“See?” she said, moving to face him. “You’re pushing me again. I have things to work out.”
“Like someone staying with your father?”
“That, too,” she said. “And you and I have to go for our physicals tomorrow. Nealie has a checkup, too. So I need to find someone—fast.”
“What about the woman who helps you at the office?”
“Penny? I’m practically working her to death now. She’s got to cover everything when I’m gone—and I have to go into St. Louis a lot in the next couple weeks. Blood tests, ultrasounds, all sorts of monitoring.”
“Then ask DeQueljo. He knows nurses, caregivers, people like that.”
She nodded. He didn’t like the way the moonlight shone on her face. The streaks of melted snow made it look as if she’d been crying. He had to turn his gaze away.
He stared instead at his daughter, their daughter. It was time to take her back to bright light and real warmth, out of the snow. “Come on, Nealie,” he called. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting late. Your mother wants to talk to the doctor.”
Nealie climbed obediently off her horse. She took Josh by one hand, Briana by the other. Linked together, they walked toward the hospital.
“IN TRUTH,” Doctor DeQueljo said, “I’m shorthanded myself. A small hospital like this, it doesn’t attract nurses, I’m sorry to say.”
Nealie was yawning and looking restless. Josh held her, and she laid her head sleepily against his shoulder. “There must be somebody,” Josh insisted. “Briana’s got her hands full. Isn’t there somebody retired, maybe not even a nurse, but a good, dependable woman—”
DeQueljo raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “There’s a woman just moved near here, a widow. She’s trying to decide what to do next, but in the meantime, she’s staying with her nephew. She came to me to get a prescription renewed. Had been a schoolteacher. Seemed basically sensible. Doesn’t need to work, yet still might like to have some activity—just a chance to stay busy, feel useful.”
“You know anything else about her?” Josh asked.
DeQueljo nodded. “She grew up here, left when she married—oh, thirty years ago. Went to New York but always wanted to come back to Illyria. Husband didn’t.”
“She grew up here?” Briana asked. This was beginning to sound hopeful to her, almost too good to be true. “And she still has family here?”
“Oh, yes,” said Dr. DeQueljo. “Your neighbor, in fact. Harve Oldman. This is his aunt—Inga Swenson.”
Briana felt the blood drain from her face. Mechanically she said, “Harve’s aunt? I met her once. She seemed like a—a nice lady.”
But still, she thought, Harve’s aunt? It could be awkward.
“Give her a call,” DeQueljo said, and put an encouraging hand on her shoulder. He threw Josh a shrewd glance. “I think Briana should go home now. She looks more worn out by all of this than Leo does, frankly. And he’s still sleeping like a baby. He’ll probably sleep through the night. The little girl’s tired, too. She needs her rest.”
DeQueljo gave Nealie a long look.
Briana thought, He knows something’s wrong with her. Does he know how wrong? He suspects. And Josh knows he does. I can see it in his face.
But Josh said nothing. He smiled and carried Nealie out of the room and into the hallway. After a moment, Briana followed, wordless. Nealie was asleep by the time Josh got her to the parking lot. He strapped her into her seat and helped Briana inside.
He got in and started the car. “This doctor,” he said, “DeQueljo. How much have you told him about Nealie?”
“Nothing,” she said. “He came here only two years ago. I’ve always taken Nealie to specialists. He’s Poppa’s doctor, not mine.”
As Josh pulled out of the parking place, he gave her a sidelong look. “Shouldn’t you tell him? What if there’s an emergency? And you don’t have time to get her to St. Louis?”
Briana felt defensive. “I’ve been going to tell him. I kept putting it off. Until after you and I talked.”
She supposed it had been a foolish decision, postponing telling DeQueljo. It was just one more face of that hydra-headed monster, her denial. But DeQueljo might want her to confide the truth to Leo, and this was something she would resist with her last drop of strength. Leo would be shattered by Nealie’s illness, but he would never approve of what she and Josh were going to do. Never.
She sat in silence as the car left the city limits and headed into the countryside. The moonlight gleamed on the thick snowfall, but she hardly saw the landscape. She could only wonder if Josh condemned her for not talking to DeQueljo or if he could understand her conflict.
When at last he spoke, his question took her by surprise. “Isn’t Harve Oldman the guy you went out with?”
“Yes,” she said, shifting nervously.
“How’d you meet his aunt?”
“She came to church with him a few weeks ago. He introduced us afterward, that’s all. Poppa decided to sleep in that morning. He knows she’s back, but he hasn’t seen her yet. She only came to church that once.”
Silence fell between them, like a sharp, divisive blade, and Briana stared at the highway.
Josh said, “I get the impression he—this Harve—is serious about you.”
She shrugged.
“I also got the impression you’d been seeing him for some time. A couple of years.”
“You get a lot of impressions,” she said. “Where exactly do you get them?”
“Here and there,” he countered. “When I’ve talked to Nealie. Your brother dropped hints. Glenda mentioned it, then acted like she wished she hadn’t. She clammed up when I asked her more.”
Good for Glenda, thought Briana, but said nothing. She was reluctant to speak about Harve. She had hurt him, and he didn’t deserve hurting.
But Josh wasn’t going to let go of the subject. “So how long have you and Harve been an item?”
“We’re not an item,” she returned. “I stopped seeing him as soon as I learned the truth about Nealie. I hadn’t been seeing him all that long. Sixteen months at the most.”
“Sixteen months is a long time. It’s longer than we lived together.”
“Right. I learned from that not to rush a relationship. You taught me well.”
“Did I? How well? If this thing with Nealie hadn’t happened, would you have stayed with him? Would you have married him?”
She shrugged again. “He’s a good man. Steady. But he won’t want me after I do what I have to do.”
Then he’s a fool, thought Josh. But you didn’t answer the question.
“Do you love him?” he asked. “Is that it? Is that why you never give me a straight answer?”
“I love my child,” she said wearily and pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the passenger window.
INGA OLDMAN SWENSON sat at the breakfast table with her only nephew, Harve.
He looked glum. He hadn’t touched his bowl of cereal, and the cornflakes were growing limp and soggy in the milk. He sipped half-heartedly at his coffee, although she had made it strong and served it black, the way he liked it.
Over the top of his cup he gave her a searching look. “Are you going to do it? Help take care of Leo Hanlon?”
Poor baby, she thought. You look like a lovelorn bean-pole.
This was not an unkind comparison on her part, only honest, for Harve was uncommonly tall and slender. Although he was thirty-five, he had boyish features and the large, clumsy hands and feet of an adolescent who hadn’t quite finished growing.
Inga loved him, and his sad eyes and innocent face only made her love him more. She was the sort of woman who liked taking care of people and managing them, and Harve seemed at a point in his life when he needed expert care and management.
An only child, he had been born late in his parents’ life. Two years ago his mother and father had died within months of each other. He had never married, never even kept steady company with a woman—until Briana.
Briana had rejected him, and he seemed wounded and lost. Inga knew he did not want her to go to Briana’s aid, that he felt betrayed by even the thought of it.
He had beautiful dark blue eyes, and they silently repeated his plea. You’re not really going to do it, are you? It will hurt all the time knowing you’re so close to her, and I can’t be.
She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Yes,” she told him. “I’m going to accept. These people need help.”
So do I, said Harve’s eyes. Don’t you see how lonely I am?
She clamped her small, smooth hand over his big one. “Harve, sweetheart, don’t feel like I’m going over to the enemy’s side. You’re too naive for your own good. If I go to Leo’s house, I’ll not only help him, I can help you.”
He blinked in surprise. “Help me?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod. “You love this woman?”
A blush mottled his face. “I—I don’t like to use terms like that.”
She smiled. “Terms like what? Like love?”
“Ummph,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable.
“Sweetheart, love isn’t a term. It’s a beautiful feeling, a beautiful thought, a beautiful word. Most women want to hear it. Did you ever tell her you loved her?”
“Ummph,” Harve said again, and she knew that in this case, ummph meant no.
She gave him an affectionate look and shook her head. “Dear boy, you need a lecture from your aunt Inga.”
“Why should I have to say all that mushy kind of stuff?” Harve asked, almost petulantly. “Actions should speak louder than words.”
Inga lifted an eyebrow. She feared that in Harve’s case, inaction had spoken louder than word or deed. He was not an aggressive man. Poor guy, she thought, you need all the help you can get. Thank goodness I’m here for you.
She squeezed his hand. “You really think that she broke off with you because she wants her ex-husband back?”
He managed to look even more crestfallen. “He’s got something I’ll never have. I don’t know what you’d call it. He’s been all over the world. I’ve hardly ever left this farm.”
“Ah,” said Inga, “but this can be like the fable of the tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race.”
He frowned. “Are you calling me a tortoise?”
“No. I’m calling you a man who’s good and dependable. From what you’ve said, this ex-husband of hers is neither. I’ve heard the same from other sources.”
He frowned harder. “What other sources?”
“Well,” she said wryly, “at the beauty parlor, for instance.”
Twila Hansen, the beautician who owned the business, was a motherly woman of forty. She hadn’t approved of Josh Morris the first time around and yesterday had told Inga that the thought of Briana going back to such a man appalled her.
Harve seemed shocked. “Then it’s true what they say about beauty parlors? That women go there to gossip?”
Inga waved her hand as if shooing off such a sexist idea. “A few do. Most don’t. I listened because it was about the woman you want. Knowledge is power. Information is power.”
Harve looked dubious. “That’s the schoolteacher in you, thinking things like that.”
“Maybe you could learn a thing or two from this old schoolteacher. The heart of the matter is that he won’t stay, and she won’t leave. You’re the one she needs.”
“Well, he’s the one she wants. I saw the way they looked at each other in church. He’d slip her a glance on the sly, like. She’d do the same to him. Her father isn’t happy about it at all. Neither’s her brother.”
“See?” Inga said, throwing her hands out for emphasis. “How can such a relationship work? Her family doesn’t like him. He doesn’t like them. But they like you fine. Don’t they?”
“Is that what people say at the beauty parlor?”
“Yes. And you’ve said much the same yourself. Be honest. They like you. Don’t they?”
“Well, yeah,” Harve admitted with becoming modesty. “They seem to.”
“So you’re not out of the picture, dear boy. You’re very much in it.”
“Not if she won’t let me near her, I’m not.”
“Oh, you’ll be near her, sweetheart. For starters, you’ll drive me there and back every day. And I’ll make sure you’re thrown together.”
“But why would I drive you? You got your own car. You drive fine.”
“I have to take my car to the mechanic,” Inga said, “something’s wrong with its computer thingy.”
This was only a small lie, one not only necessary in the service of love, but perhaps even noble. There was nothing terribly wrong with the car’s computer system, and her mechanic in New York had told her it wasn’t worth the time and money it would take to fix it. But Inga would put the car in the garage and keep it there as long as necessary.
She said, “I’ll put in a good word for you whenever I can—without being obvious, of course. And as for that ex-husband of hers, well, I’ll keep my eye on him. If I can do it, I’ll show him up for what he really is.”
Harve looked troubled. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem fair.”
Inga clasped his hand again. “My dear, all’s fair in love and war.”
She believed this with her whole heart. What she was about to do was slightly dishonest, but it was for everyone’s best interests. She was acting out of love. And how could that ever be wrong?
LEO WAS SULKING. Briana had told him that she could not stay with him once he was home.
“I have too many appointments for Nealie,” she said. “And I’ve got a bunch for myself.”
“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “And why can’t you see Dr. DeQueljo?”
“It’s just a little female complaint,” she said. “Nothing serious. But I need to tend to it. And I’m more comfortable with a woman doctor.”
Leo turned away from her. He hated any discussion of feminine health problems. They embarrassed him. He didn’t want to meet her eyes. “I suppose that’s why you’ve been acting funny lately.”
“Partly,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Indeed it is. But who’s going take care of me when I get home?” he asked. “I’m not going to Larry’s. With all those boys it’s a madhouse. I need peace and quiet.”
Briana’s expression was implacable. “I’ve hired someone.”
Leo was appalled. “I told you before, I don’t want a stranger in my house. I won’t have it.”
Briana looked stubborn. “She’s not a stranger—exactly. She said she had known you years ago, in school. Her name then was Inga Oldman. She’s Harve’s aunt.”
“Inga Oldman?” Leo practically howled. “Never! I didn’t like her then, and I won’t like her now.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Briana asked. “I met her at church, and she seemed perfectly nice. Dr. DeQueljo recommended her.”
Leo made a sour face. He remembered Inga, all right. She had been such a perfect little lady he’d loathed her. She always got the outstanding student award and the best citizen medal.
“She was a priss and a do-gooder,” he said. “And ugly. She didn’t have any meat on her bones. Her hair was the color of a barn rat, and she had braces on her teeth. When she smiled, she looked like the bumper of a Chrysler.”
Briana looked unconvinced. “I thought she was attractive.”
“You’re not a man. You can’t see her through a man’s eyes.”
“I’m not saying marry her,” Briana reasoned. “Just have her help you a few days a week.”
“Phooey,” said Leo.
“She wants to come in and visit you later this morning. Just give her a chance, for heaven’s sake.”
Leo rolled his eyes as if Briana had laid upon him an affliction too awful to bear. “You wanted to talk to me alone. Well, we’ve talked. Bring in Nealie now.”
Nealie
was in the visitors’ lounge with that worthless father of hers. But Briana didn’t move. “You’ll see Inga Swenson?”
“Inga whoever. I suppose I can stand her for one day. But after that, you can take care of me.”
“I may have more appointments. In fact, I’m sure I will.”
Leo’s voice was cold as. “I want to see Nealie,” he said. “This conversation’s wearing me out. It’s going to give me another attack.”
AN HOUR LATER, after a refreshing nap, Leo lay in bed watching television. It was a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show, a good, wholesome show made back when children respected their parents.
He still felt that Briana had failed him, shut him out. He brooded on this, knowing it was Josh Morris’s fault. The man had always had a peculiar hold on her—peculiar and, to Leo’s mind, sinister.
A knock at his door startled him out of his dark reverie.
Yes?” he almost snarled. The door was half closed, and he couldn’t see his visitor.
“Leo Hanlon?” said a woman’s voice. “It’s Inga. Inga Oldman Swenson. May I come in?”
Leo thought, Let’s see this hag that Briana’s forced on me, this insufferable crone. “Come in,” he said in his grumpiest tone.
The door opened, and in she walked. “You probably don’t remember me,” she said.
He remembered her, but he wouldn’t have recognized her. She was one of those women who, like a fine wine, improved greatly with age.
Her brown hair had turned the color of pewter. She had once worn it in unbecoming pigtails. Now it was short, marvelously thick and wavy.
She had put on weight, and on her it looked good. Once she had been skinny as a stick, but now she looked downright cuddly. Why had he never noticed how beautifully blue her eyes were or how flawless her skin?
She was lovely, just as lovely as she could be.
She also had a pleasant air, a paradoxical mix of shyness and confidence. She stood straight but kept her head ducked and tilted to the side. Her smile was demure, but since she was looking at him from that angle, her eyes seemed almost flirtatious.
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