Granddad's House (On Geneva Shores) (29 page)

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed in the room after her grandfather’s body had been removed. Beau eased her around to face him so that he could hold her. When he sat down in the chair, he pulled her onto his lap and rocked her until her sobs finally stopped.

Olivia wiped her eyes and blew her nose one more time before she asked Beau, “Why are you here?”

“Your granddad called me.”

She cocked her head at him in an unspoken question.

“Not on the phone. Something told me to come here. I figured it had to be him.” A lopsided smile flitted across his face as he drawled, “Since you hadn’t returned any of my calls.”

She smiled and kissed him.

“Let me take you home—or your house, if you prefer,” he said.

“My place, please.”

She had never felt so tired. Beau drove her home and carried her upstairs to her bed. She roused enough to thank him and fell into an exhausted sleep.

The next morning, she came downstairs to find Beau stirring the last of the muffin batter.

“Good morning, darlin’. How do you like your muffins—slightly burned, still raw in the middle, or just about perfect? I’ve got all three versions here for you to sample.”  He grinned crookedly at her. “Sort of like a breakfast for the three bears. Took me three times to get it right.”

“I’m famished. Whatever you’ve made, I’ll have one of each.” She reached for the coffeemaker and poured herself a steaming cup.

“Just what I like to hear.” He put three different muffins on her plate and pushed a small jar of jam toward her. “In case you want the taste of fruit with your muffins.”

She reached for the jar.

“I called Genevieve and told her you wouldn’t be in today.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full,” he scolded softly.

“Where’s my cell?” she finally asked.

“I turned it off. Today, you get to concentrate on yourself and on your grandfather.”

She looked up and stopped chewing.

“The doctor called. He asked you to give him a buzz when you’re ready. No rush.”

She nodded. “I’ll do that.” She sipped her coffee and asked, “What’s happening with Paul?”

“He’s in Germany. Ted saw him and the surgeons put his leg back together—two breaks, one compound, plus a head injury they’re still evaluating. Some other injuries Ted says are relatively minor by comparison. They’re not sure yet when he’s coming home, but I was able to talk to him yesterday.”

“How did he sound?”

“Mad as hell that they’d hauled him out of there. He wants to go back and take revenge on the madmen who killed his men, especially the ones who did the torturing.” He looked away from her, his voice quiet. “My brother is kind of like you. He seems to think it’s his job to take care of everyone else. When they did that—when they killed his men, especially the one who, who—well, he took it personally. I asked Ted to talk to the base psychologist, to help Paul get past that.”

She put her arms around him. “I guess as the oldest you’ve had a lot of practice making someone see reason?”

He kissed the top of her head. “You could say that.”  He lifted her chin and kissed her on the mouth. “Finish eating your breakfast. We’ve got things to do today.”

“Like what?”

“After you’ve showered and dressed, we’ll go over the list for your grandfather.”

She opened her mouth to ask him a question.

“He left a letter for you. It was on the table next to his remote.”

She frowned.

“I saw it when I went over there to see what needs to be done in his kitchen.”

A half hour later, they sat on the couch together, the letter on the table. Olivia looked at the envelope.

“Go ahead. Read it. It won’t bite,” he urged.

She unfolded the pages. Her grandfather had used lined paper, his distinctive printing taking up two lines for every sentence.

Dearest Olivia,

The other day—after you drove me home from the cemetery, I couldn’t get your
Grandmamma’s words out of my head. She kept telling me I had to stop beating around the bush with you. Those little hints I kept dropping weren’t getting through to you, or maybe you didn’t want to hear what I was saying. Anyway, I agree with her. Sometimes I just have to come right out and say it, like she always did, so here goes.

You need a strong man, someone who loves you totally, but who isn’t so scared of you that he does things your way all the time. Not like that weak-kneed Fred. I never did like him or trust him. I’m glad you’re not seeing him anymore. He wasn’t strong; he’ll never be strong.

That’s what you need: a strong man, like Beau. He loves you. I know he does—even if he hasn’t told me that. But I can hear it in his voice when he says your name, and in his eyes when he talks about you.  I’ve talked to him during my visits to the house, even though it’s not mine anymore.

You probably don’t like that I keep going over there, but since no one’s moved in yet, I figured what’s the harm, and it gives me a chance to see what’s going on. I never thought architects took an interest in their buildings after the plans were made, but Beau does
. George, too. I know Beau cares about the changes, making that old place better than it was. I like that. It’s important that he cares about his work.

He cares about you, too. But you’ve been so hard on him. Your grandmamma told me it’s because you like him. Maybe you figured out right away that he was the kind of man who wouldn’t let you get away with bossing him around all the time. Call me old-fashioned, but it’s important that a man takes charge every now and again.

So I’m telling you, Olivia Marie, give that man a chance. Let him tell you how he feels about you. Let him show you he loves you. I know he does.

And, if you want me to, I’ll talk to Beau. I’ll tell him you deserve the best kind of man, someone who loves you with all his heart, who won’t let you down or make you sad. Like I was for your grandmamma.

I know you’ll make him mad sometimes. You’ve got red hair for a reason—even though you’re always saying it’s auburn. I saw you when you were a brand spanking new baby, all wet and squawling.  Your hair was red then and it’s still red.

Don’t push Beau away when he wants to help you. He’s a fine man and I’m honored that he wants to get close to you, my precious granddaughter.

I want the two of you to give yourselves a chance, to get to know each other.

Esther keeps reminding me that I’m not long for this world, what with my diabetes and all, and some days, I have to agree. There are times I’d just as soon go to sleep and never wake up—so I can be with Esther, so I can watch over you. She does that already, you know.

That’s why I decided to write this letter—in case you won’t listen to me if I try to tell you myself. So, I hope you read this—with Beau—and after you do that, give each other a smile and a hug, and know that when I’m right next to my dear Esther, we’ll both be watching from on high to see what happens after that!

All my love,

Granddad

Olivia wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe he wrote this.” She squinted at Beau. “Was he plotting with you?”

There it was again, Beau’s blasted grin that irked her so many times.

“Maybe.” He reached for her hands. “Let’s just say he encouraged me.” He folded the letter. “You’ll want to keep this. That man loved you so much. Now, how are you going to honor his memory?”

She sat back against the couch. “I have to go through his things first. He told me once that he and Grandmamma had their memorial services all planned out—so Dad and I wouldn’t have to worry about it or guess about what to do. He must have those plans somewhere. I need to go through his desk and find them.”

He nodded. “The fire investigation’s done. Do you want me to help you, or would you prefer to do it by yourself?”

She reached for his hand. “Let’s do it together.”

They spent the next two hours going through desk drawers. Olivia paid the bills her grandfather had neglected to take care of, and found the papers she was looking for. Beau spent most of his time sketching, planning how he would have the contractor repair the kitchen.

In the blustery fall wind, while leaves swirled around their feet, the many people who accompanied them to the cemetery listened as Olivia, her voice breaking only once, read the poem her grandfather had selected for his graveside service. She stood near Beau as the casket was lowered, sprinkled it with rose petals, and wished fleetingly that they had been from his own garden.  She remembered doing the same at her father’s funeral. Her grandmother had taken his death so hard, the poor woman hadn’t been able to attend the funeral. Olivia had stood next to her grandfather, both of them still numb from the suddenness of her father’s passing, barely listening to her aunt’s editorial comments about the people who had attended the service. Aunt Victoria had died the very next year in a terrible car accident, and not long after that, her Grandmamma. At the reception after her father’s funeral, people had been so kind, even as they speculated about Olivia taking over the business three short years after she had started working there. But Granddad had told her she could do it, and a part of her refused to consider selling it to a large franchise. Now here she was with a going concern and three more agents than when she’d
become the managing broker and owner. But Granddad was no longer with her. How was she going to go on without him?

Beau’s hand squeezed hers as if to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

Sally stood on the other side of Olivia, sniffling and sneaking sidelong glances at Beau throughout the service. Before she left, she whispered to Olivia, “Call me. We need to talk.”

Genevieve hugged Olivia. “Don’t worry about the office, honey. Bruce and I will keep things going until you’re ready to come back. Take all the time you need. You know things have slowed down, just like they always do before the holidays.”

Olivia thanked her and the rest of the agents for coming, shook hands with her grandfather’s friends, and went back to her house with Beau. He kissed her before leaving.

“I’ll be back. There are some things I need to take care of with George. And I promised I’d call Ted to find out when Paul is being shipped stateside.”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, trying to hide the tears that welled up. It had been nearly a week since Beau had brought her home. Her house felt empty without him.

She went into the little guest room where he’d been sleeping and lay down on the bed. The pillow carried a telltale scent of his aftershave. She wondered why he had chosen to sleep there instead of with her. At his place, he had always asked her to sleep in his bed. Maybe, because she hadn’t invited him? Had he concluded she didn’t want him in her bed?  She undressed and slipped on her nightgown, realizing as she did so how very much she missed him. She wanted his arms around her, his lips on hers, her fingers weaving their way through his hair, stroking his face, sliding around his body, memorizing the feel of his muscles, the way he squirmed when she touched a particularly ticklish spot near one rib. She wanted to hear the cadence of his voice and how at times it slipped into that southern drawl that slowed his words ever so slightly, adding a
sexy undertone she found irresistible. She missed the way he looked at her when he took her in his arms.

She looked heavenward. “Granddad, you were right. I do love him, like I told you in the hospital. Only I didn’t know how much until now.”

She picked up the phone to call Beau, to ask him to come back to her, and then put it down. He would be talking to Ted about Paul. She didn’t want to interrupt, knowing how worried he was about his younger brother. She sighed and lay down in her bed, debating whether to read a book until she relaxed enough to sleep.

She turned out the light and lay there in the dark, wondering if Beau was asleep in that big bed of his. Perhaps he was looking out the window at the lake, counting the lights that flickered on the far shore.

She rose and started downstairs to get a cup of tea when a quiet knock sounded at her front door. She raced through the living room, not bothering with her robe.

Beau stood there. She opened the door and put out her arms to welcome him.

“I do love you, Beau. Maybe I haven’t said that to you as often as I should, but I do, and I don’t want you to sleep in my guestroom tonight.” She kissed him once, twice, three times.

When he lifted her into his arms, he buried his head in her hair and took the stairs two at a time. He set her down and pulled off his sweater. “I couldn’t stay there, at my place, without you. I tried to stay away to let you grieve, but I couldn’t stand it there without you.”

She cupped his face in her hands and gazed into his eyes. “I want to sleep in your arms tonight. Will you hold me? Please?”

He nodded, and she slowly removed his shirt and then his slacks. He slid out of his shoes and when he sat on the bed, she pulled off his socks and ran her fingers slowly up one leg before
slipping his silk boxers over his hips. They puddled at his feet before he stepped out of them and reached for her. He held her for a long moment before he began stroking her through the silk of her nightgown.