.

  However, she didn’t do that this time.

  Setting the cooler down, she gripped the knob, gathered her breath and opened it. She made a sweeping glance around the room. No ghosts, but everything had a fine coating of dust, and motes were drifting through the air in such a way that made her think of dandelions shedding their fluff.

  Millie stepped in and spotted her rings on the floor. T
hey’d landed right by the front of Royce’s desk. Even through the dust, they still sparkled and caught the light slanting in through the bay window.

  She’d forgotten how “Royce” the room was. It suited his taste to a T because it’d been his design plan, and it mimicked the colors in the kitchen. Or rather the lack of colors. A sleek white desk with a glass top, minimal art and no rugs on the glossy wood floor. It was so unlike his office at work with all its ornate wood and rich man’s furnishings. But then, Asher would have been responsible for those decorating choices since it was after all his law firm.

  Millie had no idea if Royce had been happy working for her father, and that made her a little sad to know it was a conversation they’d never had. Then again, they’d apparently missed out on many talks and left way too much unsaid.

  Hoping to remedy part of that “unsaid” stuff, Millie went to his desk and started looking around. There were no files remaining from his legal career. She had a vague memory of Asher sending someone over to collect anything work related. But Royce’s laptop was still there, and there were several handwritten notes next to the computer. She brushed aside the dust on one and saw that it was a reminder to “make dinner reservations and order flowers.”

  The date he’d jotted down for the reservation was her birthday. That put a knot in her throat. Until she realized that the dinner might not have been for her but rather for something he had planned to celebrate with Ella. The knot vanished, and her determination soared.

  Millie plugged in the laptop so it could charge while she started going through the drawers, tossing stuff out so she could get to what was beneath. Which was pretty much nothing out of the ordinary. No sex toys. No secret jewelry purchases for his lover. It was just the usual stuff you’d find in a man’s desk. The only thing that was remotely interesting was a packet from one of the online ancestry sites.

  She recalled Royce using the DNA kit because Vonnie Diaz, the office manager at the law firm, had given them to everyone as Christmas gifts. Asher probably hadn’t used his kit for fear of finding out something that might tarnish his roots, but Royce had done the test and had seemed pleased that he had a smidge of Native American blood.