Having said his piece, he stretched, giving himself permission to take up even more of the floor space by unfolding his long legs out before him.While she watched, he locked his hands across his belly as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Eudora wasn’t accustomed to having anyone, especially a chauffeur, give her advice on her choices of clothing, yet this man’s entrance into their world had already changed their lives.She heard herself repeating his suggestion as if it had true merit and wondered if she was finally losing her mind.
“The blue?”
He nodded, then shrugged.“Yes, ma’am, but it was just a suggestion.My father always said it never paid to rush a woman.”
“Oh, do quit calling me ma’am,” Eudora said.“It sounds too elderly.”
Ryder looked up and almost grinned.“Well, now, Dora, didn’t anyone ever tell you that age is in the mind of the beholder?”
Eudora’s mouth dropped.This man was positively impossible.Of course he should have known she.meant for him to call her Mrs.Deathridge, not Dora!The very idea, shortening her name like that.
But the deed had already been done, and the name rang in her ears.Dora.That was what her husband, Henry, had called her, and Henry had been dead for all these many years.She gave Ryder a sidelong glance and disappeared into the dressing room with the blue dress in her hand.Dora.Dora.What would Erica and Miles have to say about this?
She shut the door behind her then looked up.Her reflection looked back.For a moment, she almost didn’t recognize herself.Her eyes were bright—from shock, of course.But the glimmer did give life to her expression.Dora.She held the blue dress up beneath her chin.He was right.It brought out the true color of her eyes.She smiled.Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
Only after he was alone did Ryder realize what he’d said.He’d actually thought of his father without coming unglued.In fact, just for a moment, it had felt damned good to remember him at all.
He jammed his Stetson on his head then pulled the brim down low across his forehead and closed his eyes.Ah God, but he missed that old man.So much that it hurt.
* * *
Lash stood on the veranda, staring at the brake lights on the plumber’s van as it slowed to take a corner.A soft, early morning breeze lifted the hair from his forehead, cooling the sweat that had beaded minutes earlier when the plumber had handed him his bill.
Despair settled a little closer upon his shoulders.
Impulsively, he walked down the steps and out into the yard, heading for the gazebo.As a child, it had been his favorite place.As an adult, it was where he went to hide.
Ivy clung to the latticed walls, crocheted by nature into heavy loops of variegated green.Inside, the air rarely moved and only the most persistent rays of sunshine were able to pick and poke their way through the dense growth.
He dropped onto the bench in a slump, then wadded the bill and tossed it into the gathering pile on the floor.Why bother to keep track if they couldn’t be paid?
Minutes passed.He looked down at his watch.It was past time to open the office.With a sigh, he shoved himself off the bench, giving the pile of unpaid bills a final glance.Poor Graystone.She was so sick—in need of too many repairs for his meager pocket to accommodate.
His eyes misted as he walked across the yard.As he entered the house in search of his suit coat and briefcase, a continuing thought kept running through his mind.
It was Casey’s fault.Casey had ruined it all.Beautiful, willful Casey who had so much, while he had nothing at all.He yanked his coat from a hook, thinking of the parties that would be given in her honor, coveting the priceless wedding gifts she would certainly be receiving as her due.
Despair fed anger.Anger fed hate.And something fell to the floor behind him with a clank.He spun in time to see a long, hairless tail disappearing beneath the cupboard.A rat.Another damned rat.
He grabbed a can of corn from the cabinet, firing it toward the place where he’d seen it last.“What the hell are you still doing here?I thought rats abandoned sinking ships.”
Several items had fallen off a low shelf and onto the floor as the door to the cupboard flew open.The sight of spilled salt sent Lash to his knees.Scrambling to regain his sense of balance in his superstitious world, he grabbed a pinch of the salt and tossed it over his shoulder.Even though one part of his brain told him that spilled salt did not bad luck make, he was too much a product of his upbringing to ignore it all now.
Still down on his knees, he set to retrieving the few family heirlooms he hadn’t sold.It wasn’t until he was setting his grandfather’s sorghum pewter pitcher back on the shelf that he noticed a small, flat box at the back of the cupboard.Frowning, he pulled it out.When he opened the lid, his eyes widened and a delighted smile lit up his somber expression.Grandfather’s letter opener!He’d completely forgotten its existence.
He ran a tentative finger down the thin, double-edged blade, remembering the hours he’d spent in Aaron Marlow’s lap, remembering the first time his grandfather had let him use it without help.For all its beauty, it was still a small and deadly thing.
A brown shadow moved to the right of Lash’s hand.He reacted without thinking.Seconds later, he rocked back on his heels in shock, staring at the carcass of the rat and the small silver dagger embedded in its body.
Bile rose, burning his throat and choking him as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the-sink just in time to keep from puking on himself.When he was able to look back without gagging, all he could see was his family honor embedded in the belly of the rat.
In Lash’s mind, it was the last and ultimate disgrace.Wildeyed and looking for someone else to blame, he stared at the salt.Bad luck.Bad luck.It was all a matter of bad luck.
In a daze, he yanked the dagger out of the rat, wiping off the bloody blade on the kitchen curtain.His hands were shaking as he laid if back in the box.So, he’d come to this, and thanks to Casey Justice, this is where he would stay.
He shuddered then sighed as he closed the lid to the box.Casey.He’d lost everything because of her.The box felt warm in his hands as he slipped it into his pocket before picking up his briefcase.
