“It ain’t contrarywhen you didn’t bother to ask her what she wanted to drink.” Nick just shrugged at the deputy’s scowl.
Nick’s kid sister had made a comment about it once a few years back, when one of their older brothers had ordered for her. She’d insisted he could eat it because she wanted something else. That had been before Nick had been put in charge of Frances Lancaster. Having listened to her talk his ear off about how men always presumed to know things about women had been an eye-opener for him. Especially when he’d seen it in action.
The deputy heaved out a breath. “I wish Luke were here.”
“You said that already. Luke’s gone to the Circle B to meet with Judith and her brother about the wedding plans.” Frances lowered her voice. “Besides, I’m notthathard to work with.”
Nick’s instincts were always to come to Frances’s defense, but one of the things he’d had to learn was to keep his mouth shut. Most of the time. She didn’t appreciate a champion because she said it gave the impression she needed one. Though, every once in a while, she did. Learning to tell the difference between the two was something he was getting better at, but he’d learned to read a situation well before speaking.
“So,” Charles said when his coffee arrived, “tell me why you want me to have photographs taken of your father’s will.”
Nick straightened. He’d been dying to know what had come to Frances out on the street. She did that sometimes, mulling things over in her mind and suddenly reaching a conclusion. That was one of the reasons why she tended not to share her thoughts with the family. They really did seem to come out of nowhere, but he’d spent almost every waking moment of the last nine months in her company. He thought he’d gotten to know her well. And to read her expressions.
“I had a dream—” at the look on Charles’ face, Frances cut off what she’d been about to say.
“Dang it, Merrick,” Nick said, leaning forward. “She’s right smart, so don’t you dare shut her down.” He realized he’d spoken and snapped shut his mouth. Leaning back in his seat, he chanced a sidelong glance at her.
Frances was staring at him, her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t look like she was going to pitch her cup of hot chocolate in his face. He folded his arms and nodded toward Charles, indicating she should continue. She watched Nick for a couple more seconds before looking at her brother-in-law.
“Do you want to hear what I have to say, or are you just going to scoff?” she asked, her voice much calmer than it would have been last spring when she and her sisters had first arrived. “Because I have better things to do than cast my pearls before swine, as Judith is fond of saying.”
Charles chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. “Luke is going to have an interesting life with both you and Judith living in his house. You two ladies are a lot more alike than I think either one of you is willing to admit.”
“Tell us about that dream of yours,” Nick said, leaning forward again before the conversation could wander off the topic. “I, for one, am dying to find out what you’ve reasoned out.”
“I had a dream on Christmas Eve which reminded me of some things that happened a couple of weeks before my father died,” she said, staring into her cup. “That’s how my mind works. I’ve read up on it, and it’s called my subconscious. We see and hear things, and our brains file them away. We might never think about them again, unless something happens to bring them up. You know Luke got me a Steinway for Christmas. I didn’t think about it at the time, but it must have reminded my subconscious of the night my father died.”
At Charles’ confused expression, Nick added, “That was also when her father gave her a certificate of acceptance to a prestigious new school of music in New York.”
“I can tell my own story,” she muttered.
“Then do it.” Nick gave her boot under the table a soft kick. “The suspense is killingme.”
Frances didn’t look at Nick, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Then she straightened, all humor gone.
“It got me to thinking about how quickly my father’s health declined. He’d been in great condition for a man in his fifties. Two weeks later, he was dead—and my dream reminded me of something that had happened two weeks before.”
Charles was leaning forward now, interested. “Something to do with your uncle?”
She nodded. “I overheard them having an argument. It was odd enough having Uncle William there at all. I don’t think he’d been to our house in years. But he was demanding my father give him something. I couldn’t hear what, but it was the very next day my father started getting sick.”
The deputy leaned back in his chair, tilting his head with a frown. “That’s a coincidence.”
“Maybe.” Nick held up his cup so the waitress could refill it. “But maybe not, considering how hard Lancaster’s worked to get his hands on the sisters.”
“Even so, you can’t arrest a man on such a flimsy accusation. Believe me. I wish I could. Anything to give Maude some peace of mind.” Charles looked at Frances. “She’s worried sick your uncle is going to come after you as the only remaining unmarried sister.”
“I almost wish he’d try.” Her expression was the one she wore whenever she threatened to shoot someone.
Nick’s gut tightened. William Lancaster had spent the last nine months making various attempts to bring his nieces back to Indianapolis, all using the excuse he was the executor of his brother’s will and had responsibility for the sisters. Their half-brother Luke had challenged it in court, but there’d been no ruling yet. Not that it mattered for the two older sisters since Maude had married Charles, and Doris had married Judith’s brother, Marshall Breckinridge. Still, as far as they knew, their uncle was determined to get his hands on one of the girls. That left Frances. Thishadto end.
“Will you see if your father can get permission to take pictures of the will?” Nick asked. Frances sent him a quick grin that made Nick’s heart leap into his throat. If she ever guessed the power she had over him, he’d never have a moment’s peace. Though, if she’d ever come to feel the same way about him, it might not be a bad thing.
“It only has to be the page where he signed,” she added.
“If it’ll give you peace of mind, I will.” Charles drained his cup. “I doubt it’ll prove anything though. You’d need something he signed to compare the signatures.”
“I have the letter he gave me from the school.” Her voice had turned gruff, but she showed no sign of crying.
