by Janet Dailey
“Arthur, we have been over this before,” Lucas protested. “I’m sending flowers for Susan. The decision is made. There’s nothing more to discuss.”
“There’s a great deal more to discuss.” Arthur climbed the rest of the steps to the deck. “What kind of flowers? How lavish should the display be? How should the sentiment read? Should it say—In remembrance? In remembrance of what? That she tried to kill you? I don’t think so. No, we need to get the PR people on this.”
“Why do you have to make everything so damned complicated, Arthur?” Lucas demanded in irritation, not noticing when Bannon steered Delaney a discreet distance away, the two of them trailed closely by Riley and Toby. Arthur glanced at Wyatt, maintaining a close but respectful distance from his charge.
“Because it’s a complicated and awkward situation you’re in,” Arthur replied.
“I know.” Even with nearly half the deck between them, Delaney could hear his heavy sigh.
“Lilies,” Arthur decided. “A spray of lilies. That way we could work the forgiveness angle.”
Beside her, Toby mumbled a troubled, “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand, Toby?” she asked.
“When you’re dead, you can’t see or smell flowers. Why does Luke want to send her flowers?”
Delaney found herself groping for an answer. “Because it’s…customary to put flowers on a person’s grave.”
“Why?”
Why indeed? she thought. Neither Riley nor Bannon showed an inclination to come to her rescue, so Delaney tried again. “It’s a way of showing that you’re sorry someone died.” Toby listened with fixed concentration, his eyebrows furrowing together as he struggled to grasp the meaning of her words. “You’re sorry that Susan died, aren’t you?”
“She didn’t like me.” His lower lip jutted out in a pout.
“Maybe she didn’t.” Delaney conceded that point, experiencing a surge of sympathy for mothers who had to come up with answers for children’s difficult questions. “But you are still sorry she’s dead, aren’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“But you can’t tell her that you are sorry, can you?”
“She couldn’t hear me. She’s dead.”
“That’s right. But inside, you are sorry and you want to do something to show how you feel, so you put flowers on her grave.” She held her breath while he thought about that for a long minute, bracing herself to hear him ask “why” again.
“Does that make you feel better?”
“A little.”
She waited for Toby to say something, but apparently her explanation had satisfied him. He wandered off, his head bowed in deep thought.
Bannon said to Riley, “Now you know why God made women the mothers.”
“You have that right.” Riley smiled at her, his gaze warm and his look quietly approving.
Delaney couldn’t help feeling a little proud of herself as she smiled back, chiding, “I could have used some help.”
“Not from where I was standing,” Bannon replied. “You did fine. All in all, I would have to say this has been a good morning.”
Lucas Wayne walked up in time to catch the last. “A very good morning.”
“But”—Bannon tipped his head at an angle—“like all good things, it too must come to an end, and I have to get back to a stack of work waiting for me at my office.” He turned to Delaney. “I’ll be in touch with you sometime later today. Let’s hope with good news.”
“I’ll be waiting, anxiously, to hear from you.”
“Mr. Wayne, I appreciate the time you gave me this morning.” Bannon shook hands with him. “I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”
“Not at all.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll collect my coat and briefcase, then show myself out.”
As he walked away, Riley said, “We need to leave, too.”
Lucas frowned. “You aren’t going already, are you, Delaney?”
Riley didn’t give her a chance to answer. “I want to slip her out while I can. My guess is those reporters have found out we located the missing gun. They will be too busy tracking down the story to follow us.”
Delaney saw the irritated thinning of Luke’s lips and inserted, “Riley is right.”
“I know.” The annoyance vanished, his mouth crooking. “But that doesn’t make me like it any better.” His eyes grew serious, seeking an intimacy. “I miss you, Delaney. I’ll be glad when this is over and you’re back with me where you belong.”
“Look on the positive side of this, Lucas.” The expression on his face made her want to smile and stroke his hair. “Maybe Rina will be scared off by this and decide it’s too dangerous to make another try for you. It wouldn’t surprise me. That often happens when someone finds out a victim isn’t as vulnerable as they first thought.”
“I’d still want you at my side, Delaney. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore.”
“A lot of recovering patients say that to their doctors, too,” she reminded him as Riley’s hand prodded at her back.
“It’s not the same thing.” A wry smile tugged at his mouth, lightly mocking her.
“If you say so.” She chose not to argue the point. “I’ll be in touch—if not personally, then through Riley,” she promised and let Riley lead her away to the car.
TWENTY-FOUR
SHORTLY AFTER ONE O’CLOCK, Riley dropped Delaney off at the ranch. She waved a goodbye and headed for the house, conscious of the lightness in her step and her spirit. She met the teenaged Laura coming down the porch steps, dressed in a lime green tank top, faded jeans, and old cowboy boots. A cowboy hat hung from a string around her throat.
“Hi, how’s everything going?” Laura paused to greet her, a pair of riding gloves clutched in one hand.
“Very well, thanks,” Delaney smiled, quickly taking in the girl’s attire. “Going horseback riding, are you?”
“Yeah, we got a couple horses in the home pasture that were scraped kinda bad a few weeks ago when they lost their footing in a rocky area. I promised Dad I would check on them today. I was on my way to the barn to saddle up. Would you like to come along?”
“I think I’ll pass, but thanks for asking.” She glanced toward the house. “Is Kit inside?”
Laura shook her head. “No, she should be outside here somewhere. She just put the boys down for their afternoon nap, and she usually works in the yard while they’re sleeping.”
“I’ll look around.”
Delaney found Kit on the west side of the house, pulling weeds from a bed of pink geraniums. A baby monitor sat atop the porch railing near the flowerbed. Catching the sound of Delaney’s footsteps, Kit looked up and sat back on her heels.
“You’re back earlier than I expected,” she said, smiling. “I don’t think I have to ask how things went. You look very happy.”
“Happy, relieved, satisfied, vindicated—all of the above,” Delaney replied, then told her about the discovery of the missing gun. “Hopefully, it will be simply a matter of going through the formalities now.”
“Thank God,” Kit murmured.
“I second that.”
Kit pushed to her feet, eyes twinkling. “I think this news calls for a glass of very tall, very cold iced raspberry tea. Sound good?”
“It does,” Delaney agreed.
After retrieving the portable baby monitor from its railing perch, Kit started into the house. “You did have lunch in town, didn’t you?” she asked in an afterthought.
“Actually, no. I—”
“Good heavens, you must be starving.”
As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, protesting its emptiness, and Delaney laughed. “To be honest, I’m suddenly famished.”
“We’ll fix that.”
An hour later, Delaney wandered back onto the front porch, replete after a meal of crab salad on a croissant, coleslaw with pineapple, and fresh fruit. Her iced tea glass was filled to the top once again. She to
ok another sip of it and glanced at Kit.
“Lunch was delicious, Kit. In case I forgot to say it before, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She tipped her glass to Delaney in a gesture of acknowledgment. “I have to admit, it was good to see you finally clean up a plate. You’ve picked at your food worse than a runway model ever since you came here.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Yet she felt completely untroubled as she surveyed her surroundings. The majestic Rockies dominated the scene, rugged upthrusts of granite bristling with spruce. Here and there, splashes of white marked thick stands of aspen trees, cloaked in summer-green leaves. “This is a beautiful place,” Delaney murmured. “So quiet and peaceful.”
“Enjoy it now,” Kit warned with a twinkle. “There won’t be much peace and quiet once the boys wake up from their nap, which should be any time now.” She glanced at the monitor as if expecting to hear the sound of them stirring, then lifted her head and turned to look down the long lane to the highway. “Sounds like someone’s driving in.”
“It could be Riley. He was supposed to pick up my dad at the airport.” Delaney looked as well, the sound of an engine growing louder, more distinct. Seconds later a sporty red Camaro roared into view, a German shepherd poking his head out the window, testing the air. Delaney smiled, shaking her head in bemusement. “It’s my dad without Riley.”
She had a brief glimpse of her father behind the wheel as the car swept into the ranch yard and fishtailed to a stop near the log house. Leaving her iced tea glass on the railing, she went to greet him.
Gordon Wescott climbed out of the car one step ahead of the German shepherd. The dog turned to wait for him, then spotted Delaney and took off like a bullet straight for her, whining and yipping his joy. Laughing, Delaney crouched down, bracing herself for the impact of the ninety-pound dog launching himself at her.
“Ollie, you silly old boy, how are you?” She cradled his head in her hands, scratching behind his ears in rough affection and doing her best to elude the dog’s attempts to wash her face with kisses as the German shepherd squirmed around her like a puppy. “I missed you, too, Ollie,” she whispered and gave his head a final scratching pat, then straightened to meet her father. “I didn’t expect you to bring Ollie along.”
“I thought you could use your bed partner to keep the bad dreams away.” He paused, eyeing her in quick interest. “You haven’t gotten yourself a new sleepmate, have you?”
Delaney knew at once that he was referring to Jared. “No, I haven’t.”
Satisfied, he opened his arms to her, his rich voice saying, “So, how’s my girl?”
“Wonderful, Dad. Just wonderful.” She started to kiss him hello, then stopped when she saw the white bristle of whiskers on his face. “What’s this?” She touched the scratchy beard growth while the German shepherd bounced around them, his tongue hanging out in a silly grin.
“I’m growing it for my new part.” He pulled a pair of clear-lensed glasses from his pocket and slipped them on. “What do you think? When it gets longer and fuller, won’t I look like a history professor?”
“A very stern and erudite one,” she confirmed, even though to her he would never look like anyone but her father.
“I’m playing a tough old bastard who turns out to have a marshmallow for a heart.”
“The writer must have known you.” She kissed him, then pulled back, scowling as she rubbed her lips. “Your beard scratches.”
“When it gets longer and softer, it will tickle,” he promised with a smile and a wink, then paused, his expression softening, his eyes gentling. “Riley told me the news. I’m so glad for you, precious. So relieved.”
“Me, too.” She hugged him briefly, then turned, keeping an arm around him as she guided him toward the porch. “Come. I want you to meet—”
Delaney never had a chance to complete the introduction to Kit Bannon as her father broke in, amazement lacing his voice, “Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the virtuous Marilee from Winds of Destiny, alias Kit Masters,” he declared, walking forward. “I know you can’t possibly remember, but we met once—briefly—at an awards show—”
“You are wrong. I most certainly do remember.” Kit reached with both hands to greet him, then threw a smiling look of reproval at Delaney. “You didn’t tell me your father was the Gordon Wescott, the villainous Stefan in Bay City.”
“It didn’t occur to me that you two might know each other,” she admitted. “Sometimes I forget what a small community Hollywood really is.”
“And Stefan was a good many years ago,” her father inserted. “I’m flattered you remember.”
“How could I forget?” Kit said with a laugh. “Our resident villain on the Winds of Destiny soap was green with envy, constantly haranguing the writers to let him do deeds as foul as your character’s.”
“Stefan was quite monstrous,” he said with pride.
“People loved to hate you,” she agreed. “So, how was your flight?”
“Long, crowded, and uneventful—the best kind.”
“Where is Riley?” Delaney wondered. “I thought he would bring you out here.”
“What for? I have my own wheels.” He waved a hand at the flashy red Camaro. “All I needed was directions to get here. I knew if I could find my way around Los Angeles, these mountains should be a snap. I was right.”
“And I noticed you were driving as though you were still on a freeway. You might want to take it a little slower, Dad,” Delaney suggested, aware she was wasting her breath.
“I’ll try,” he promised, none too sincerely.
“Delaney and I were just having some iced tea. Would you like a glass?”
“I’d love one.”
“I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.” Kit waved a hand at the old wooden rocking chairs on the porch before proceeding into the house.
Delaney climbed the porch steps arm in arm with her father. The dog shadowed both of them and pushed his nose under Delaney’s hand the instant she sat down. She rubbed his head and looked at her father, affection welling in her throat.
“You didn’t have to come, but I’m glad you did,” she told him.
“So am I,” he said. “So am I.”
With her emotions running a little too close to the surface, she felt herself choking up and sought to dispel it. “So, how were things in L.A. when you left?”
“It was insanity. Absolute insanity,” he declared. “The phone rang day and night. Every writer, producer, and studio flunky I know called to find out whether you had sold the movie rights to your story yet, and how they could get hold of you. Glenda told me she had been inundated with the same calls.”
“I probably should be flattered, but I’m not.”
“Face it, Delaney,” her father said. “You have all of Hollywood talking. The other night David Letterman called you ‘one pistol-packin’ momma that you don’t want to mess around with.’ And Jay Leno suggested you were a ‘female Rambo who shot first and asked questions later.’”
“Great,” Delaney grumbled. “That is precisely the kind of publicity I don’t need.”
“You can’t complain too much. They are spelling your name right,” he teased.
“How reassuring,” she mocked without rancor.
Kit returned to the porch with a glass of iced tea for Gordon Wescott and a bowl of water for the German shepherd. An uncertain cry came through the monitor’s speaker. Kit heard it and glanced sideways at Delaney, a resigned smile touching her lips.
“Sounds like naptime is over,” she said and excused herself.
Within minutes she was back, carrying the baby in her arms and trailed by a still-drowsy Tommy. His eyes snapped open when he saw the German shepherd lying at Delaney’s feet. “A dog!” he exclaimed, all excited. “Can I play with him, Mommy? Can I?”
“I don’t know—” Kit began.
Delaney cut in, “Do you have a ball, Tommy? Ollie likes to chase balls.”
&
nbsp; He ran back inside and came out with a threadworn softball. Ollie spied it and bounded to his feet, wagging his tail in eagerness for the game. Tommy hurried to the porch steps and hurled the ball into the yard. The German shepherd raced after it while Tommy clapped in approval and started down the steps. Before he reached the bottom, Ollie was back, dropping the ball at his feet, ready to chase it again.
“Tommy has been begging for a dog,” Kit murmured, watching the pair. “Maybe we should get him one.”
“They are great companions,” Delaney remarked as Ollie broke off the game and trotted toward the lane, barking to announce the approach of a vehicle.
“It’s Bannon.” Kit recognized her husband’s pickup. “He’s home early. Maybe he has some news for you.”
“Let’s hope.” Delaney mentally crossed her fingers and pushed out of the rocker to meet him.
The pickup came to a stop next to the red Camaro. In shirtsleeves and jeans, the sport jacket discarded, Bannon climbed out of the truck and lifted a hand in greeting, the gesture accompanied by a somewhat perfunctory and tired smile. “Hello. Beautiful out, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Delaney smiled back, studying him as he approached the steps, looking for something in his body language that might indicate the nature of his news. Nothing.
When Bannon glanced at her father, noting his presence, she automatically made the introductions, then waited through the customary exchange of pleasantries, an inner tension building, making her impatient. At the first break, she said, “You must have talked to the prosecutor by now. Has he agreed to drop the charges against me?”
Bannon hesitated, his eyes studying her in thoughtful silence. “Why don’t we go inside where we can sit down and talk.”
Immediately wary, Delaney demanded, “Why do I need to sit down to hear this? What happened? Surely he isn’t going to persist—”
“I’m afraid he is. If we could go inside…” He gestured with his hand toward the door.
Rather than waste time arguing, Delaney turned and walked into the house, not stopping until she reached the stone fireplace.
