Roses (65 page)

“To make up for the swindle,” Rachel interrupted.

Matt looked uncomfortable. “Well, maybe… but he assures me that once you hear the full story from him, you’ll understand everything.”

“So I can fall victim to his charming spin as you apparently have?” she said. “Your grandfather’s reason for buying those
acres may have been noble, but it was self-serving, too. He needed a site to establish a pulp mill. They were convenient and
cheap. If you knew anything about the history of the founders of Howbutker, you’d know that the families
never
borrowed from each other. If Uncle Ollie had been in trouble, no way would he have allowed your grandfather to bail him out.”

“He didn’t know those acres weren’t Aunt Mary’s to sell.”

“But he had to have known the money came from somewhere. Who else but his wealthy friend?”

She read defeat in Matt’s stumped silence, the dull frustration in his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want?”

“An even trade. He keeps the pulp mill, and I get Somerset. The originals of these letters get destroyed. If he doesn’t accept
those terms, then I’m going after my father’s land. I’ve already contacted a lawyer specializing in fraud litigation. Taylor
Sutherland. You may have heard of him.”

A range of emotions—anger, despair, disbelief—swept Matt’s face. “You would take my grandfather to court at his age, risk
endangering his health, destroy his good name?”

“That will be up to him. I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“And you’d throw away any chance for us?”

“My great-aunt and your grandfather threw away any chance for us, Matt.” She pushed the letters toward him and stood, signaling
their meeting was over. “I’m sure when he reads those, he’ll want to do the right thing for all concerned.”

“Why?” Matt asked quietly, remaining seated, a frown of incomprehension drawing his brows together.

“Why what?”

“Why is Somerset so important to you that you’d destroy what we could have—what may never come again for either of us—certainly
not to me.”

She heard the heartbreak in his voice, an echo of her own, but she forced herself to confront the hurt in his gaze. “Because
it’s my duty to keep it in Toliver hands. I will not see it slip away at the expense of salvaging a dead woman’s conscience.”

“It was hers to leave to whom she wished, Rachel.”

“No, it was hers to keep and hold for the next generation of Tolivers. Your grandfather stands to lose nothing—only to keep
what he has and the reason to call Howbutker home. I want the same for me, since…” Her voice faltered and her chin trembled.
“I have nowhere else to go, no other place to call home.”

“Rachel, honey…”

He was out of his chair before she could move, his arms suddenly around her, holding her fast against his thundering chest.
“I can give you a home,” he said gruffly. “I can be the reason you call Howbutker home.”

She set her jaw against the urge to cry and gave herself a moment before she wriggled her head free from beneath his chin.
“You know that’s not possible, Matt. Not now. Can you imagine how I would feel seeing the plant puffing away on land your
grandfather stole from my dad? The irony is”—she stared into his eyes like one seeing the last of the supply ships pull away—“if
Aunt Mary had left things as they were—if she hadn’t interfered—we could have been together.”

“Rachel… my love.” His embrace tightened. “Don’t do this to us. Somerset is only a piece of land.”

“It’s the family
farm
, Matt, the legacy of generations of Tolivers. It’s the soil of our history. To lose it… to see it in the hands of anyone
not of my blood… I couldn’t bear it. How can you ask me not to fight for the only connection I have now to my family?”

He dropped his arms. “So that’s the way it is.”

She turned toward the table and wrote a number on the motel notepad. “This is my number in Dallas. Your grandfather can reach
me there, if I don’t hear from him tonight. Tell him he has until the end of the week to agree to my terms. Otherwise, Monday
morning I give Taylor Sutherland the go-ahead to file suit.”

“You realize you’ll be forcing Granddad to betray Mary’s trust. How can he ever live with that?”

“The same way he’s learned to live with the betrayal of mine.”

“Answer me this, Rachel,” Matt said, taking the note. “If Mary had remembered you as you’d expected, would you still regret
reneging on your promise to your mother—and sacrificing all the years you could have had with your family?”

The question rocked her. She had not thought to ask it of herself, perhaps never would have. He deserved the truth. It would
make it easier for him to forget her. “No,” she said.

He inserted the notepaper and letters into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Well, I guess that makes you a Toliver after
all. We’ll be in touch,” he said, and strode through the open door without looking back.

I
n the kitchen of his bachelor domicile—an elegant six-room apartment set atop a row of shops that faced the town circle—Amos
studied the contents of his pantry for something effortless to prepare for supper. He was hungry, but too dispirited to go
to the trouble of making a meal, and if he went out, he might miss a call from Matt or Percy or—dared he hope?—Rachel. All
afternoon, he’d waited to hear from one of them, hoping to learn what she was doing in Howbutker. There was certainly nothing
here for her anymore except, of course, those who loved her, but it looked as if she wanted nothing to do with them.

Bran flakes, he decided, taking down a bowl. Lord, he was depressed! Not since Claudia, Matt’s mother, had died had he felt
this low. He could guess what
she
would have thought of this mess. As he’d predicted, the fallout from that damn codicil had been ruinous for everyone concerned—Rachel
most of all, of course, but his main worry was Percy. He’d never seen a man go down so fast. Always faultlessly groomed, confident,
energetic—he now looked like a patient on bed rest and chicken broth. He had expected him to grow old, but not
shrivel
—not Percy Warwick, business magnate, prince among men, his hero.

The buzz of the apartment’s intercom cut sharply into his gray thoughts. His heart jumped.
Rachel!
He set down the milk carton and hurried to speak hopefully into the grid. “Yes?”

“Amos, it’s me. Matt.”

“Matt!” Thank God
somebody
was checking in. He pushed the button to unlock the street-level door. “Come on up.”

He stepped out onto the landing expecting to see Rachel behind Matt’s broad shoulders, but that hope dived like a rent kite
as Matt alone stepped through the security door, his look auguring nothing good. “You didn’t find her,” he said as Matt started
up.

“Oh, I found her all right.”

“She spat in your face.”

“Might as well have. Got a beer?”

“An unlimited supply. Come on in.”

Amos led his guest into a small living room with French doors opening to a terrace that overlooked the trim acres of the city
park. It was his favorite spot. “If you don’t think it’s too warm for the terrace, I’ll bring a couple out there,” he said.

He heard the French doors open as he went into the kitchen, returned the milk to the refrigerator, and tore two cans out of
their paper packaging. An ominous chill rippled along his skin. He sniffed bad news like the threat of a storm.

“Where did you find her?” he asked as he joined Matt and handed him a can of beer inserted into a foam holder. Matt had not
sat down. Amos could almost feel the heat of suppressed emotion keeping him on his feet, but also a cold control, reminding
him somehow of Matt’s rugged Marine Corps father, whom he’d known only through Claudia.

“At a motel in Marshall. She knew I’d find her if she booked a room in Howbutker. It was just by luck that I learned her whereabouts
from Henry. She’ll be leaving for Dallas in the morning. Don’t take it personally that she didn’t contact you, Amos. She wasn’t
here on a social call.”

“What, then?” he asked, choosing to sit down.

Matt took a strong pull of the beer, set it down, and removed his jacket. He draped it over the back of a fat striped lounger
and took two letters from his pocket. “Are you familiar with the name Miles Toliver?”

Amos nodded. “Mary’s brother. William’s father. He died in France when William was about six, leaving the boy orphaned. That’s
why he became Mary’s ward.”

“You know your Toliver history well. I wish I had before today, but let me tell you a tale I’ll bet you don’t know.”

Amos listened in silence, his jaw slack, the beer turning to sour mash in his stomach. When Matt had finished and he’d read
the copies of Miles’s and Percy’s correspondence, all he could manage to say was, “What arrogance, what
conceit,
to believe I’ve ever known anything about the Tolivers, Warwicks, and DuMonts of Howbutker, Texas. What does Rachel intend
to do with this information?”

“Sue Granddad for land fraud, if he doesn’t meet her terms.”

Amos whipped off his glasses. “You can’t be serious. And her terms are…?”

“She wants Granddad to trade Somerset for the land he
stole
from her—her word.”

“Oh, dear.” Amos closed his eyes and massaged the depressions in his nose where his glasses had sat. In light of the child’s
appalling discoveries, how could she do anything else? “Will Percy be willing to do that?” he asked.

“I… don’t know. He said he’d do the right thing, whatever that is. I’m here to ask if we’re in trouble—if Rachel’s boat has
a chance of floating.”

Amos handed back the letters. “If it doesn’t entail returning Somerset, your grandfather may not have the choice of doing
the right thing. Those letters pose a credible threat to the property in question. So, yes, I’d say that you’re in trouble
and up against more like a frigate with a full sail.”

Matt reached for his jacket. “Let’s go see Granddad, Amos. He needs to hear that from the only man who can convince him.”

But will he listen? Amos wondered, getting to his feet despite the heaviness of his doubts.

I
N THE LIBRARY, WHERE HE’D
been waiting for Matt and Rachel, Percy returned the receiver to its cradle, crestfallen. “Rachel won’t be coming, Granddad,”
Matt had telephoned to inform him. “She has her own interpretation of the facts, and no amount of artful persuasion will budge
her from it. She wants Somerset back, and she may have the leverage to get it. Amos and I are on the way now to discuss options
with you.”

“How… is she?” he’d asked.

“Feeling betrayed, deceived, lied to, kicked in the gut, definitely not kindly disposed to the Warwicks—or the memory of her
great-aunt.”

“What a terrible injustice to Mary,” Percy had murmured.

“You’ll have to convince me of that, Granddad.”

“I intend to.”

Sighing, Percy worked himself out of his chair on trembling legs, his earlier hopes evaporated. He did not feel well. A thin
film of perspiration stood on his forehead, and his loafers felt as if there were weights in them, not a good sign. He shuffled
to the intercom and pushed the on button. “Savannah, there’s been a change of plans,” he rasped into the speaker. “I’m afraid
we won’t be entertaining our special guest after all, but your good meal won’t go to waste. Matt and Amos are on the way,
and they’ll make short shrift of your efforts. Leave everything warming and we’ll serve ourselves.”

“The appetizers, too?”

“Send them upstairs. The boys’ll need sustenance. And a bucket of ice and a bottle of my best Scotch,” he added.

“Mister Percy, you don’t sound so good.”

“I’m not good. Put Grady on. I have one further request.”

In the hallway, he bypassed the staircase, which at the moment looked an Everest beyond his strength, and took the elevator,
which he rarely used, but tonight he must conserve himself for what he had to do. At his age, and feeling as he did, tomorrow
might be too late. If Rachel refused to hear his story in person, he’d set the record straight another way—and in the presence
of Amos and his grandson, who—no matter what it cost him—were entitled to the truth.

M
ATT, WITH
A
MOS FOLLOWING IN
his car, arrived ten minutes later. He smelled something delicious drifting from the kitchen and saw the flowers and prettily
set table and felt sick to his soul. The feast was laid, but Rachel would not partake. What a tragic and unnecessary waste.
He’d feebly believed that, given time, he’d get over her, but even now that she’d shown him where her heart lay, he knew he
wouldn’t. She was a string of the girl he remembered, brown as river rock, all angles and sharp edges, but she had taken his
breath away when she’d stepped into that motel room, and he’d have given everything he possessed in that moment to sweep her
up and carry her away to some… bower to love all the hurt and pain away. His grandfather had warned him, and he wished he’d
listened, but there it was. She was the woman he wanted in his life for the rest of his days. After her, there would be no
one else. A wife, maybe, but no other woman.

He entered the sitting room to find his grandfather returned to his old impeccable form, but his sick pallor shook Matt to
the center of his being. “Granddad, how are you feeling?”

“Up to what I’ve got planned for the evening. Take a seat, fellows. Amos, will you do the honors?” He gestured toward the
bottle of Scotch set beside a sterling silver ice bucket on the bar.

“Gladly,” Amos said, sharing a look of grieving concern with Matt.

Matt sank in his usual wingback. The ghosts from the past were galloping this evening. He suddenly longed for his mother,
for the father he never knew. He had never felt so lonely in all his life. The seat of his chair was frayed, he noticed, provoking
even more acutely the memory of his gentle, soft-spoken mother. She had decorated this room. The blues and creams and greens,
the occasional bright burgundies, all faded now, had been her choices. He could remember a discussion at the breakfast table
about wallpaper, his grandfather saying, “I’ll like whatever you decide upon, Claudia. You could not possibly disappoint me.”