LITMIR.BIZ

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      THE WEATHERMAN HAD predicted a thunderstorm, but it hadn’t struck the city yet. The sky was graying and the air had cooled enough that the storm wasn’t an empty threat. The wind picked up errant leaves and showered them over the streets like chocolate-colored raindrops. Even though Laura liked nothing better than a stormy, windswept day, she scarcely noticed the changing atmosphere. Her mind was too full.

      Had she taken the right course in hiring this cowboy detective? Or should she have taken a more conservative approach? Filled with worry, she leaned a bit longer on the doorbell than she’d intended.

      The door was yanked open suddenly and Rhoda stared at her. “Is the house on fire?”

      Laura managed a wan smile. “Sorry. I guess my mind was on other things.”

      Rhoda studied her. “That’s understandable with all the strain you’re under. Come in, child. I’m brewing some chamomile tea.”

      Tea. Her aunt Rhoda’s solution for everything. Yet there was comfort in the familiar. Laura recognized that the routine was as soothing as the actual liquid.

      Trailing her aunt, she entered the kitchen, a large high-tech room. However, despite a recent, costly remodeling the room was no longer warm and inviting. While the kitchen typically represented the heart of a home, this one needed just that. It had no heart. Before renovation, Rhoda’s house had seemed cozy; now it looked as though it belonged on the slick pages of a glossy magazine. But Laura knew the house was a point of pride for her aunt. She had struggled for many years and only recently had been able to afford to improve her lifestyle.

      Rhoda placed thin, fragile bone china cups on the oak table. Laura recognized them as the antique cups that had once belonged to her grandmother, cups that had been in her family for generations. That same familiar spurt of disbelief struck her. How was it that she wasn’t the product of this family? It seemed the same blood must run in her veins. Otherwise, how could the connection be so intense, so real?

      “Any news?” Rhoda asked her as she filled the creamer.

      “No. Actually, that’s why I’m here.”

      The crash and shattering china distracted them both. Laura jumped to her feet, then knelt beside the broken pieces. “Oh, Rhoda. The creamer that came by wagon train.” Carefully, she retrieved the largest fragments. “I’ve heard about specialists who can repair broken china so that it scarcely shows a trace of the break.” Gently she handed the pieces to her aunt. “I guess we’re all feeling the strain.”

      “Uh, yes, of course. Don’t worry about the creamer, Laura. It’s just china.”

      Laura eyed her aunt in concern. Family heirlooms rated near the top in importance for Rhoda. Apparently, her aunt was so worried by the seriousness of Alex’s condition that the heirlooms had lost some of their importance. “Still, let’s save them.”

      “All right.” Rhoda rattled around the cupboard, before settling on a small silver creamer. “I guess I can use that tea almost as much as you.”

      “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

      Rhoda stilled her movements. “What was that?”

      “About how I should hire an attorney rather than a hotshot detective.”

      Slow and deliberate, Rhoda crossed the room. “Isn’t he accomplishing what you expected?”

      Laura shrugged. “I want him to have the answers yesterday and I know that’s not possible, but I just want to make sure I did the right thing in hiring him.”

      Frowning, Rhoda studied her tea, adding a bit of sugar. For a few moments only the clink of the silver spoon punctuated the silence. “I realize I suggested a lawyer, but if you’re satisfied with your young man’s methods, then you should stick to your decision.”

      “He’s hardly my ‘young man,’ Rhoda.”

      Thin eyebrows arched in inquiry. “You could do worse.”

      “And have,” Laura admitted. “But that’s not the point.”

      “I wasn’t sure what I thought about him at first.” Blunt by nature, Rhoda seldom minced words. “He seemed awfully sure of himself. But I remember once liking that in a man. Mitch Tucker could be a keeper.”

      Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m worried about saving Alex, not snagging a man.”

      “I’m not suggesting anything less, dear. But you don’t have to blind yourself to the obvious.”

      “Dare I ask what that might be?”

      “A handsome, confident man who knows his own mind.”

      “Right now I need to be sure of my own mind first. What if I’ve done the wrong thing in hiring him? Suppose I’m wasting time? Time we don’t have to waste. Maybe I should meet with the attorney, at least talk to him—”

      “Laura.” Rhoda placed one hand atop hers. “You can’t go off scatterbrained in a dozen different directions.”

      “But—”

      “I know you want to do everything within your power, but going crazy won’t help Alex. You’ll be dividing your energies in so many ways, you’ll exhaust yourself. Laura, trust your instincts. And allow yourself enough time to see if this will work.”

      “But we don’t have time!” Laura reiterated. She heard the despair in her voice and lowered her head.

      “Laura, don’t give up on Alex.”

      “I’m not!”

      “You have to trust that he can hang in there as long as it takes.”

      For a brief moment Laura considered her own denial and the quiet understanding in her aunt’s expression. “You’re right. I guess I just sort of panicked. I keep thinking that Alex’s fate rests in my hands. If I don’t make the right choices, he’s the one who’ll suffer.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong, Laura. His fate is in larger hands than yours. You’ll just have to trust in that.”

      “I do. But I’ve always felt I had to be the strong one, in charge, sure of what I was doing.”

      “It doesn’t hurt to lean. You just haven’t had anyone strong enough to lean on. Maybe that will change.”

      Shocked, Laura drew back. “Surely you don’t mean Mitch Tucker.”

      “It may be premature, but I’d like you to drop your defensive shields and be open to possibilities.”

      “That hasn’t worked too well for me in the past.”

      “And this is today, Laura.” Rhoda shrugged, but her hands moved nervously as her gaze appeared to settle on something far beyond Laura. “It’s wise to learn from your mistakes, not to wallow in them.”

      Laura winced. “That was candid—and I appreciate the concern. But I can’t allow myself to become involved with another ladies’ man.”

      “Isn’t that a rather quick conclusion?”

      Laura’s smile was tinged with wise regret. “I guess experience makes me a quick learner. But right now I don’t need to worry about romance. I need answers.”

      “Then believe in yourself. The rest will follow.”

      Laura wanted to accept her aunt’s words, yet she couldn’t miss the betraying nervousness of Rhoda’s manner, the subtle but skittish movements she tried to disguise. It seemed neither of them was all that assured. And that sent the fear spiraling.

      MITCH INHALED the ripe smell of incoming rain. It would be another drencher. Houston didn’t bother with gentle rain. Instead the skies opened, dumping water over the landscape, much like upturned buckets. The uninitiated were often shocked by the deluges. But the natives took it in stride. And Mitch was

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