Twelve

Sara listened to the young minister talk about what a loving, caring, generous and kind woman Ruth Medlar had been. But even he was having a hard time saying the words when the only people there were ones he'd found hanging around the church that day. The man who mowed the lawn had his head down. The secretary kept looking at her watch. The assistant minister had a new baby at home and seemed to want to lie down on the soft grass and go to sleep.

As for Sara, her hands were clenched so tightly she could hardly feel them. Ruth Medlar had never done or said a kind thing to anyone in her life—except for her beloved son.

If her good-for-nothing brother was available, Sara would have sent him money for the funeral—Randal was always broke—and let him handle it all. In lieu of that, she'd tried to dump the whole mess onto the church, but they'd refused. They'd insisted that Sara return to Lachlan and deal with it all herself. She understood, but it didn't mean she wasn't bitter about it. She wanted to be here as little as everyone around her.

The minister finally stopped his flowery lies—and people say I write fiction, Sara thought—and the funeral was over.

She gave a curt nod and left as quickly as possible. She didn't go down the gravel path with the others and have to listen to their fake words of sympathy. Instead, she cut across the lawn. There was a gravestone she needed to see. Or maybe she shouldn't see it, shouldn't remind herself that a man she'd loved so very much was forever gone.

As she rounded the little building that sat in the center of the cemetery, she halted. If she'd been hit by lightning, she couldn't have stopped more abruptly.

Another funeral service was going on. But unlike her mother's, this one was attended by what looked to be half the town. A big photo of Henry Lowell was on an easel.

Standing on the far side of a casket, like a vision from a nightmare, were three women Sara had known long ago. It was like a Lachlan High School reunion—something she'd avoided for so many years. Tayla Kirkwood, Donna Wyatt and Noreen Stewart stood there, side by side. They'd been close friends in high school and were widows now.

Ate your men alive and threw the bones away? Sara wondered.

But in the middle were two men who took Sara's breath away. She hadn't seen them since Cal had passed and they looked so very much like him. His dark looks, inherited from his Brazilian mother, had always made Cal stand out in a sea of blond heads and pale skin.

One was Cal's son, Roy, the bane of his father's life. Liar, cheat, thief. As bad as Randal but without her brother's finesse, his sense of showmanship, his likability.

For all of Roy's sins, he was still a very good-looking man. There was gray in his dark hair and he had unshaven cheeks, but they just made him look more interesting. His eyes hadn't lost the sparkle of his lust for life.

He was standing beside his ex-wife, Heather, who looked like she'd been crying for days. It was obvious how much she'd loved her husband, Henry. And as Sara watched, she saw Roy glance at the diamond on Heather's hand. Saw him stare at her pearl earrings.

On Roy's other side was a young man who looked so much like Cal that Sara thought she might faint. When Cal was eighteen years old, his senior year of high school, he had been a glorious creature: tall, dark, athletic, smart. He and his two friends had been dubbed The Magnificent Three—and they well deserved the title.

That Sara had been the girlfriend—the true love—of one of them had been a great source of pride to her. The world that she and Cal had outside of school, away from the spotlight of sports and school intrigues, was what fueled her entire life. It was what gave her the strength to survive her mother and the horror that was her home life.

That it had all ended badly didn't take away the seed that had rooted so deeply and strongly. Love lasts forever, even if the lovers are rarely together.

The boy who looked so much like Cal was his grandson Jackson, grown up now and bursting with health and energy—and, from the expression on his handsome face, anger.

When Sara saw Roy put his arm around Heather in a proprietary way, then saw the scowl on Jack's young face deepen, she knew that war was to come. She could foresee the future: Roy would move back in on his ex, now a rich widow, and Jack would do what he could to stop it.

I must get him away from here, Sara thought. When the funeral service ended, she went forward.

No one seemed to be surprised to see her. But then, news always spread quickly in Lachlan. Cal's widow, Donna, snake that she was, wisely slithered away through the crowd. She had always been one to do things in secret, never in the open.

Tayla still wore that "forgive me" look, but Sara ignored her. Noreen Stewart didn't deign to look at a Medlar.

Roy was so intent on leading pretty Heather away that he barely glanced at Sara.

Bet if I had on my Cartier watch and some pearls he'd run to me, she thought, then dismissed him.

Jack stayed by the coffin, watching as it was lowered into the ground. His eighteen-year-old eyes had a look of age and turmoil that were too much for him.

She didn't know if his grandfather had ever mentioned her to him. But she did know how close they'd been. Jack was what Cal had hoped his son would be.

She went to stand beside him. They were the only mourners left. "I'm Sara," she said softly and didn't know if he heard her.

For a long moment he didn't move, but then he took her hand in his and held it tightly—and that was when Sara's tears started. She'd never met Henry Lowell, but this tall, beautiful boy should have been her grandchild. Hers and Cal's.

They stood side by side, holding hands, a tall young man and a short older woman, two strangers who should have been family. Their tears fell as they stared at the coffin with the red roses on top.

It was a while before Jack turned away. He released Sara's hand. Without looking at her, he said, "Are you hungry?"

"Always." She was at her heaviest then. Years and years of sitting and writing and eating from deli delivery had packed on the pounds.

He turned to look at her, seemed to study her, then nodded. "You have a car?"

"A rental parked over there."

"Leave it and let's go in my truck."

"Sure," she said. At her age, it was always a pleasure when a young person didn't ask her if she needed help lifting her handbag.

Jack's truck was about two feet off the ground and her short legs had a hard time getting up into it, but she didn't ask for help. When he took off so that he left a strip of rubber, she laughed like she was again sixteen. Cal had been brilliant with cars and his engines rumbled as they rode.

Jack took her to a drive-through hamburger place and ordered for both of them.

"Onions okay?"

"Why not?" She was beginning to realize that what he was doing was courting her. The driving too fast and greasy burgers were a teenager's idea of caviar and champagne. He wants something, she thought.

Had it been anyone else, she would have said, "Let me out here." If success had taught her nothing else, it was that everyone in the world claimed to be the basis of all that she'd achieved—and so she should give them money.

But Sara didn't protest. Whatever Cal's grandson wanted, she would do her best to give it to him. She could feel the pain radiating from him, and something inside her felt called to heal him however she could.

He drove down a gravel lane and parked under a big oak tree. Sara knew it was one of the make-out sites for Lachlan kids. In fact, she and Cal had often made love on a blanket about twenty feet away from this very spot, hidden under the trees.

She leaned back against the door and took one of the huge hamburgers and a giant Coke. When he said nothing, she began. "So where are you going to college?"

"Can't. Gotta protect Mom from Roy. And Ivy and Evan."

He didn't say this in a "feel sorry for me" way, but as fact.

"I'll pay for your college," she said. "Ivy League. Anywhere you want. You don't have to worry about being away from your family—it'd just be for a few years. You'll be back in no time. Unless you go to law school."

"Nope."

"Medicine?"

He shook his head.

She chewed awhile. "You know exactly what you want, don't you?"

He nodded. "Granddad Cal told me that if I ever really needed help that you'd give it."

"Did he?" Sara's voice was hoarse. "So he talked about me? Bet Donna loved that!"

"He spoke of you only to me. He never mentioned you to anyone else. But he said that you and I are alike."

"How so?"

"I'd like to think that we're just plain lovable, but it's more likely that we're hardheaded and stubborn. Fight to the death when we see a wrong."

Sara turned away so Jack wouldn't see her tears. How deeply she missed Cal! The only person who saw her as she truly was and loved her anyway. She looked back at the young man beside her. "What do you need?"

"I want to take over my father's business. And by ‘father,' I mean Henry Lowell. You see, he was...a kind and very generous man."

That his words were the same as the minister had said about her mother made Sara smile. Then grimace. "Died broke, did he?"

"Pretty much," Jack said. "He paid too much for materials and charged too little. If a customer gave him a sad story, he would lower the price of whatever he was selling."

"What about you?" she asked. "You have the same kind heart?"

"I have Wyatt blood in me. I don't over-or undercharge."

She waited for him to go on.

"Five years ago, Tayla Kirkwood returned to Lachlan and—" He broke off when Sara gasped. "Are you all right?"

"You want to go into business with her?" Sara's voice was angry.

"I want to go into business with you," he replied in the same angry tone. "If you'd just put those stupid high-school feuds behind you and listen to the deal Henry and I put together—"

Sara was laughing.

"You sound just like him! Cal was always calm unless I got angry, then he'd start yelling."

"Really?" Jack's eyes were wide. "I never heard Granddad yell at anyone."

"That's because Donna is too bland and boring to raise any emotion in a person. She—"

"She is my grandmother." Jack's voice was low, almost threatening.

"Shouldn't be," Sara growled, sounding just as fierce.

"Then you should have stayed and fought for him!" Jack yelled.

Sara started to defend herself, but instead she nodded. "Yes, I should have. But by the time I came to my senses, Donna had made her move and your father was on the way. Cal believed in doing the right thing. I didn't attend their wedding."

Jack reached across the truck seat and squeezed her hand. "Sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. The last few months have been hard. Dad knew he was dying, so he and I worked to figure out how I could take care of everyone after he was gone."

"A plan that involved me."

"Yes," Jack said. "I need money, but it's an investment. I need backing to continue Dad's remodeling and construction business. Lachlan is coming back to life and I want in on it. And when it succeeds, you'll benefit, too."

"You could do that after college."

Jack frowned. "If I left this town for four years, Roy would divorce Krystal, then sweet-talk my mother into remarrying him. He would spend the little that Henry left her and Ivy. Roy would never pay child support for Evan, and Ivy would have to live with Roy, and—"

She put her hand on his arm. "I get it. No college. Do you have anything about this business on paper? And do you know enough to remodel houses? You're awfully young."

He picked up the empty wrappers and wadded them into the bag. "You have time to go see some houses?"

"Just you and me?"

"Just us. But it will take hours because I have a lot of ideas about what I want to do."

"My whole life is about ideas. I'd love to see what you have planned."

Grinning, he started the truck and pulled out...

"You went into business together," Kate said.

"We did."

"But if it's all so aboveboard, why do people think there's something underhanded going on?"

For an answer, he just looked at her.

"Your father's reputation."

"Right. And the fact that Sara wanted her part in it kept secret."

"Afraid Roy would hit her up for money?"

"Him and everyone else. And she wanted people to think I did everything on my own. Not many people believed that Roy Wyatt's eighteen-year-old son could run a business—and sometimes I thought they were right. But I managed." He gave a little smile of pride. "Anyway, after I took out for wages and materials, Sara and I split everything fifty-fifty. She loved doing it! We'd meet in New York twice a year and I'd show her floor plans of what was for sale. We'd spend at least a week together and she'd feed me until I could hardly walk. And we'd go to lots of Broadway shows. I have a weakness for them."

"And no one knew of this?"

"I didn't even tell my mother. I was afraid she'd slip and tell Roy."

"Did he, uh... Did he and your mother get back together?"

"He tried. He told her she'd always been the one he loved and that all the bad he'd done was because he was so angry at being fool enough to lose her. Et cetera. Et cetera."

"I could see how that would do it. She's a strong woman to be able to resist that." Kate looked up. "If you were buying houses, Roy must have thought Henry left you a lot of money."

"That's exactly what he thought. He tried to get me to ‘help him out,' meaning to cut him in on the profits, but I refused."

From the way he said that, Kate guessed that there were some heated—maybe violent—arguments. She held out her glass and Jack refilled both of theirs. "Who knows what now?"

"The town only knows that Sara Medlar bought the biggest house in Lachlan, paid the town bad boy's son to remodel it, and now we're moved in together. Old-timers like Sheriff Flynn think we're trying to make people believe we aren't trash. To him, that's impossible to achieve."

"That must hurt." She looked at him over the wineglass. "Am I the only one who knows this?"

"Yes. Ivy thinks I paid for her schooling, but Sara did. And Evan thinks—" He drew in his breath. "Thought I was going to send him to veterinarian school. He'd only finally made up his mind about what he wanted to be when—when..."

Kate looked out at the water. "You said you were going to move out. Did you mean that?"

"At the moment I did. It was your eyes. I knew what you'd heard about me, so I asked Sara if she'd mind if I told you the truth." He lifted one side of his hip, withdrew his wallet and handed her a tiny flash drive. "All the paperwork of Wyatt Construction is on there, plus the name and number of our accounting firm. Sara's name is on everything, including payments. You can check it all out."

She took the little drive. "I believe you."

"You'll keep this to yourself? No telling your boyfriend?"

"He's not—" She stopped. "I won't tell anyone, even my mother. But if she thinks I'm keeping even the tiniest secret from her, she'll put me through an interrogation that will be torture. I swear I won't reveal this. I'll protect you and Aunt Sara."

"Thank you." He still had his wallet in hand, and he withdrew a card. "A school friend, Gayle Ashe, called me yesterday. Her husband got a job in Houston and they've moved out. They're going to put their house in Lachlan up for sale. Dad built the house and it was one of the first I worked on. Three bedrooms, three and a half baths on half an acre. Gayle wanted me to make some minor repairs before calling Tayla."

He handed her his business card with the address on the back. "I thought maybe you could show the house to Stewart before it comes onto the market. He might like the place. It would be your first sale in Lachlan."

"Thank you."

Jack leaned back over the bench. "Sara's putting her notebook away. You ready to go home?"

When Kate stood up, the two glasses of wine made her trip and Jack caught her arm. "Thank you for telling me all this. I feel honored that you trust me with it." She smiled at him. "You're like the brother I never had." She walked past him to return to her aunt.

"Your what?" Jack said under his breath, then louder, "Brother? You think I'm your brother?"