Always (12 page)

Cole lifted the coffee cup and set it back down. It had been twenty-four hours since Elinor had found his peace offering.

The silence was getting hard to take. By his best estimate, she should have volleyed back a shot by now. He moved the coffee cup aside in disgust. The art of negotiating had always been his long suit. Until Elinor. Nowadays his nerves of steel seemed more like steel wool. Then again, he'd never contemplated marriage before.

The woman left him feeling itchy and unsettled. He wasn't accustomed to failure, but that wasn't the biggest blow. Apparently, he was losing more than his shirt on this one.

The phone rang, drawing his attention back to his makeshift office. He'd accepted the mayor's offer of office space more out of politics than anything else.

Cole stretched an arm out to snag the receiver just as the phone rang again.

"Whittier."

"Sir?" Brinkman's voice seemed tentative.

"Yes." Cole leaned back in his chair. He'd almost forgotten. Today was Elinor's deadline. Brinkman must have heard from her. "What's the word, Brinkman?"

"It's not good, sir." The broker sounded disgusted.

"She turned it down?"

"Actually, sir, we've hit a snag and she's not going to give us an answer for another few weeks."

"What snag?" Cole frowned as his fingers tightened on the receiver. The longer this thing dragged out, the harder it would be to pull off.

"The old man died this morning."

"What?" Cole bolted in his chair. "Daniel Prescott died?"

"Yes, sir. I just got a call from the old man's servant." Brinkman's voice was laced with nothing more than irritation. "It looks like we're going to have to give the granddaughter a few days to bury the old guy."

"I'll get back to you, Brinkman." Cole reached for his jacket. "Don't do anything. Don't bother Ms. Prescott in any way."

"Of course not," Brinkman said, sounding aggrieved. "I do have some finesse."

"Good," Cole responded before hanging up.

Rushing out of the office, he pulled on his jacket as he went.

Elinor had come back to Bayville to be close to her last living relative. And now Daniel Prescott was dead.

Cole knew his presence might be more of an irritant to her, but there was no way he was going to let Elinor deal with this alone.

He drove through the familiar streets, lined with tall live oaks that filtered the afternoon sun, his mind struggling to grasp the reality. Daniel was dead. Even though he'd known the old man was in ill health and had witnessed his attempt a few days ago to make peace with the past, it still didn't seem possible.

Leaving the blacktopped road, Cole turned up the drive to Oakleigh without hesitation. He knew Elinor would be there.

He rounded the long driveway and pulled up in the old carriage yard next to a late-model car he didn't recognize.

The old plantation house looked worn and sad in the waning afternoon light. Silent and abiding, it seemed untouched by human misfortune.

Cole walked across the uneven turf to the steps, wondering in what condition Daniel had left his affairs. Would Elinor be overwhelmed with the debts of her grandfather's untidy life? More importantly, would she let Cole help her with it?

The front door stood open, revealing the great empty hall. Cole stepped inside, his gaze drawn to the right, to Daniel's room. From the hall, he could see the curtains drawn back and the windows thrown open as if the room had been scrubbed clean.

On the other side of the hall, Cole heard voices from the study. The door opened then and he saw Elinor inside, her face somber and intent as she conferred with Charlie. Her eyes never lifted from his face, and Cole knew that she hadn't realized he was there.

The old man said something in a low voice and Elinor nodded several times. When she turned back and addressed someone else in the room, Charlie stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

"Mr. Cole," the old man said, his step firm and his face empty as he crossed the dull, marble floor.

"I'm sorry, Charlie." Cole reached out, grasping Charlie's strong, thin one in his.

"He was a tiresome, worn-out old man with a wicked temper," Charlie said, his dark brown eyes damp. "The devil will have too much trouble with him to keep him long."

A low laugh rippled out of Cole, his grip tightening on the older man's hand. "You're probably right, Charlie. You're probably right."

"Miss Elinor's in there with the undertaker makin' die funeral arrangements. He's promised her to have Mr. Prescott ready for the funeral tomorrow afternoon."

"I'm sure it will be a relief to get everything taken care of," Cole responded.

"Yes, sir. It will. And there's lots to take care of. Miss Elinor's hands are full."

"Don't worry about Elinor," Cole said. "I'll stay and walk her home."

"You do that." Charlie nodded. "I have some things to do."

After Charlie left, Cole strolled through the open doorway onto Oakleigh Is gallery. An ancient bench sat to one side of the door, its once-white paint now grayed and flaking.

Brushing off the surface grime, Cole sat down on the bench to wait for Elinor. The deep gallery possessed a shaded coolness that he remembered from younger days. Its comfort seeped into him as the shadows from the great columns slowly crept across the gallery's stone floor.

Eventually, he heard a door open inside the house, and recognized Elinor's voice as she walked the undertaker to the door.

"Yes, I believe we discussed everything." Her pleasant tone was unfailingly polite.

"I'm sure it will be a lovely service," another voice said in a deeply reassuring manner.

Elinor stepped through the doorway, her back to Cole as she ushered the funeral director out.

A small, nattily attired man, he took her proffered hand with reverence. "Miss Prescott, I wish to offer once again my deepest sympathy. Your grandfather was a tremendously important man to our community. His loss will be greatly felt."

She seemed to hesitate before shaking his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Lebow. I'm sure my grandfather would appreciate your kind words."

The older man bowed slightly then before assuring her there was no need to escort him to his car.

Cole watched Elinor silently as she remained standing by the door, her hand raised in final farewell to the funeral director.

"Your grandfather would have despised Lebow's 'kind' words," Cole remarked.

Elinor started when she heard his voice. She pivoted around, staring at him without expression.

He smiled. "I've been waiting to take you home."

~~~********~~~

Seven

They walked in silence, the only sound made by the damp sighing of last year's fallen leaves beneath their feet and the hum of honey bees among the shrubs. Cole strolled along, not prying into Elinor's abstraction.

The sunlight fell through the sheltering trees in long bars of gold, filtering through the leaves with shifting beams. Cole watched the play of light on Elinor's chestnut hair, setting the golden strands afire.

This path would forever evoke her presence for him, he knew. The sweet scent of honeysuckle sifted up to him, no more captivating than the scent of her in his arms.

"The hardest thing about Grandfather's death," Elinor said at last, her face troubled, "is that so few people will actually grieve for him."

"Charlie will," Cole offered even though he knew what she meant. Daniel Prescott hadn't endeared himself to many people. Old Charlie had lived his life taking care of Daniel. That kind of investment left its mark, even if you didn't particularly like a person.

"Yes," she agreed, reaching to tug a leaf off a nearby shrub. "But who other than Charlie and me?"

She sighed deeply when Cole didn't immediately answer. "Do you know that in the two years I lived here, my grandfather only really talked to me once?"

"The other day when I was here?" Cole guessed, feeling both sadness and anger that Daniel had ignored Elinor's love.

"Yes, that was the only time he actually seemed to see me as a person," she confirmed, her voice unhappy. "You know, Cole, I feel as if I should grieve his loss and miss him. But what I feel most is sad for what might have been."

"That's only natural." Cole shrugged. "You tried to be there for him, but he wouldn't allow it."

"I know." Her face was shadowed. "But it doesn't seem right to grieve for a selfish reason."

"You don't have a selfish bone in your body, El."

She glanced up at him. "Yes, I do. Grandfather's death leaves me feeling ... rootless, disconnected. My mother's parents both died before I knew them. They had no other children. Grandfather was the only family I have."

"I know," Cole said softly. He reached for her hand, weaving his fingers with hers.

"So here I am mourning my solitary state," she said, "when I should be grieving my grandfather."

"El, that's only natural," he insisted rationally. "You can't manufacture feelings you don't have."

"Maybe," she acknowledged with a sigh. "But I wish I'd tried harder to reach him."

They fell silent, Cole battling with an insane desire to strangle a dead man. Elinor's guilt made no sense. She'd done more for the old man than most people would. Certainly, more than Daniel's own son.

But then, Elinor was making it a point not to live by Jeffrey's example.

She felt alone, she'd said. Disconnected. Cole drew in a deep breath, looking up into the canopy of trees that stretched overhead. The word jarred in his head—
disconnected
.

Walking here beside her, Cole had never felt more connected to anyone in his life. And he was achingly aware that when she knew the truth about Oakleigh's buyer, she might never speak to him again.

Their steps brought them to the last corner in the path. The cottage was just up the walk.

When they reached the steps, Cole stopped abruptly, tugging Elinor to a halt beside him. She looked up in surprise, her hazel eyes clouded with emotion.

"El . . ." He gathered her into his arms. "You aren't alone."

He lowered his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss, a soft whisper of reassurance that ignored the flare of passion inside him. She didn't resist, but just stood in his arms, seeming to absorb his touch without question.

Not daring to test the emotions that raged through him, Cole lifted his head and simply held her, her head nestled against his shoulder.

She sighed deeply, a strain seeming to leave her body as she leaned into his embrace. Around them the evening air seemed to thicken, the perfume of the flowers growing headier as the breeze dropped.

Every part of Cole thundered for her. He longed to engulf himself in her softness, to bury himself, heart and all, in her warmth. But he just held her.

After long minutes ticked past with her even breathing tickling the skin of his neck, Cole released her. If she had reached up to him, invited him only a fraction, he'd have taken her. Right then and there.

But she didn't. He'd come to Oakleigh to offer support and comfort when he'd heard about Daniel's death, and he was going to stick with that even though it threatened to kill him.

"Goodnight, El." He brushed a soft kiss across her lips. "Sleep well."

Elinor sat in the cushioned folding chair and stared at the preacher, blinking back the tears. Around her were clustered a group of friends that made her heart swell.

Daisy sat beside her, like second lieutenant, jealously guarding Elinor's needs. On the other side of Daisy sat Myrtle from the diner. Elinor had counted twelve of her clients in attendance at Daniel Prescott's funeral. She didn't think half of them had ever known him, except by reputation.

Cole had been right. She wasn't alone.

A warmth settled in the pit of her stomach. Cole. Without even turning around, she knew where he stood. It was as if she suddenly had Cole-sensitive radar.

With effort, Elinor managed to refocus her attention on the preacher.

In deference to Daniel's wishes, the graveside service was held at Oakleigh, where her grandfather would be buried in the family plot.

Around her were the headstones of three generations of Prescotts, the weathered, lichened markers bearing names unfamiliar to her. Her grandfather had asked to be buried beside his long-dead wife. It was an unusually romantic request for someone so disregarding of emotions, and it warmed her as she sat there.

Elinor's mind drifted again, her eyes still sightlessly pinned on Brother Jones. Everything seemed to have changed in the last forty-eight hours. The ground had shifted under her feet. Grandfather was dead and for better or worse, she'd inherited the remnants of his life.

A breeze played tag through the tombstones, pausing to lift the edge of her skirt with a flourish. Elinor smoothed the fabric down over her knees.

The funeral director had wanted to erect a tent, the kind that typically adorned a graveside. But Elinor and Charlie had agreed that her grandfather would rather be canopied by the ancient live oaks that dotted the cemetery.

The last two days had been a strain, trying to cope on her own with the wealth of details involved in the termination of a human being.

Despite being at odds with him, she'd never been happier to see anyone than when she'd turned to find Cole waiting for her on the gallery. Elinor knew if she closed her eyes for just a second she would still feel the strength of his arms around her.

The service drew to a close, Brother Jones invoking prayers for the departed.

Elinor stood at the appropriate time and allowed herself to be led away from the grave. She paused under a great oak tree to greet those who stopped to offer their condolences.

The mayor patted her clumsily on the back. "It's all for the best, you know, Elly. Daniel lived a long, fine life."

"Thank you," Elinor murmured as the mayor's wife engulfed her in a hug.

"My dear," Susan gushed. "I know how great your sorrow is. To have such a great man gone."

Elinor smiled with effort, while trying to dodge the feather that adorned Susan Stephens's hat. "It was very kind of you to come."