Forever Wife And Mother. Grace GreenЧитать онлайн книгу.
Dad?”
Gabe lifted Will off the top of the stile. Taking her hand, he walked with her up the grassy slope. “She was just being polite. Besides, I don’t want to get involved.”
“Because she’s a Lockhart summer lady?”
“Because she’s on Lockhart property.”
“How come you don’t like the Lockharts?”
He looked at her, and seeing the serious expression in her eyes, decided it was maybe time to tell her a bit of the family history. “It goes back a long way, honey. Malcolm Lockhart owns Holly Cottage now, but years and years ago, your great-grandpa Judd Ryland not only owned this place up here, he owned the Lockhart property, too.”
“He did?”
“Yup. But he lost Holly Cottage and the riverside acreage in a poker game to Drew Lockhart, who was Malcolm Lockhart’s father. Judd and Drew had been best friends till that happened—Drew worked for your great-grandpa and had the use of Holly Cottage—but after the game, your great-grandpa accused Lockhart of cheating. They had a big fight, and Lockhart took out a gun and shot your great-grandpa—”
“Did he kill him?” Will’s eyes were wide.
“Uh-uh, he just shot him in the leg. Anyways, the case ended up in the courts and the judge sent Drew Lockhart to jail for six months for the shooting…but he ruled that Lockhart had won the land fair and square in the poker game. After he got out of prison, Drew Lockhart moved into Holly Cottage. But your great-grandpa Judd still swore he’d been cheated out of the land, and the Rylands and the Lockharts have been sworn enemies ever since.”
They had reached the crest of the hill, and Will halted. Swiveling around, she gazed at the chimney tops of Holly Cottage and was silent for several thoughtful moments. Then she looked at him, her eyes puzzled.
“I can understand,” she said slowly, “why Great-grandpa Judd would be so mad at Drew Lockhart, but how can you be mad at somebody you didn’t even know…and for something that happened such a long long time ago?”
“There’s a bit more to it,” Gabe said. And that was an understatement! “But I’ve told you enough to be going on with. When you’re older, I’ll tell you the rest.”
“Is it still about Great-grandpa Judd and Drew?”
He shook his head. “No, honey, it’s about my father and my mother and Malcolm Lockhart.”
Caprice spent the evening poking around in Holly Cottage, hoping to find some personal items belonging to her father, items that might help shed some light on his secret.
The ground floor consisted of the gloomy kitchen, a small bedroom—the one she had chosen to use—and a bright sitting room that overlooked the river. Upstairs there were two larger bedrooms and a bathroom.
Despondently, she ended up at one of the upstairs bedroom windows, staring out over the river, whose waters rippled peacefully against the sturdy wooden dock. She had found nothing in the cottage to help in her quest. The only items of any interest had been in the kitchen, and they had nothing to do with Malcolm Lockhart—a collection of drawings plastered to the fridge with magnets.
They were the work of a child. Each garishly colored sketch was of a different young woman, her name printed in felt pen at the top of the page. Emily. Sally. Adrienne. Juanita. Rosie. Ling. Janice.
And each drawing had three things in common. The subject was cuddling a dog that looked remarkably like Fang. The setting was the kitchen at Holly Cottage with its blue Formica table, wood stove and cushioned rocking chair. And the artist’s signature was printed at the foot of the page. Willow Ryland.
Willow. What a pretty name, Caprice reflected. Why on earth had her father shortened it to Will?
But what Caprice found even more puzzling was the fact that the little girl had undoubtedly spent time in Holly Cottage. Yet only that morning Will had told her she wasn’t allowed on Lockhart property. Caprice frowned as she recalled the look of panic in the child’s eyes when Caprice had issued the dinner invitation to father and daughter. Had Will been afraid her dad would see the pictures?
Will must have been coming to Holly Cottage regularly in the summer months without her father’s knowledge when Break Away clients were here. Caprice found the idea intriguing. And if she ever got the opportunity, she decided, she would ask Will to explain why she had so blatantly disobeyed one of her father’s strictest rules.
Next morning, Caprice woke at six-thirty, and after showering and dressing in jeans and a pretty striped turtleneck sweater, she wandered to the river, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug.
She was standing at the end of the dock, watching the brisk breeze ripple the water’s surface, when she heard a shout. Turning, she saw Will racing toward her.
She stopped breathlessly when she reached Caprice. “Mrs. Kincaid,” she blurted, “can you do me a favor?”
“Will, good morning! I thought you weren’t allowed to come down here—”
“I’m not supposed to! But I had to come down to get my pictures back! They are still on the fridge, aren’t they?” she asked, her eyes wide with anxiety.
“Oh, yes, they’re still there.”
“Then can I have them please?”
“Of course.”
Caprice led the child into the cottage, and as she gathered the drawings, she said to Will, “Did you often come down here to visit the ladies?”
“As often as I could…but only when Dad was away. I knew I’d get into big trouble if he found out…but for me it was worth it. And for Fang, too. He makes sad people feel better—dogs do that, you know.”
What a courageous little girl, risking punishment and her father’s displeasure to help people in need. Caprice felt guilty as she handed over the pictures. Will believed her to be one of those needy women; how she hated deceiving the child.
“Thanks.” Will stuffed the papers inside her sweatshirt. “And thanks for inviting us for dinner. I didn’t want to come in case my dad saw the pictures. But now they’re down, I wish I could eat dinner here! Lemon pie’s my favorite dessert. It’s my dad’s favorite, too, only he can’t make it. He tried once, but it was like eating cardboard and yellow glue!”
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