Daddy's Little Matchmaker

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Oh, Daddy!” She preened a bit. “I like having it off my neck. Do you think Nana or Birdie will be able to fix it this way tomorrow?”

  “I have no idea. If not, maybe Laurel will swing by the house to show them how.”

  “No. No, I have an appointment in Lexington tomorrow.” She’d phoned Avery Heeter, Hazel’s lawyer, on the dot of eight. He’d agreed to see her, despite the short notice.

  “You do? What time are you getting home? I made us dinner reservations at the Shrimp Boat. I intended to surprise you. But…well, shoot. Surely you’ll be back for a nine o’clock reservation.”

  She tried to keep her jaw from dropping. For the first time, pure anger swept through Laurel. Marching past him, she yanked open the door. “Forget it. You may think you’ll have cause to celebrate, but I wouldn’t yet if I were you. Now, please just leave so there’s no need to play this cozy scene out further in front of Louemma.”

  Because Alan’s arms were filled with unwieldy luggage, and as Laurel was obviously ready to explode, he walked his daughter out the door.

  When he turned back to mouth something to Laurel, she answered in a low, furious voice, “Don’t come here again. I’ll meet Louemma at the bridge when she comes for her lessons. As long as I have a bridge to cross, that is.”

  Then she slammed the door in his face.

  He was about to drop everything and get to the bottom of this, but Louemma started to sob. “I knew Laurel was mad at you. She said she’s not, but she is. You’ve gotta fix it, Daddy. I love Laurel. And…Dog.”

  “So do I,” he muttered. “Why is she upset?”

  “I don’t know. You should ask Mr. Patton.”

  “Dale? What’s he done?” The load Alan carried was cumbersome, and Louemma wasn’t moving too well, even though she’d been walking more.

  He was torn, thinking he ought to go back and ask what his lawyer had to do with anything. But he had that damn board meeting. And he was supposed to see Rose about Louemma’s results. He’d have to talk to Laurel later in the day.

  Chapter Twelve

  ALAN ESCORTED VESTAL into the boardroom at their bank, which was where Windridge meetings were held. He’d left Birdie with Louemma, who in spite of claiming she’d had a good time, had been moping since they’d left Laurel’s. As a result, he and his grandmother arrived late. The others were seated and had already had their coffee. Everyone glanced up, and talk stopped.

  Taking his seat at the head of the table, after pulling a chair out at the opposite end for Vestal, Alan opened his board notebook. “This may be the shortest meeting on record, folks. I never received an agenda.”

  “There’s only one item,” Hardy announced. Wasting no time, he deferred to Dale Patton. And at that moment, when Alan saw a look pass between his general manager and the company lawyer, a sick feeling hit him.

  “Does this by any chance have to do with Laurel Ashline?”

  Patton got up and passed around copies of a set of documents, the top one being a replica of the original land grant. “What’s all this?” Alan asked.

  “A copy of what Hardy had me deliver to Ms. Ashline last evening. Your option to hold Mountain Builders on retainer is about to expire, Alan. It’s plain you haven’t convinced Hazel Bell’s granddaughter to let you dig the canal. Hardy sent me the land grant you found up at the distillery in March. I ran it by a judge. He gave us good advice. The documents in this packet are simple and straightforward.”

  Alan skimmed the pages. His head shot up. “You call a thirty-day eviction notice simple? Dammit, Hardy, if I had a résumé on file of just one man with even half your experience in bourbon-making, I’d fire you and hire him on the spot. I said I’d handle the creek problem.”

  Hardy slammed a ham-size fist down on the slate table. “If you weren’t Jason’s grandson, I’d have walked the minute I could see that little tart of Lucy Bell’s was leading you around by the balls.”

  “That’s uncalled for, and you’re out of line,” Alan roared.

  Dale Patton, first deacon of the United Methodist Church and a devout conservative, cleared his throat. “Now, gentlemen, take a minute and let tempers cool. Remember, please, we have a lady present.”

  “Sorry, Vestal,” Hardy muttered.

  But Vestal, who’d run the company for a number of years after Jason’s death, seemed nonplussed. “You’ve all bungled the job,” she said. “Why didn’t either of you come to me so I could meet with Laurel and settle this woman to woman?”

  “You haven’t been well,” Alan said. “Frankly, I saw no reason to tell Laurel what Hazel did. Laurel walked into this unaware of past dynamics. So, which one of you has been appointed to break the really bad news? There’s more to this, right?”

  Vestal shifted so she could eye Hardy and Dale. “There’s worse? Like Dale said, these forms spell out that the forty acres is ours. I see no reason we can’t just offer to lease Laurel the cottages, Alan.”

  “None of you gets it. This is the first time in her life she’s had anything to call her own. Just so you all know how strongly I feel about this, I offered to buy back her upper twenty acres. Not with company funds, but with a personal check.”

  “That’s damn stupid,” Hardy snapped. “Why buy land that’s already ours?”

  The banker on their board kept clicking his ballpoint pen. Dale removed his glasses and cleaned them vigorously with a pristine handkerchief. “Ms. Ashline’s not going to leave meekly,” he said. “Doing it Alan’s way might have helped you avoid unnecessary legal wranglings. Now I suspect she’ll tie you up in court. Or try to.”

  Alan drummed his fingers on the table. “Is that why Laurel’s making an unplanned trip to Lexington tomorrow? Grandmother, isn’t that where Hazel’s attorney practices law?”

  “Avery Heeter,” Dale interjected. “He specializes in real estate litigation. I took the liberty of checking him out after I discovered he’s the one who filed the squatter’s rights petition for Hazel. My colleagues say Avery’s like a fighting rooster. He goes beyond the call of duty to help widows and orphans.”

  Hardy slumped in his chair. “That explains why Heeter took Hazel’s case,” he growled. “Although the Ashline woman’s not a widow. Isn’t she divorced?”

  “But an orphan,” Vestal added before Alan could. “Lucy Bell died when Laurel was still in high school. She’s come a long way on her own, considering.”

  “In my opinion, she deserves better than she’s getting from us,” Alan said.

  No one argued, possibly because he looked ready to chew nails and spit tacks. That morning’s encounter played over and over in his head. Laurel’s attack made total sense. She assumed he’d double-crossed her. No wonder she thought he was out of his mind for inviting her to dinner tomorrow night.

  He groaned, remembering when that idea had taken root—when he’d passed Olson Jewelers and had seen an eighteen-carat gold pin in the window—a replica of Laurel’s old spinning wheel. Alan doubted anyone had ever given her a just-because gift. And dammit, now he’d probably never get to see the pure joy in her eyes. He loved watching her eyes change color with her moods. During lovemaking they turned a deep, smoky brown.

  Jumping up, he banged his notebook closed, not giving a damn that everyone gaped at him. “As president and majority stockholder, I rarely if ever pull rank. As far as I’m concerned, this meeting’s adjourned. I’m giving you all one edict—fix this screwup with Laurel Ashline. Some of the finest minds in town are at this table. Collectively, I’m sure you can figure out how to access the water we need to expand Windridge without throwing a defenseless woman out on the street.”

  “You didn’t,” Hardy said under his breath once Alan had started for the door.

  Vestal left her chair, and the remaining men, as dictated by good manners, also rose. “Hardy, we’ll never know if Alan would’ve succeeded, because you took matters into your own hands.”

  “I expected you to stand by us, Vestal. You were mad as hell at Hazel, i
f I recall, when that squatter’s deed came to light after her funeral.”

  “That was personal. And this is family. The reason Windridge has never completely left Ridge hands is because our stock votes as a block. Always has. Always will. Where I stand, gentlemen, is squarely behind my grandson.” She left some sagging jaws behind when she swept regally from the room.

  “Thanks for backing me,” Alan said, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “You were free to do whatever you liked. Hardy just made me so damn mad.” Taking Vestal’s arm, Alan cautioned her to watch the step as they entered the parking garage.

  “What I’m doing is kicking myself for being asleep at the switch,” she muttered.

  “How so?” He unlocked the heavy door to Vestal’s luxury car and helped her in.

  “I’d like to think that even a year ago, I’d have been sharp enough to see something this obvious—that you’d fallen in love with our new neighbor. As late as this meeting, I’m afraid I was still on the page in the script where I practically had to beat you over the head to get you to take Louemma to one of Laurel’s weaving demonstrations.”

  Alan had already slid beneath the steering wheel before his grandmother’s observations slammed him in the gut. It was a good thing he was sitting, although he did fumble the keys and drop them on the mat. “Who said anything about love? I, ah, recall saying I didn’t want her thrown out on the street.”

  His grandmother smiled like a cat with her nose and both paws in thick cream. “It’s plain as plain can be. Don’t argue with your elders. Women sense these things. Those powers of mine still operate just fine.” Vestal folded her hands primly across the Gucci bag that had been Jason’s last birthday gift to her. She carried it everywhere, despite being a stickler for every other fashion rule.

  “We’ll have to scrape Birdie off the ceiling,” she said dryly. “Or maybe you haven’t noticed she’s been planting old Kentucky good-luck charms in every corner of the house, hoping for this outcome since the day you had her pack the two of you a picnic lunch. She throws salt over her shoulder for luck. She moved the pedestal table from between your chair and Laurel’s to ensure you won’t quarrel.”

  “Ha! You can tell Birdie that one didn’t work.”

  “The most I ever hoped for, Alan, was that you’d one day escape the shell you disappeared into after losing Emily.”

  “I haven’t been in a shell.”

  “Huh!” she snorted. “Are we going to sit here all day trading words that insult my intelligence? Pick up your keys and take me to breakfast at the Garden Room. And on the way, tell me how Louemma’s going to react to having a new mother.”

  Alan stabbed the keys in the ignition and rolled his eyes. “You’re getting way ahead of the game. After Dale’s impromptu visit, Laurel’s no longer speaking to me. Honestly, to think I was completely clueless as to why she was so angry.”

  “Surely she’ll listen. The woman doesn’t exist who can resist a Ridge man once he turns on the charm.”

  “Laurel may be the first,” Alan said, his tone glum.

  “Pshaw! And while you may think you’ve evaded my question about Louemma’s feelings for Laurel, you can be sure I’ll ask it again and again until I get an answer.”

  “I can’t answer that. And you’re forgetting I haven’t said I love her.”

  “Is it because you live under some misguided notion that you need to remain true to Emily forever? Because that’s utter nonsense, Alan.”

  “I’m more worried about the fact that I’ve begun to question if I ever really loved Emily. I’m afraid that in high school I lusted after her, and then got washed along on a small-town tide where everyone assumes high-school sweethearts get married.”

  “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Jason always said Emily was a piece of work. I interfered in my son’s life. Once. I swore I’d never mess in yours, Alan.”

  “I’m aware you and my mother had differences. But I thought you liked Emily.” Alan pulled up at the curb and parked near Vestal’s favorite restaurant. They put their conversation on hold while he got out and guided her inside to await a table. Even then, she didn’t take up where they’d left off.

  After they’d been seated and she’d said again how much she loved this restaurant, Alan figured she’d chosen to let his remark pass altogether. It wasn’t until the waiter had taken their order that Vestal sipped her lemon water and said, “Perhaps everyone but you and Louemma knew Emily was a chameleon. She was adept at being exactly what any given person wanted her to be. In reality, she was all of them—and none.”

  Alan poured cream in a cup of coffee the waiter placed near his right hand. “In hindsight I realize that’s true. I began to see a different Emily after Louemma was born. I haven’t always been in a shell, Grandmother. I’m also aware that our friends gossiped after she died. Were the rumors of her infidelity true, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. And what good can come of knowing now? I’m proud of you for ignoring hearsay the way you have for Louemma’s sake. Which didn’t stop me from aching for the way you’d shut yourself off. I hope Laurel Ashline is worthy of your love.”

  At the very mention of her name. Alan felt his face soften. Vestal stretched out a blue-veined hand and patted his arm. “I can see she is, and I’m glad. Lucy was such a trial for Hazel and Ted. Close as Hazel and I once were, I’m guilty of forsaking my friend in her time of need. Few people—not even Jason or Ted—knew about the huge fight she and I had over Lucy. Well, over Mark’s friendship with her. When Lucy left with that man, I was secretly glad. Only…” Vestal straightened her silverware. “Hazel came to the house wanting Mark to track Lucy down and bring her back. I flatly refused to let him go. Hazel severed our friendship. We never spoke again. Ted used to sit in our kitchen lamenting the change in his wife. My fault, and I never told a soul until now.”

  “Why did you stop my dad from going?” In the back of Alan’s mind hung Laurel’s question about whether or not his dad might also have been her father. Wouldn’t that be the irony of all time?

  “Mark had a soft heart. Softer than yours, Alan. He was forever getting Lucy out of trouble. Mark told no one else that Lucy was pregnant by that workman, but he confided in me. I was afraid that if Mark went after Lucy he’d feel obligated to provide her baby with a name. It would’ve been a disaster. A more restless girl was never born. She’d have done anything to get out of Ridge City. Did, and then she ran off. I know she would have talked Mark into leaving, too, which would’ve killed Jason. No one but me knew his heart was failing. I also knew Mark had been seeing Carolee—and that Carolee was expecting. I used that fact to keep Mark home. If I hadn’t, Carolee might not have gone through with the pregnancy. That’s what she threatened, anyway.”

  Alan roused from a stupor. “Wow. Then I wouldn’t be here. Laurel has an album of Hazel’s. There are all these pictures of Dad and Lucy together. Since I’ve developed, uh, feelings for Laurel, I have to be sure, Grandmother, that there’s no chance the two of them might have been…lovers.”

  She arched a regal eyebrow. “Funny, I asked Mark that very question. As well as soft-hearted, he was unfailingly honest. I embarrassed him to death by asking. Young men just didn’t discuss their sex lives with their mothers back then.”

  “Nor do they now,” Alan retorted.

  “Be that as it may, his denial came without hesitation. I startled him so badly, he admitted he’d been intimate with Carolee, but no one else.”

  Alan found a weak smile. “I’ll bet that got him an hour’s lecture.”

  “It did. Of course, he married your mother, but he was never happy. I used to tell myself, that all things happen for a reason. Now, I don’t know. Did I ruin a lot of lives by trying to add years to Jason’s?”

  “Grandmother, Lucy could’ve come home when Ashline walked out. Dad didn’t have to stay in a bad marriage. People do what they do.”

  Relief blew through Alan like a pleasant breeze, now that the niggling question a
bout Laurel’s parentage had been answered by someone who knew. Their breakfast arrived and he was able to eat with gusto. Which didn’t mean he had no hurdles left to scale with Laurel…

  After the meal, Alan drove Vestal home, and they parted ways in the hall. He detoured into his office to put away his notebook. While there, he decided to phone Laurel. No answer. He knew she had an extension in the loom cottage, but she might be in the corral.

  He checked on Louemma, then read her a story. The minute it ended, he excused himself to try Laurel again. She still didn’t pick up. Only after a third attempt some two hours later did he suspect he might be a victim of the caller ID he’d convinced her to install. Determined to square matters before a bad situation got totally out of control, Alan grabbed his car keys. “Birdie, I’m going to be gone for an hour or so. Can you keep an eye on Louemma?”

  “Sure ’nuff. I’m going to make custard cups. I’ll see if she wants to help. Your grandmother’s resting?”

  Nodding, he hurried to the Jeep and drove quickly to Laurel’s. A few weeks ago, studying a map of the proposed expansion, he’d found a little-used fire road that brought him less than a quarter of a mile from her clearing. He took the shortcut now.

  Her cottage showed no signs of life. In fact, the silence reminded Alan of his first visit, except this time no fruit basket protruded from her garbage can. And he knew enough now to head for the loom cottage.

  Dog barked a greeting from inside. Alan knocked once and tried the door, which normally wasn’t locked. The handle didn’t budge. He rattled the knob and called, “Laurel, it’s Alan. Listen, I didn’t send Dale Patton. Hardy took matters into his own hands.”

  He thought he heard Laurel order Dog to be quiet.

  “Sweetheart, it makes no sense for me to stand here shouting through the door.”

  “Then go away! Don’t be sweet-talking me, Alan Ridge.”