Gift-Wrapped Family. Lois RicherЧитать онлайн книгу.
Pia’s potent courtroom condemnation of his father. “I was her client once. I never forgot her.”
“I never saw her at work, but I’ve heard she was a good lawyer.” There was something wistful in Mia’s voice.
“Pia was beyond merely good,” Caleb told her. “Her firm, Standish Law, was the biggest in the province. I remember seeing well-known people in her office.”
“I used to think we were well off,” Mia mused reflectively. “At first I thought that’s why Harlan agreed to marry me.”
“Excuse me?” Caleb stared at her. Who would need to be coerced to marry this lovely woman?
“I was seventeen and in boarding school when I was summoned home. My mother told me she’d been diagnosed with brain cancer. She told me that for my own protection I was to marry this lawyer who worked for her, Harlan Granger.” Mia’s voice faltered. “She said he’d take care of me.”
“He was much older. Why would he agree?” Caleb asked.
“Money, I suppose. Harlan received my mother’s law firm as a kind of dowry.” Her green eyes grew troubled. “Mother had a nice house.”
“I was there once.” Caleb remembered his awe at visiting the huge mansion.
“Harlan sold it after she died,” Mia said, staring at something Caleb couldn’t see. “I thought it should have brought us plenty of money, but Harlan said Mother had run up large debts trying to find a cure. He sold the house to pay off what she owed.” Her lips pinched together. “I was sorry to lose some of our things,” she added in a small, hurt voice.
Mia’s defenselessness, her sadness touched Caleb. He gave her time to regroup while he shot off a text message to his paralegal. Find out everything about Mia Standish Granger. Stat.
“That’s why your claim is so incredible.” Mia rose. “I’ve lived here since I married Harlan. We’ve had to be very frugal while he revived her firm. We— I’m not rich, Mr. Grant.”
“Your mother didn’t leave you any money of your own?” He searched her face, no longer certain she was lying.
“I’m afraid not. Everything goes to pay the bills.” A tiny smile flitted across her incredibly beautiful face. “Would you like some tea?”
“I would. Thank you.” Caleb hated tea, especially herbal tea, but he’d learned the fine art of pretending to drink it when his best friend Lara was alive, because she’d loved tea and he’d wanted to love her. It still rankled that he’d never felt the strong emotion for her that Lara claimed to feel for him, to realize that he couldn’t love anyone because of what his father had done.
Caleb shoved those uncomfortable thoughts away and concentrated on Mia. She had to be pretending her marriage was solid, but he was determined she’d admit the truth before he left here, and if that required tea drinking, that was what he’d do.
“Let’s go to the kitchen. It’s warmer there.” Mia waited for his nod, then led the way. “Have a seat,” she invited as she pulled out a mismatched chair from the big oak table. “Do you have a particularly favorite tea? I have a good variety.”
Caleb blinked when she opened a cupboard door to reveal neatly organized rows of small packages of tea. “Do you ever!”
“My stomach’s been upset since Harlan—died.” Mia regained her composure. “Trent’s been a dear friend. He consulted an herbalist for me and brings home teas for me to try. They haven’t helped yet, but...” She shrugged and smiled. “Take your time deciding which you’d like.”
“Any kind is fine.” A previous investigation on Trent Vilang had left Caleb with tons of questions. “Dear Trent” had befriended widows before and some of those ladies had become very ill. Caleb kept his reservations about the man to himself as Mia moved around her broken-down kitchen.
Anything that could sparkle in this room did, but the house and especially this kitchen needed to be gutted, and no amount of soap or elbow grease could fix that. Then suddenly, beyond the kitchen, he spied bright sunshine.
“Would you rather sit in the sunroom?” Mia asked, noting his interest. “It’s quite warm today because the sun’s out. That’s when I love working there the most.”
“What is your work?” Caleb’s curiosity built. Her job was one detail he hadn’t yet discovered. Mia looked too delicate for any kind of physical work. Cellist. Or maybe pianist, he guessed.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she demurred.
Caleb thought that sounded like someone else’s assessment. But he said nothing as she rinsed out a small brown china teapot.
“I dream up designs for quilt fabrics,” Mia finally said almost apologetically.
“Oh.” That fit, Caleb decided, then realized that though he’d just met Mia, he’d instinctively known that employment suited her. Getting too involved. Maintain your distance, his brain scolded. That was difficult to do with this intriguing woman.
“When my designs are incorporated into fabric, the company sends me a bolt of each. I then make up several quilts to feature various aspects of the fabric and how to use it. It’s nothing like the law,” she apologized. “Nothing at all like the important work Harlan did.”
“Why should it be like his?” Caleb wished he’d met the man who’d made his wife feel that her work was trivial. “It’s just as important to have beautiful things in the world as it is to have the law.” She had the tray ready. “Can I carry something?”
“The tea?” Mia smiled her thanks and led the way into a sunroom that took his breath away. Vibrantly painted canvases lay sprawled around the room, flowers in riotous color, a seaside scene, the cool white on white of deepest winter. “I’m sorry it’s so crowded. Harlan was always after me to stack these away.” Mia gulped, then reached to move one.
“Please leave it. They’re beautiful,” Caleb said, and meant it.
“Oh.” Startled green eyes met his before quickly veering away. “Thank you. Please sit wherever you like.” She poured their tea and then sat across from him on a rickety wicker chair whose quilted cushion said it had been well loved. “Mr. Grant—”
“Call me Caleb.” Nothing in her expression to suggest she was flirting or playing games, but Caleb clung to his defenses anyway. He had a job to do. He couldn’t let her sad situation get to him.
“Very well, Caleb. Well, other than serving you tea, I don’t know how I can help you.” Mia Granger frowned. He thought it a shame to mar the beauty of her face, but the helplessness in her next words irritated him. “What is it you expect of me?”
“I’m not sure.” Caleb remembered Lily’s parting words. Can you find me a home, Uncle Caleb? Please? That plea from Lara’s niece broke his heart. “I came here hoping to learn the truth, but I’m not sure you know it.”
“Whose truth? Yours?” Mia sipped her tea. “Like your claim that Harlan had a ranch.”
“He did. Riverbend Ranch.” Caleb thought her eyes widened for a second.
“We didn’t have a ranch. If we had, why would we live here?” she asked with some asperity. “Why would Harlan need to travel for his business?”
“Are you sure he did ‘need’ to?” Though she tried to hide it, Caleb had seen Mia’s reaction to the word Riverbend. Now his senses were on high alert. She was hiding something, and he intended to find out what, despite that gaze of wide-eyed innocence.
In Caleb’s experience very few women could carry off a claim of innocence. Lara had been one, but he wasn’t totally certain about Mia because there were even fewer women who managed to tug at his compassion, and she did.
Surprised by the emotions she raised in him, Caleb decided he’d best