Lone Tree (39 page)

The lawyer called again the next evening, wanting to
know when she’d be arriving, and she politely declined. It’d been on her mind
constantly, but she’d decided her presence at the funeral would serve no
purpose other than stirring up embers that didn’t need stirring.

“I don’t mean for the services, Lainie. I mean for
the reading of the will.”

She frowned. “But I don’t need to be there. Miles
and I talked about this. He was going to change his will...”

“He did, last November.”

After he’d gone home. “Then I don’t understand the
problem. Why do I...why do you need me there?”

“Lainie, you really should be here for the formal—”

“For crying out loud, Stuart. Just give me the gist
of it. My understanding was Reed would get the ranch. Now is that so, or not?”

“No.”

He was reluctant to divulge more, but she
persevered, threatening she’d never show and he’d have to sit on it, and
finally she got the main points. Then she sat quietly, eyes closed, letting
them sink in. Miles was still throwing curves. They’d made their peace, but he
hadn’t changed. He was still one conniving son of a...

He hadn’t changed his will, had merely added a
stipulation. Everything still went to Lainie—on the condition that within
thirty days of his death, she spent three consecutive days and nights in
residence at Lone Tree. Otherwise the estate would be sold, displacing
everyone, and the proceeds distributed to a list of charities.

She shook her head, slowly, several times. It wasn’t
fair, not to her, Reed, or anyone else at Lone Tree. One way or another, Miles
had to have control. Dead or alive, he wanted his way.

And once again he would get it.

“Are you still there?” Stuart still didn’t handle
change, or silences, well. How could he be so good at doing what he did?

“Yes, I’m here,” she said curtly. “I’ll call the
airlines and book a seat. And then I’ll call you as soon as I get there. Might
take me up to a week. And, Stuart.” She paused, waiting.

“Yes.” He sounded relieved, like he’d agree to
anything.

“Three days. That’s it. Understood?”

A week later she flew into the Midland-Odessa
airport, rented a car and headed west on Highway Twenty. It’d been breezy in
the Bay Area, and she’d worn a cardigan over her white tee and khakis, but she
didn’t need the sweater here. It rested across the single suitcase in the back
seat. That was her only luggage, and she remembered how crammed her car had
been when traveling to Lone Tree two long years ago. The contrast made her
heart heavy, and a nervous pit formed in her gut.

She drove slowly, in no hurry, but gradually old
habits surfaced. Her speed rose to eighty and kept creeping. She hadn’t yet
gotten a speeding ticket on the Texas highways, and she wondered if she’d
finally be caught on this last trip.

Deliberately, she drove through the ranch gate
without giving it—neither the name carved in it nor the plaque that hung from
it—a direct look. After parking in front of the small cottage that’d been her
home for a year, she sat still for a long time. Memories surfaced, but she
wasn’t as bombarded as she’d feared. Her heart hadn’t eased since she’d
alighted from the plane, but she was grateful the pit in her stomach had
calmed.

Braced for the heat—and emotion—she got out of the
car, but the first sense that assailed her was smell. A whiff of Rosalie’s
fried chicken caught and held her, making her want to cry and run at the same
time.

Rosalie had been like a surrogate mother. But
leaving the way she had, Lainie had snubbed everyone. And everyone would now
know of her familial history with Miles as well as her subterfuge. But she had
to face them, every person. Unsure of how she’d be received, Lainie walked to
the side door that led into the kitchen.

The housekeeper looked up from a cobbler dish, a
strip of pastry in her hands. Her face sobered and her eyes moistened. She put
the pastry down, wiped her hands, went to Lainie and wrapped her arms around
her.

Lainie returned the embrace, her own eyes moist.
They parted, wiping at tears.

“Oh, my,” Rosalie said through her sniffles. Then,
“What did you do to your hair?”

“I let the blond grow out. Thought I needed a
change.”

Rosalie grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “I liked
the color better, the way you used to wear it.”

Lainie lingered, and was brought up to date on local
news. Glen Charles was a father again, for the third time. Randy had completed
his first year of college, and Bobbie Ann had decided she wanted to study
veterinary medicine. They exchanged another hug and then Lainie left Rosalie to
her pastry. The car would quickly turn into an oven. She needed to get her
suitcase out of it and then shelter it in the enclosed shed.

On her way to the main house after parking the car,
she’d reached the porch when she recognized the sound of a vehicle, the engine
as smooth as the first time she’d heard it. She turned and watched the red
truck approach, again creating its own little dust storm. She noted the color
was more faded and the truck’s body had survived a few more dents.

Her gaze remained fixed on Reed as he braked. The
engine didn’t cut off but remained idling as he stared at her, his arm resting
in the open window atop the driver’s door. Lainie stared back, holding on to
her composure through sheer resolve. She’d lost Miles, and she’d lost Reed. But
now Reed was right there. She didn’t know how everything inside her could break
and yet she could still stand there, all in one piece.

His expression was hard, uncompromising. He remained
motionless, and for an instant she thought she saw hot anger simmering behind
his eyes. But the expression vanished as quickly as it arose, leaving cold
disdain in its place. His gaze moved unhurriedly forward and the truck pulled
away.

Lainie let her breath out, unaware till then she’d
been holding it, and watched the vehicle until it was out of sight. So that was
the way he was going to play it. Her prevailing emotion was relief. Cold and
stony was easier to deal with. She had concentrated on building cool
indifference and a businesslike attitude, but Reed could make things very
difficult if he chose.

She entered the house, walked the hall that was so
familiar, and entered Miles’s office. Slowly, she closed the door behind her,
then leaned against it and closed her eyes. The room was empty, overpoweringly
so, without Miles in it. She’d not expected ever to be in this room again and
was filled with such conflicting emotions it was difficult to separate one from
another. Most prevalent was grief, complicated by confusion from the past and
apprehension about the future. The resulting heaviness in her heart and gut
wanted to weigh her down.

She opened her eyes and looked at the patio doors,
the fireplace and portraits, Miles’s oversized desk, her old desk. Nothing had
changed.

But she had.

She drew in a deep breath. Today was Monday. When
she’d called Stuart to tell him when she’d be arriving, he’d told her she
wouldn’t be able to get out of here until Friday at the earliest. That was the
best he could do. She’d agreed but wondered now how she was going to manage
because she felt like she’d already used up, in this first day that hadn’t even
ended yet, what strength she had.

Forcing herself to walk to her desk, she got busy.
She looked up Stuart’s number, called, and once he came on the line she did all
the talking. Next she called Tom Forrester and had no problem with him either.
Business transactions weren’t hard; it was the personal dealings she dreaded.

Those calls completed, she sat and stared at the
phone. Jackie Lyn should be next, but Lainie didn’t have it in her to make that
call right now. She wanted to see Jackie, but—

Abruptly she put her arms on the desk and laid her
head on them. She cried for a long time, but by the time supper chimes sounded,
she was in control. She’d needed that cry, and it had served to strengthen her.
With her face washed and her hair brushed, she arrived in the dining room and
found everyone there—still standing as if waiting for Miles to appear and say
grace.

Unnerved, Lainie stood as if rooted in place. Then
Rosalie entered, placed a platter of steaming cornbread squares on the
sideboard, bowed her head and said the words. When Lainie closed her eyes for
the blessing, a tear welled. She wiped it away before it could fall.

Reed ignored her—they’d sat at opposite ends of the
table—but everyone else was congenial. Glen Charles was across from her, and
she congratulated him on his newborn daughter.

“Two boys, and I finally got my baby girl,” he said
proudly. “That’s it. We’re done.”

The corner of her eye caught Reed pushing his chair
back and getting to his feet. Every muscle she had tightened. He replenished
his coffee cup, not sparing her a glance, and returned to his chair.

“Got some news,” Carter said. “Melanie and I are
gonna have our own new arrival come next spring.”

Congratulations passed around the table, hugs and
handshakes and thumps on the back. Carter’s smile split his face. Fatherhood
had created layers of emotion in the seemingly unemotional man.

Lainie’s hair drew various comments. Each man said
it in his own way, but the consensus was that they preferred her as a blonde.

She ate lightly and then said an early goodnight.
It’d been necessary to greet everyone, and she felt better that she had, but
she now needed to be alone. And she’d also been aware of the strained
atmosphere. The men were friendly, yet reserved. Tension hummed between her and
Reed like a live wire, affecting everyone, and making the room seem too small.

Tom had told Lainie her name was still on the
household checking account, so the next day she paid bills that’d stacked up.
Miles had again let things slide.

The familiar routine was both comforting and
saddening.

Every time she heard an outside sound, she snapped
her head toward the patio doors. She halfway expected—feared—to see Reed there.
She’d seen ice in him yesterday, but knew there was heat in him as well. He’d
kept a low profile at supper last night, which had only served to remind her of
Jackie’s comment about keeping a tight lid on a bubbling pot.

She called Jackie and they made a date for supper
for the next evening. Jackie sounded like her old self, yet reserved, and
Lainie realized both of them were preparing for goodbye as well as hello.

As she accomplished each task, Lainie felt stronger.
She glanced across at the portraits. She’d be taking them home with her, and
she also wanted her mother’s snapshots. So she decided to visit her mom’s room
now, for the second and last time, before her newfound strength deserted her.

No one else was around as she walked the hall to the
personal wing, and she was reminded of the furtive, guilty feeling she’d had
the only other time she’d visited Elizabeth’s room. When she opened the door
she found it as she remembered it: clean, neat, so impersonally empty. Now that
Miles was gone, the room should no longer be kept as a memorial, and she
resolved to talk to Rosalie.

She’d only wanted the pictures, but once there, she
chose to explore. She crossed to the closet and slid open the mirrored doors.
Taking her time—surprised and grateful that the sadness she felt was almost
sweet instead of the heartbreaking loss she’d known for so long—she fingered
each garment. Sundresses, pantsuits, skirts in various colors and lengths,
blouses in silk and cotton and wool, western-style shirts—

Lainie’s hand halted in midair.

She let her breath out, then shakily took in another
one. With trembling fingers, she withdrew the hanger that held a shirt with
stripes of garish colors, now muted by sun and wear and age. Was it hers, or
had her mother had one just like it?

No. Not unless Elizabeth had also lost a cuff button
and replaced it with the last one near the hem, where it wouldn’t be seen or
missed because Lainie always wore it tucked in. And the thread she’d used was a
half-shade lighter than the original dark red. It’d always bothered her, though
she’d had to look for the defect to find it.

Oh, Miles,
she thought.
Oh,
Miles
.

She hung the shirt back in the closet with fingers
that trembled. Her eyes burned and her throat felt raw.

*

On her way to supper that evening, Lainie rounded
her side of the main house just as Reed appeared at the other end. Neither
faltered, though she mentally kicked herself for taking this route instead of
shortcutting through the kitchen.

Their attention remained on each other and they
reached the door at the same time.

His features could’ve been carved out of stone. His
gaze was cold, manner unyielding. Suddenly, Lainie decided she’d had enough of
implacability—his and hers and everyone else’s—to last her a lifetime. With her
gaze holding his, she lowered her head and tipped her hat with the forefinger
of her left hand.

His expression softened as she mimicked him, but his
smile didn’t get far. She reached for the doorknob, but his hand got there
first. She dropped her hand and looked back at him. He kept his silence for a
long, taut moment. Then he said, tone lacking inflection, “Way you’re wearing
your hair now, you look better with your hat on.”