An Accidental Family (11 page)

“Such as?”

“Could’ve sold some of the land, for starters.”

Lamont harrumphed. “Right. So some greedy developer could move in and gobble up the territory, acre by acre?”

“I can see the headline now,” she said, drawing quote marks in the air, “‘Nadine Greene, Public Enemy Number One.’” Another sigh. “Ironic, isn’t it, that I ended up there, anyway?”

“Nobody sees you that way—least of all me.” Then, “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“What, so you could saddle your white steed, come riding to my rescue? Again?” A bitter laugh escaped her
throat. “Neither my bank account nor my ego could’ve survived that.”

She watched him stare ahead in stony silence, saw his eyes and lips narrow. “First, you don’t know me half as well as you think you do. Second, I have way too much respect for you to just fork over a pile of cash, like you’re some spoiled brat who spent all her allowance on lipstick and fingernail polish. We could have worked out a way for me to help, a way you wouldn’t have viewed as ego-damaging.” Frustrated, he enclosed the fingers in a loose fist and blew a puff of air through his teeth. “If we’d talked about it, that is.”

She owed him a lot. Probably wouldn’t live long enough to repay his many kindnesses. But if he expected her to apologize for wanting to solve her problems, he was in for a long wait.

“You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known.” He took back his hand. “And it’s downright arrogant the way you decided how I’d react if you came to me for help.”

He had a point. Sort of. A sense of helplessness washed over her. If her life had ever felt more out of control, she couldn’t say when. Why, she couldn’t even figure out how to apologize for hurting his feelings.

“So, you’re gonna pout now, are you?”

That got her attention. “Excuse me?”

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that every time I say something you don’t want to hear,” he growled, “you dish up a healthy portion of the silent treatment.”

This
was how Ernest started every beating: First, he’d invent some half-baked excuse to lob accusations, hurling insults until he’d built up a head of steam that granted him self-appointed permission to thrash the stuffing out of her. Eventually, too tired to throw any
more punches, he threw excuses, instead, if she hadn’t said this or done that, he never would have lost control. And in a day or two, when the welts and bruises looked their worst, he’d shower her with flowers and candy and “I’m sorry, pretty lady” apologies.

“If I didn’t know better,” she muttered, “I’d say you and Ernest were blood kin.”

Much as he would have liked to ask what
that
meant, Lamont held his tongue. Yeah, it hurt, knowing she hadn’t come to him when things got bad. But, then, she’d been on her own for so long that she’d probably forgotten
how
to ask for help. He felt like a first class heel—if heels came in classes—for not showing her more understanding and compassion.

He reached for her hand again and this time she flinched. “Hey, look,” he began, “don’t pay me any mind, okay? If I came off sounding like a bully…” No
if
about it, her stony expression told him, and the truth of it shamed him to the soles of his boots. “I’m sorry, pretty lady. Honest.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “What’s done is done.”

Now he had
two
reasons to feel like a heel. In years past, it had crossed his mind a time or two that things weren’t exactly peaceful in the Greene house. Wearing long sleeves and trousers, even in the blistering Texas heat, not showing up when she’d promised to help out with church socials, the nervous smile that never quite reached her eyes whenever he saw her with Ernest. Why had he allowed thoughts like “It’s nobody’s business” to overpower “You know the right thing to do”? Furious with himself, Lamont thumped the arm of his chair, making her lurch, and making
him
more sure than ever that she had, indeed, been abused.

But what to do about it
now?

From out of nowhere, a memory flashed in his mind, of Rose, who’d come home after a writing class glowing with pride because her instructor had written, “You’ve mastered ‘Show, don’t tell!’” on the first page of her short story. And it wasn’t just good advice for authors.

Nothing he could say could make up for past negligence or insensitive words already spoken. There were, however, things he could
do.

And he’d do them, or die trying.

He’d avoided her all day, and it was just as well, because Nadine didn’t think she’d know what to say, even if she
could
meet his eyes. Last night, after she’d said goodnight—and he hadn’t responded—she’d spent hours praying for forgiveness. What sort of woman makes a man feel ill at ease and unwelcome in his own home? Especially after he’d willingly opened it to her and her kids?

Thankfully, Amy’s nonstop chatter helped ease things during supper, giving her time to try to figure out how to make it up to him. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that some of the things he said and did reminded her of Ernest. And it wasn’t fair, either, to equate his matter-of-fact way of talking with her husband’s violent tendencies.

One by one, she slid plates into the dishwasher’s lower rack and filled the top with glasses and cups. She set aside the pots and pans, grabbed the carving knife, intending to add it to the hand-wash pile. Her own scowling reflection in its gleaming blade brought back the frightening memory of the time Ernest chased her around the kitchen with one just like it. If he hadn’t missed, snapping the blade as it hacked into the doorframe…

A shudder passed through her, and she dropped the knife into the dishpan. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Lamont going at Rose with a knife. Or his fists. Or an open hand, she thought, reaching into the sudsy water to retrieve it.

“You still in here all by your lonesome?”

Startled, Nadine did an in-place two-step. “Julie, I declare,” she gasped, pressing a palm to her chest, “you’re as quiet as a cat!” Instantly, she regretted having reminded the girl that her precious pet was still missing.

Her daughter-in-law stepped up to the sink and reached for the dish towel. “I’m glad I found you alone,” she said, grabbing a pot from the drainboard. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s been keeping me up nights and—” Eyes wide, she gasped and leaned closer. “Mom, you’re…you’re
bleeding!
Oh, Mom…I’m
so
sorry! If I hadn’t startled you…”

“It isn’t your fault, sweetie. I’m the one who shoved her hand into the water without—”

“Like I don’t have enough to be sorry for,” she muttered to herself. “Now this!” She wrapped the towel around Nadine’s gash. “I took a first aid class while I was pregnant with Amy,” she said, chattering nervously as she led Nadine to the powder room. “So I’d know how to handle childhood emergencies. I learned how to make a butterfly—”

Lamont appeared from out of nowhere. “What in tarnation happened?”

“Just a little dishwashing accident,” Nadine explained, waving him away. “I’m in good hands. Nurse Julie, here, is going to fix me right up.”

He stepped between the women, grabbed Nadine’s hand and peeked under the towel. “Nice clean cut,” he
said, studying the cut, “but it’s long. And deep. Needs a butterfly bandage.” Replacing the towel, he said to Julie, “There’s a roll of sterile gauze and a bottle of peroxide upstairs, in the linen closet.” And opening the medicine cabinet, he added, “Will you get it, in case there isn’t enough in here?”

Nodding, the girl rushed off, looking like a child caught in the act of stealing cookies before supper. Was the expression related to whatever she’d started to tell Nadine before the mishap in the dishwater or a reaction to Lamont’s abrupt dismissal? “Really, Lamont,” she began, “Julie was all set to—”

But he was too focused on the task at hand to hear her. Holding her hand over the basin, he poured peroxide over the cut. “Sting?”

“Not much.” Well, at least her mini-emergency had served the purpose of bridging the tense gap between them.

In moments, he’d dabbed antibiotic ointment onto the cut, wrapped it with gauze and taped it with white adhesive. “There,” he said. “Almost good as new.”

“Thanks.” She inspected her bandage-fat hand. “Why do you suppose Julie never came back?”

Shrugging, he returned the materials to the cabinet. “Probably couldn’t find the gauze. Or maybe Amy needed something. I thought I heard her up there earlier, splashing in the bathtub.”

And for the second time in as many minutes, Nadine wondered what, exactly, had been keeping Julie up nights.

F
rank’s office looked a lot like the man, himself—lean, with very few embellishments.

Along one wall, two low filing cabinets supported a sheet of aging plywood, where yellowing newspapers, tattered file folders and an assortment of pens stood in half a dozen coffee mugs. The other wall boasted an open-doored closet whose shelves sagged under the weight of bloated banker’s boxes marked OPEN and CLOSED. A huge orange cat lounged on the spare seat, one green eye opened halfway to study the stranger in the doorway.

Back to the door and booted feet propped on the wide windowsill, a balding man rocked in an oversized black chair, tapping a pencil eraser to the file in his lap. “Have a seat,” he said, twirling the writing tool like a baton.

Lamont stepped up to the battered wooden desk. “I would if I could find one.”

Both boots hit the floor as the chair whirled away from the bank of windows. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Frank said, standing. “And speaking of
cats…Winston, where are your manners? Get up so this old man can take a load off.” With a bored yawn and an exaggerated stretch, the tabby leaped from the chair and settled atop the cluttered plywood.

Frank topped off his coffee. “Care for a cup?”

Lamont sat, ankle upon knee, and hung his Stetson from the toe of his boot. “Thanks, but I’ve had my quota for the day.”

The men spent the next five minutes catching up, and then Frank leaned back in his chair. “So, what brings you to downtown Amarillo.”

A statement, Lamont noticed, not a question. “Couple things I need you to check out.”

“Couple of things for you, or—”

“For a friend.”

He didn’t know what made him pause, or why the hesitation prompted the guarded expression on Frank’s narrow face. But rather than waste time speculating, Lamont launched into the reasons for his visit. As he described the fire, Nadine’s financial situation, her son’s money troubles and his concerns roused by her ranch hand and so-called pal, Jim, the detective fired up his computer, nodding and scribbling on a blue-lined tablet. “Ever consider that maybe the daughter-in-law had something to do with the fire?”

The thought had crossed his mind, but he’d quickly dismissed it. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” he said, pointing at the monitor, “says here the dealership never found out what happened to that money…and that the only reason they didn’t press charges was because of her relationship to Nadine Greene.”

“Why would
that
make any difference?”

“Miz Greene’s husband was the dealership owner’s first cousin.”

“I don’t see the connection. What’s that got to do with your notion that Julie started the fire?”

“If I was young and stupid enough to lose fifty grand, my job and every dime in my personal savings and checking accounts,” Frank said, “I’d probably want to do something to ease my conscience.” He held out both hands, palms up. “What better way than a big fat insurance claim?”

“You’re not makin’ a lick of sense, Frank. The house was Nadine’s, and the policy is in her name, not her boy’s. What would be the point of Julie—”

“She was living with the mother-in-law before the house was torched, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, maybe she saw this as a way to guarantee that the little widow was set for life, and in the process, guaranteed the same thing for herself, and the son and grandkid, too.”

“I think you’ve watched too many movies,” Lamont said. But he was only half joking. He thought back on broken dishes and knickknacks, furniture dings and scratches in his hardwood—all caused by Julie’s ham-fisted actions. “She’s scatterbrained enough to have started a fire, I’ll grant you that, but I doubt she could figure out how to do it on purpose. Not without burning herself to a crisp in the process, anyway. Besides, the poor kid spent half her life in foster homes, and thinks of Nadine more as a mother than a mother-in-
law
. She knows as well as any of us that if the fire marshal decides to prosecute, Nadine could go to jail.” He watched Frank print LONDON in big black letters on the tab
of a manila folder. “So even if she
did
start out with a mind to getting what she saw as ‘easy money,’ I can’t see her letting Nadine take the rap for it.”

Frank tore his notes from his tablet and slid the pages into the file. “Go with your gut,” he said. “I learned the hard way it’ll rarely steer you wrong.”

He referred, Lamont knew, to that awful night in New York City, when second-guessing had cost Frank his partner, ended his career in law enforcement and left him with a bum leg. Unsnapping the pearl button on the pocket of his Western shirt, Lamont withdrew a slip of paper that had been folded in half, and in half again. On it, he’d written everything he knew about Jim the ranch hand. “Isn’t much, but maybe it’ll give you a starting point.”

Nodding, Frank read the name and address, and added it to Lamont’s file. “When do you want me to dig in?”

“Yesterday?”

“You’re in luck. I just closed a case day before.” He punched a few more keys on his computer, and the screen lit up with a twelve-by-seven-inch color photo of Winston, sunning himself on the red-flowered cushions of a wicker chair. “Let me pull up my accounting program, and we’ll talk dollars per hour.”

“What—you’re not gonna do this as a favor for an old friend?”

“Is the ’65 Cor—”

Lamont groaned. “Just name your price and spare me the Corvette talk.”

“She’s right outside,” Frank said, tapping a photo of the car. “You’re dying to see her. I know you are.”

Lamont got to his feet. “Tell you what. You drive,
and I’ll buy lunch so we can, ah, hammer out the particulars.”

Frank’s eyes lit up with mischief as he grabbed his keys. “Deal,” he said, limping toward the door.

“I hate to impose,” Lamont’s daughter, Cammi, said into the phone, “but Reid and I haven’t been out alone since before Rosie was born.”

Nadine had no idea where Cammi’s father had gone, or how long he’d be away. After three unanswered calls to his cell phone, she said, “I’m sure your dad will be thrilled to spend some time with his little granddaughter. Besides,” she added, “it’ll be fun for Amy, and for Julie, too.” It was certainly true. The wide-eyed innocence of children had a tendency to make life’s troubles pale by comparison.

“You’re the greatest, the absolute greatest. I don’t know why Dad doesn’t just carry you off to the pastor’s office and set a date.”

Now how was she supposed to respond to
that?
Thankfully, Cammi launched into the list of baby things they’d bring along, leaving Nadine to wonder who else might feel the same way. His other daughters? Neighbors? Surely not Lamont!

She decided to distract herself from the subject by getting Cammi’s old room ready for Rosie’s visit. It had been a long time since she’d fawned over a baby. Almost five years, to be exact. If Adam and Julie didn’t soon get a handle on their marital problems, Amy might be her only shot at grandparenting, so she intended to make the most of every minute.

When dusting and vacuuming didn’t put the question to rest, she focused her concentration on chopping potatoes, carrots, beans and beef for the stew pot.
She was half in, half out of the fridge, clearing a shelf for formula and jars of baby food, when the whistled notes of “Texas, Our Texas” warned her of Lamont’s approach.

“Something smells mighty good in here,” he said, sniffing his way into the room. “I just had a huge breakfast in town, so I hope that isn’t lunch.”

“Oh? In town with whom?”

Lamont grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter and bit into it. “Macintosh,” he said as he chewed. “My favorite.”

Had he made a conscious decision not to tell her where or with whom he’d been? Or had his blasé manner simply made it seem that way? Caring for him and his house might well be wifely work, but since he hadn’t yet dragged her to the pastor’s office, as Cammi had suggested, what business was it of hers? The word
yet
ricocheted from her head to her heart and back again, making her more aware than ever that if she didn’t put some serious effort into tamping down her feelings for him, she was in for a world of hurt. “Cammi and Reid are dropping the baby off in a few minutes. Isn’t that great? She gets to spend the whole night with her granddad!”

He gave her a look that made her blood ran cold.

“You’re joking.”

Nadine added dry mustard to the stew, and gave it a good stir. “One of Reid’s buddies is getting married,” she explained, “and he asked Reid to be an usher. Cammi says they never expected this guy—Tommy, I think that was his name—to settle down, so—”

Lamont stepped up beside her, one hand on the counter, palmed his apple in the other. His grim expression and stiff-backed stance made it clear that he hoped she
was, indeed, joking, either about Tommy finally making a commitment or Rosie’s overnight visit.

“The kids haven’t been out alone in months,” she continued. “I used my cell phone to call yours while she and I were talking, but after three tries, I gave up. I didn’t know if you’d turned yours off or if you were out of range.” She sounded so much like a nagging housewife, even to herself, that she snapped her mouth shut. “You
did
get my message, didn’t you?”

The taut line of his lips relaxed—but only slightly—as he processed the information. “Never gave a thought to check voice mail, since the phone never rang.” Frowning, he unpocketed it and snapped it open. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, “there it is, plain as day.”

She’d heard that tone before, it was the one that warned her when Ernest was about to give her the third degree. “I couldn’t imagine you’d turn Cammi down,” she said defensively, “so I agreed to keep the baby. Besides, remember how just the other day you were saying how much you miss spending time with her?”

What was going on in that head of his? And why was he standing there, glaring as if she’d just backed his pickup into the side of the house?
“Mi casa, su casa,”
he’d said on the day she moved in. Until now, it seemed he’d meant it. But what if, instead, it had been one of those “Do as you please…once it meets with my approval” offers? “Rosie won’t be a bother,” she said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“I adore that li’l gal, and you’re right, it kills me that I don’t get to see a whole lot more of her.” He tossed the apple core into the trash can and began to pace, slant-heeled boots thudding across the hardwood. He stopped not two feet from where she stood. “It’s just that I’m concerned for her safety.”

“For Rosie’s safety?” she repeated. “You’re worried that I’d let something happen to her?”

He slapped a hand to the back of his neck and thundered, “Of course not.” Then, softening his tone a mite, Lamont attempted a smile—though it never quite reached those glittering gray orbs. “For cryin’ out loud, Nadine, quit looking so terrified. I’d
never
hurt you, not for any reason or in any way. If you don’t know that by now, we’re both in a heap o’ trouble.”

She believed him—or wanted to, anyway. “Sorry,” she admitted. “I never should have said yes to such a thing without talking to you first. Cammi’s your daughter and this is your house. I had no right to—”

“You think I was lying?”

“About what?”

“When I said this is your home, too, for as long as you need it to be.”

She shook her head and, summoning a sliver of courage, met his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

“There’s nothing to
get.
Maybe I’m an idiot, thinking there’s a chance that what happened at your house could happen here, while my li’l granddaughter is upstairs, asleep.”

So Lamont didn’t mind risking his own skin to save her life, to make a home for her and her kids, but he drew the line at putting anyone else in jeopardy. And who could blame him. “Oh, Lamont,” she said, “I’m sorry, so sorry! I’m the one who’s an idiot!” If she ever figured out what she’d done in her trifling life to deserve a friend like him, Nadine would do it over and again, to ensure he’d always be part of her life. Unadulterated affection merged with gratitude. If only she could show him how much she appreciated everything he’d done, and everything he was.

The back door opened with a
whoosh,
and Cammi and Reid breezed into the kitchen. As Rosie reached for her grandfather, Nadine started a pot of coffee.

She didn’t share Marcus’s opinion that the fire at her house had been set on purpose, but what if she was wrong?

Nadine intended to stay awake until Lamont’s daughter and her family were snug in their own home, just in case.