Return to Oak Valley (40 page)
“Sure.” Her brown eyes curious, Sue invited her into the office. Sue Wiggins had been born in the valley, on the reservation, and like many of the Indians in the valley, carried in her veins almost as much white blood as she did Indian. She was about ten years older than Shelly, and while Shelly didn't know her exactly, she knew
of
her.
Her round face kind, Sue motioned for Shelly to follow her back to the small office where she had been working. Indicating a chair, Sue took another chair behind her desk, and said, “Um, I was real sorry to hear about your brother's death. He donated a lot of time and money to the school and could be relied upon to help the community and the schools in particular. It was such a tragedy.”
Shelly expressed her gratitude for the condolences. They chatted a moment about Shelly's life in New Orleans and her return to the valley—how it had changed so little in seventeen years—and then Shelly guided the conversation back to her reason for dropping in.
“Uh, I was wondering,” she began tentatively, “how one goes about setting up a scholarship?”
Sue beamed at her. “I see that you're going to follow in Josh's footsteps. Wonderful!”
“Oh! Did Josh set up a scholarship?”
“He certainly did! It must have been three or four years ago, he came out of the blue, just like you, put a $50,000.00 check on Principal Hickman's desk and said he wanted to set up a scholarship. We were floored—it was the biggest scholarship donation we've ever had. It was decided to put the money in stocks and bonds and that the interest each year would be put into one scholarship for one lucky student.” She grinned. “It's called the Josh Granger Perpetual Scholarship Grant. Your brother was a generous man.”
Shelly sat there, blinking at her. Her thoughts scrambled through her brain. Was it possible? The timing was right. The amount was right. And it sounded just like Josh. A slow tremulous smile spread across her face. And how like Josh to rob Peter to pay Paul and grab a little glory in the process. How like him to take the outrageous sum he'd charged Sloan for the right-of-way and put it into a scholarship. Her spirits lifted. Josh might have been a rascal, but at least he was a rascal with a kind heart.
So now what did she do? Even if Josh had used the money for a good cause, he had still taken gross advantage of the Ballinger family's desire to obliterate all signs of the Granger right-of-way. Any way you looked at it, Sloan was still out the $50,000.00—and he wasn't about to let her give it back to him. So that left…
Smiling hugely, Shelly plunked down the check she had received this morning. “I would like to open another scholarship account in the same amount—set it up exactly down the line like the one Josh set up—only its name will be the Sloan Ballinger Perpetual Scholarship Grant.”
The thrilled expression on Sue's face faded the instant Shelly mentioned Sloan Ballinger's name. Uneasily, she said, “Well, I'll have to run the proposal by Mr. Hickman, but I'm sure that there will be no problem.” The brown eyes troubled, she asked, “Er, this isn't going to get the school embroiled in some sort of feud between Grangers and Ballingers, is it? I mean, we appreciate your generous offer, and I would hate to turn the money away, but we can't afford to get caught in the crossfire between your family and Mr. Ballinger's.”
Shelly shook her head. This was one area where she felt confident. Any feuding that might arise would be strictly between her and Sloan—he would never take this sort of argument public, nor would he involve any of his family. It was between them, and she rather suspected that once he got over his astonishment that he would see the humor in the situation. She hoped so.
Arriving home several minutes later, the check left with Sue Wiggins for the time being, she was smiling as she parked behind the house. Her spirits were lighter, and she was looking forward to M.J.'s arrival this evening. But the day stretched out in front of her, and she was at a loss how to fill the hours. She went up to her studio and spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon in fruitless pursuit of art. Ha! By the time she gave up, all she had to show for her industry were several dirty brushes and a canvas that depicted…something, but she sure as hell couldn't tell what it was.
Discouraged and feeling a little down once more, she trudged to the kitchen. Nick was seated at the kitchen table, taking a bite out of a sandwich that would have done Dagwood proud. The table was covered with condiments and several different kinds of cheeses and meats, and in the center sat a platter filled with lettuce, tomatoes, dill pickles, and sliced onions. Acey was seated across from Nick, and Maria was taking something from the refrigerator.
Maria looked up when Shelly entered, and smiled. “I didn't want to interrupt you when you were working, but I figured that hunger would bring you down soon enough.”
Seating herself next to Nick and reaching for a plate and a couple slices of bread, Shelly said, “Hunger or boredom, either one will send you in search of a way to end it.”
“So which is it?” Nick asked after he swallowed. “Hunger or boredom?”
“Both, I guess,” Shelly admitted, slathering mustard on her slices of whole wheat bread.
“With all the work there is to do around here, you're bored?” demanded Acey, his brows twitching.
“Come on, don't give me a hard time. You know what I mean.” Turning the subject away from herself, Shelly asked, “So what have you two been up to while I have been slaving in the studio—creating nothing by the way.”
The front doorbell chimed just then, and they all exchanged a glance.
“You expecting company?” Nick asked, with a cocked brow.
Shelly shook her head. “No—at least not this afternoon.” Putting down her half-made sandwich as the doorbell chimed again, she stood up, and said, “I'd better go see who it is.”
The doorbell was ringing insistently by the time she reached the front door. Irritated, she flung open the door and stood stock-still, staring openmouthed and wide-eyed at the tall, slim man impatiently pushing the doorbell.
At the sight of her, he ceased his actions, threw wide his arms, and, grinning from ear to ear, exclaimed, “
Ma chérie!
I find you at last.”
With a joyful shriek, Shelly catapulted into his arms. “Roman!”
L
aughing, Roman Granger swung Shelly up into his arms. Heedless of the half dozen or so bags and suitcases that were scattered across the front deck, he whirled her around, and said, “You're a damn hard lady to find. When you said that St. Galen's was to hell and gone, I didn't really believe you.” He gave a mock shudder. “I do now. Believe me, I do now. Thank God, there was some old fellow at the airport who was willing to drop me off on your doorstep—otherwise, I'd still be standing on the airstrip wondering where in the hell I had landed.”
“It's a far cry from New Orleans, isn't it?” she said, smiling.
Putting her back on her feet, he said, “Far cry doesn't even begin to explain it. In case you haven't noticed, your beloved Oak Valley”—he spread his arms wide—“is in the middle of
nowhere.
And your airport…
mon Dieu
! As I live and breathe I do not think I shall ever feel as frightened as I did when the pilot pointed out the airstrip and said that he was going to land us on it.” He shuddered. “I may never fly again.”
“Come on, it wasn't that bad,” Shelly teased. “At least the airstrip is paved.”
Roman appeared struck by that statement. “And for that I shall be forever grateful. I may even pay for a Mass or two to be said for the genius who conceived that brilliant idea.”
There was only a slight resemblance between the two cousins. Since there were several generations between the original Jeb Granger who had set out for California after the Civil War and his younger brother, Forrest Granger, who had remained behind in New Orleans to rebuild on what was left of the family plantation, that fact wasn't surprising. The only physical trait they shared were the dazzling Granger green eyes. Roman's hair was black as the ace of spades, expertly cut and styled by a master hand, and while tall, he was slender, though his shoulders were broad and his body muscular enough to please even the most exacting critic. There was an elegance about Roman that bordered almost on the effete, and a few bullies had discovered to their pain that his long, whipcord-lean frame contained a great deal of strength and that he knew how to use it quite, quite effectively. Roman moved with a dancer's easy sinuous grace and if Sloan made Shelly think of a tiger, Roman called to mind the elegant, swift, and equally deadly cheetah.
“I know you said you were coming out for a visit, but I had no idea that you would show up so soon,” Shelly remarked as she slid her arm around Roman's waist; he did the same to her, and together they walked to the front door.
Nick met them at the doorway and Shelly smothered a laugh as the two men regarded each other. Nick didn't appear to be terribly pleased with the way Roman's hand rested on Shelly's waist, and she could feel Roman's sudden tenseness at Nick's apparent ease in her house. Territorial males to the last, she could almost smell the testosterone in the air as they took the other's measure.
Concealing her amusement, she introduced them and they shook hands, mouthing appropriate greetings. Civilities out of the way, Nick struck first. “Come for a visit, have you?” he drawled. His gaze slid up and down Roman's casual sophistication, taking in the black silk turtleneck underneath the gray Bill Blass blazer, the knife-edged crease of his slacks, right on down to the gleaming black Bally loafers on his feet. “Think you'd have a better time in San Francisco.”
Roman arched a slim arrogant brow. If he looked like a model out of the pages of
GQ
, Nick looked like he had just come in from the barn—which he had. In contrast to Roman's sartorial elegance, Nick's well-washed blue-striped cotton shirt was wrinkled, his blue jeans were faded and worn, his boots dusty. Roman frowned as he looked at Nick, the younger man's likeness to other Granger family members striking him almost instantly. Who the hell was this wolf cub that stared back at him with eyes he saw every morning in his own mirror?
“Perhaps,” Roman replied to Nick with a cool look. “But since I came to see Shelly, San Francisco holds no interest for me.” Roman smiled warmly at Shelly. “Unless,
ma belle
, you would like to take in the sights of that most romantic city?”
Nick stiffened, annoyed at Roman's easy manner with Shelly. “Shelly's got too many things to do around here to waste her time on sight-seeing,” he said tightly. “Besides, she can see San Francisco whenever she wants.”
Shelly laughed out loud and put herself between the two men. “OK, guys,” she said, “it was fun for a minute or two to watch you strut your stuff, but enough is enough.” She kissed Roman's cheek and then Nick's. “I'm not a bone to be fought over. Be nice. I adore both of you. Don't make me choose between you. Now shake hands and be friends, or…” and she frowned at both men, “I shall be very, very angry with the pair of you.”
Nick grinned sheepishly, feeling foolish. Sticking out his hand again, he said, “Isn't she just the bossiest little thing when you get her riled? Pleased to meet you and welcome to Oak Valley—this time I mean it. Sorry for the bad beginning—shall we try again?”
Roman smiled ruefully, grasping Nick's proffered hand in a firm, friendly grasp. “Indeed, I shall be more than happy to start again. Acting the alpha male is so very fatiguing—which is probably why I do it so seldom.” His voice warm, only the faintest hint of Creole in it, he said, “So you are Nick. Shelly regaled us frequently with tales of youthful crimes in which you figured largely—she, of course, or so she claims, was always innocent. She called you once, I think, an imp of Satan. In recent days, however, she speaks on the telephone of nothing but your helpfulness to her and the plans you two have concocted for the revival of the Granger Cattle Company. I'd be most interested to hear more of it.” He grinned at Nick. “Don't let these clothes fool you—I have been known to get down and dirty with the best of them.”
“Dirty is one thing I can guarantee you'll be if you hang around us for very long,” Nick said with a smile. “Dust, heat, exhaustion, and aching muscles come along with the package, too.”
In the kitchen more introductions were made, and Roman charmed Maria and had her looking flustered by exclaiming, “But you cannot be Nick's mother—you are far too young and pretty. It is a pleasure to meet you at last—Josh and Shelly have sung your praises to the skies—I feel as if I already know you.” He grinned at her. “I have long heard tales of your scrumptious apple pies and wizardry in the kitchen.”
Having watched this exchange with growing mistrust of Roman's charming manner, Acey was narrowed-eyed and pursed-lipped when he shook Roman's hand. Damned lounge lizard had no business waltzing in here and turning Maria's head. Who the hell did he think he was hanging all over Shelly while flirting with Maria? Cousin, my ass!
Amusement gleamed in Roman's eyes, aware of Acey's instinctive reaction to a new man in an area he obviously considered his own. “Ah, so you are the venerable Acey,” he exclaimed, “the wicked ogre of Shelly's childhood. She claims you would jerk her bloodied body up from the ground and put her right back on the wild, mean-tempered horse that had just bucked her off.” Quietly he added, “I heard those tales many times, as well as the ones that show your patience, kindness, and affection for her. She said you taught her to ride and ride well and that having you around made up some for the loss of her father. She is very, very fond of you—and it appears with good reason. I am very happy to meet you.”
“Ain't heard much about you,” Acey said, trying hard not to like this smooth-tongued stranger. “Know you're a cousin and that you live in New Orleans, not much else.” He sent Roman a squinty-eyed look. “She don't brag much on you.”
Shelly choked back a laugh. “Come on, Acey, give the guy a chance. I've already warned Nick that I'm not going to take sides. If you want to act like a Neanderthal—go outside.”
Acey held his ground for a moment, but seeing the affection in Shelly's eyes when she looked at her cousin, he drawled, “I knew that women's lib crap was a bad thing. Nowadays, women got no respect for masculine tradition. Guess we'll have to forgo beating each other to a pulp before we become friends.”