Leaving Carolina (17 page)

“No more punching a person’s lights out?”

His smile broadens. “Only when absolutely necessary.”

I smile back as we accelerate out of the parking garage.

“Unfortunately”—Axel raises his voice over the air rushing into the Jeep—“now the problem between your cousin and me is that he believes I have too much influence over your uncle.”

“Do you?”

“Not in any premeditated way.”

“In what way?”

“Being there when Obadiah needs to talk and unburden himself. Someone to pray with.” Axel glances at me. “He has a lot of regrets, and not only his own.”

Exactly how much does Axel know about the changes Uncle
Obe wants to make to his will? More specifically, is he aware of the reasons behind the new bequests—such as Trinity Templeton taking the fall for me?

I start to pick at my cuticles, but the movement draws Axel’s attention and makes me cringe at the return of a bad habit I overcame years ago. “I, uh, understand that you’ve influenced my uncle’s faith.”

He doesn’t answer until he brakes at a red light, and then he turns the full force of his gaze on me. “That’s a bad thing?”

“No! That is, providing you don’t have your own agenda.”
And maybe you should have put that more delicately?
Concrete proof that the hands-on practice sessions with my clients is where they get their money’s worth.

Axel’s pupils expand, shoving all that incredible Blue to the outer edges. “I’m not the one with the agenda.”

Nice comeback. Blessedly, I’m saved from responding by three bursts of a horn. The light has turned green.

Axel accelerates, and soon we enter the highway. “You’re one of your uncle’s regrets,” he says, raising his voice over the wind and road noise.

“Did he tell you that?”

“He did. He’s bothered by how you and your mother were treated by his family and that he didn’t take more of a stand.”

How much does this man know about me?

“He believes that had he intervened, you and your mother wouldn’t have run away from Pickwick.”

My back snaps straight. “We didn’t run away.” We… shook the
dust from our feet. “We had our reasons for leaving, and it was the right decision.”

His eyes shift to my hands, making me aware that I’m picking my cuticles again. “So you like the big city?”

“It’s where I work and live.”

“In that order?”

That
was
a Freudian slip. If—rather,
when—
Grant and I marry, I’ll leave L.A. and my partnership in the firm as happily as I left Pickwick. I set my jaw and focus on the rusted bumper that hangs askew on the beater truck ahead.

Axel shifts lanes, passes the truck, then shifts back. “Right or wrong, Obadiah believes that Pickwick is where you belong.”

“There’s nothing here for me.”

“There’s Maggie and Bridget.”

“Excuse me?”

He intercepts my wide-eyed gaze. “People change, as you can attest to yourself.”

Yes, I’ve changed, but Maggie and Bridget? More likely, they’ve simply become more sophisticated in their dealings with those who don’t meet their standards. “Some do, but I have a hard time believing it of my cousins.”

Axel looks back at the road. “Then forgiveness isn’t in your nature.”

I startle. “I’ve forgiven them. It’s what I’m called to do as a Christian. But that doesn’t mean boundaries shouldn’t be put in place to protect myself from further harm.” As I counsel many of my clients to do.

“I agree that you have to watch out for Luc and Bart, that that’s where those boundaries come in handy, but Maggie and—”

“I appreciate your concern, Axel, but I’m not just a once-bitten, twice-shy kind of person. With the Pickwicks, it’s more like ten times bitten, twenty times shy. When I was growing up, Pickwick was much smaller, and despite the soiled reputations my relatives wracked up—my father included—they pulled a lot of weight and people followed their lead, even while they talked about them behind their backs.”

Axel is focused on the road, but I sense he’s listening in an unhurried way I’m unaccustomed to. He isn’t waiting for his turn to speak. He wants to hear from me. And for some reason, I want to share what I don’t normally talk about.

“It wasn’t just the rejection and unkind words that my mother and I had to endure. It was all the seeds the Pickwicks planted and watered.” A sharp pain alerts me that I’ve picked a cuticle to the point of blood, and I curl my fingers into my palms. “That’s a big chunk of a person’s life, and until someone takes something that precious from you, you can’t possibly understand where I’m coming from.”

I see him release one hand from the steering wheel, but I don’t follow it and am surprised when it closes over my fist. His hand is work hardened and strangely comforting. “I do understand.”

He does? I stare into eyes that would be markedly different from Grant’s even if they were the same color, but the sincerity in Axel’s eyes is taken from me when he returns his attention to the road and his hand to the wheel, as if realizing he’s overstepped the bounds.

He did. But I miss his hand on mine. I close my right hand over
my left in an attempt to retain the warmth of his touch. The gesture is telling, but before I can correct it, Axel’s gaze flicks to my hands, and I force myself to leave them, though all of me longs to guiltily snatch them apart.

“I’m sorry for what you and your mother went through. It was wrong, but the point is that you
went
through it. You’re on the other side now, Piper, and you’re not the only one there.”

Is he saying Maggie and Bridget are on the other side with me? That doesn’t seem possible, but I’m too tired to argue. “I’ll have to take your word for that.”

“I wish you would.”

His sincerity baffles me. “You know I’m damage control, so why are you being so nice to me?”

His mouth crooks. “While I disagree with what you’re here to do, it’s obvious you care about your uncle.”

It is? For some reason, his observation chokes me up.

“Also, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.”

I swallow. “Thank you.”

“But also a warning.” He looks directly at me. “I don’t like being made a fool of.”

Okay, not choked up anymore. Gritting my teeth, I turn my head and stare out the window.

A half hour later, my cell phone alerts me to a message. Guessing I was out of range when the call came in, I listen to Artemis explain that he can’t meet with me today—he wants to take his new tractor for a spin. I grunt as I flip the phone closed.

“Bad news?” Axel asks.

“Could be better.”

As I look away, a staccato ring rises between us, this time from Axel’s phone. With a glance at the screen, he flips it open. “Hi, Maggie.”

Why is she calling him?

“Can you do it?” A pause. “No.” Another pause. “Bridget’s busy, so that leaves you.” He chuckles. “Me? That would look bad, and I don’t think she’d go for it.”

Are they talking about me?

“You’re the better choice.” He slides his gaze over me. “Don’t worry; she’ll behave.”

They
are
talking about me!

He closes the phone. “Maggie has agreed to spend a couple of nights with you.”

I catch my breath. “Why?”

“Doctor’s orders. I asked Bridget, but she has other plans.”

This is what the two discussed when he pulled her aside?

“Devyn was rather enthusiastic about getting to know you, so Maggie didn’t stand a chance.” His mouth curves. “Her daughter is persistent.”

As is Axel. Though tempted to argue over the choice of babysitter, I resist. If a reluctant Maggie is willing to awaken me every couple of hours, the least I can do is be awakened. Besides, it’s not as if there will be any chumming, late-night talks, or bonding. And Devyn will be there, and she’s likable enough.

I shrug. “All right.”
And?
“Thank you for making the arrangements.” A while later, I thank him again as I climb out of his Jeep in front of the mansion.

“Maggie and Devyn will be over around seven.”

“I’ll be here.” I turn to ascend the steps, but as he accelerates up the driveway, I look around and catch him watching me in the rearview mirror as I’m watching him.

“Not my type.” But whosever type he is… Well, good for her.

Y
ou’re early.” I stare at my cousin, who looks gorgeous, from her tousled red hair to her pink toenails visible in one-inch sandals that elevate her that extra inch to six feet. I suddenly feel insignificant, especially in bare feet and toenails in need of a repaint.

She smiles halfheartedly, obviously as uncomfortable with the arrangement as I am. As for Devyn, the soon-to-be-twelve-year-old steps forward and beams with all the teeth to which her bowed mouth has access. “The cavalry has arrived.”

They have—complete with briefcase, suitcase, and a bulging backpack that makes the girl lean hard to one side, where it hangs from a thin shoulder.

I open the door wider. “Come in.”

Devyn bounds forward, followed by her mother, who carries the suitcase and briefcase across the threshold with less enthusiasm.

I close the door. “It was nice of you to come.”

Devyn loops an arm through Maggie’s. “If you can’t count on family, who can you count on?”

Too bad her mother didn’t feel that way when I was growing up.

Something glances across Maggie’s face, but she looks away and pats her daughter’s arm. “This is going to be fun, hmm?”

“Bunches!” The girl slips free. “I’ll pick out our room.” She lopes
off, and I hold my breath for fear the backpack will topple her, but she makes it down the hallway, up the stairs, and out of sight.

“Your daughter is sweet.”

A relaxed smile cranks up Maggie’s beauty rating. “And smart as a whip.” She makes a face that would wreak havoc on anyone else’s looks. “Not at all like me.”

I don’t know how to respond. Maggie was never self-deprecating. Her report card was littered with Cs, Ds, and Fs, but she always said it was because she was bored and had better things to do than study.

“How’s the head?”

I touch the bandage beneath my bangs. “Good. I don’t understand what all the fuss is about, but…”

She nods. “Look, I know you aren’t thrilled about this, but Devyn was excited after meeting you at the hospital, and Axel assured me it’s important, so…”

I’m relieved I’m not the only one at a loss for words. Still, it’s unheard of for Maggie, who always had a lot to say, though usually with more finesse than Bridget, who burned bridges as if there were a glut of them.

“I appreciate that you disrupted your schedule to babysit me.” I nod past her. “I’m going to make myself something to eat. Are you and Devyn hungry?”

“We already ate.” She turns slightly aside, and I envy her long, toned calves beneath the hem of a straight skirt that rests on hips that show no evidence of having birthed a child. “We’ll just settle in, and then I need to get to work.”

I eye her briefcase. Is she a fashion designer? interior decorator?

“I’m an auctioneer.”

I startle.

“I make my living selling other people’s castoffs.”

“So you work for a company like Sotheby’s?”

She chuckles, and her Southern belle accent is present even in the disjointed sound. “Although I do occasionally bring high-end items to auction, most times it’s a house, land, farm equipment, or the miscellaneous contents of a deceased person’s home.”

A memory of the one time I attended an auction rises with all the pain associated with losing our home to pay for delinquent taxes after my father deserted us to avoid imprisonment.

The man standing behind the podium in our front yard wears overalls and has salt-and-pepper whiskers and a yammering mouth that sends saliva flying. I stand frozen until Mom hurries me away. Within a month, we leave the cottage on the Pickwick estate and return home. The new owner, an investor, has rented it back to us, and my world returns to normal. Or as far as normal gets when you’re a Pickwick who doesn’t fit the mold
.

I come back to the present to find Maggie staring at me. “Isn’t that a male-dominated profession?”

“It is, especially in these parts, but I’m making headway, much to the frustration of my competition.” She smiles. “I have a knack for getting top dollar.”

More like sex appeal. And she probably isn’t averse to using it to her advantage as she did in high school. “I’m glad you found your niche.”

She shifts the cases. “I’d better see what accommodations Devyn has chosen.” She crosses to the stairs with a stride born of confidence in all things female. Despite years of observation and practice,
I can’t quite get my hips to do what hers do—sway, but not so much that it’s obvious.

Resigned to feel frumpy while Maggie is here, I decide to go all the way—two slices of cheese on my grilled cheese sandwich rather than one. And maybe one of those little pecan pies Uncle Obe must have stocked up on before he landed in the hospital.

Errol lifts his big head from his paws when I enter the library two hours after I holed up in the kitchen to munch through my sandwich and make calls to clients.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let Errol in.” Devyn sets her book aside and leans down to ruffle his neck. “I went for a walk, and he was down at the pond with Axel. Axel said you wouldn’t mind if I brought him in for the night.”