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Home For Christmas. Catherine Lanigan
Читать онлайн.Название Home For Christmas
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008900892
Автор произведения Catherine Lanigan
Серия Mills & Boon Heartwarming
Издательство HarperCollins
“That’s wonderful and so…unexpected. I haven’t been back in a long time. Years and years.”
“I know.” Kyle picked up a manila folder. “This is your copy of the will. This is the key to the greenhouse. Frank’s house keys. I assume you’ll be staying there? Is there anything else you need from me?”
Joy took the keys. “When I went to the greenhouse, the door was unlocked. I understand Adam Masterson has a key.”
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. He and Frank were close.”
And Adam had said he tried not to get close to people. “Well, thank you so much, Kyle.” She started to stand and stopped. “Would you be so kind as to get a number for me?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“The best Realtor in town.”
“That’s easy. Cate Sullivan Davis.”
Joy tilted her head to the left. “I don’t remember that name.”
“You wouldn’t. She’s only been here a few years.”
“But you trust her? She’s good?”
“Very. And her husband is a detective. Trent Davis. He’s famous in these parts. Took down a huge drug ring. It was in all the papers.”
“Grandpa told me about that. He’s her husband?”
“Sure is. And she’s really smart. You’ll like her.”
“Thanks,” Joy said, rising to shake Kyle’s hand.
Once she’d gathered her luggage, she stood on the sidewalk watching the passing cars.
“I forgot. I’m not in New York.”
There were no cabs. No subways. No mass transit of any kind. Joy had sent Roy away thinking she wouldn’t need him. Fortunately, he’d given her his direct number in case she needed him while in town.
“I’m so not in Kansas anymore.” She punched in his number. “Roy. I need a favor.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“I forgot there are no cabs in Indian Lake.”
“And now you’re stranded. I’m at Cupcakes and Cappuccino. About three blocks from you. Where do you want to go?”
“Is there a car rental in Indian Lake?”
“Of course. I’ll take you there.”
Joy hung up and sighed. She’d been away a long time. And she couldn’t wait to leave.
ADAM HAD PICKED up Titus from Sarah’s house and stopped for groceries. Tonight was grilled chicken tenders on angel hair pasta with pesto sauce and salad. The one thing Amie had insisted that Adam do for their son was to feed him a balanced diet and organic foods. She’d been a good cook and taught him how to prepare food. Adam found the process enjoyable. So did Titus, who liked to share in the kitchen action.
When Adam had gutted the kitchen last year, he’d equipped it with everything he would need to make meals for himself and his son. He’d been sure to include a small appliance “garage” that was under lock and key so that Titus couldn’t get to any sharp knives, mandolins or the Cuisinart. Titus had been curious nearly from birth, so teaching him to be careful was important. And the fact that Titus’s impaired vision caused him to trip or bump into things worried Adam.
Angel, their four-year-old golden retriever, sat on the whitewashed wood plank floor watching her two masters cook. Angel was pregnant, a planned union with Sarah’s golden, Beau. According to the veterinarian, Angel would have Christmas puppies. Titus was curious and anxious about the coming blessed event. Their trips to Grandy’s Groomers to buy a new bed, puppy food and toys were numerous. Titus was overjoyed and so was Adam. He and Titus decided they would draw names from all the people who wanted a puppy, after Sarah and Luke had their pick of the litter, of course.
“So, Dad,” Titus said as he dipped thin chicken tenders in a mix of flour, chili powder, granulated garlic and black pepper, “do you think we should ask Mr. Boston’s granddaughter over for Thanksgiving dinner?”
Adam stopped pouring the olive oil into the frying pan. “How do you know anything about Joy Boston being in town?”
“Mrs. Beabots. She came over to Timmy’s house and made oatmeal cookies for us.”
“Oh, she did? And how many did you eat?” Adam asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Only one and a glass of milk. Organic, of course,” Titus answered, finishing the last tender. He looked at Adam. “Miss Sarah said that you knew her in high school.”
Adam grimaced. Deflecting the probing questions of a smart kid was not an easy task. Since the day Titus had learned to talk at nine months, the boy hadn’t shut up. “Of course I knew Sarah. You know we’ve been friends forever.”
“Dad,” Titus huffed. “I meant Joy Boston.”
“Oh.” Adam placed the tenders in the oil. He lifted the lid of the boiling water, added salt and then reached over and stirred the pesto sauce.
“Miss Sarah said you were boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Adam rolled his eyes. This was going from bad to worse. “And why would she say that?”
“Because I asked her a lot of questions about Joy Boston,” Titus said proudly. “Like what kind of person she was and if she liked flowers as much as old Mr. Boston…and you.”
Adam nearly burned his fingers as he turned the tenders. “And what did Sarah say?”
“That you guys worked together for Mr. Boston when you were in high school.”
“We did.”
“And you thought you were going to marry her.”
Adam coughed. He put his fist to his mouth. “Sarah said a lot, huh?”
“Dad! Think about it. I coulda been her son!”
“Not exactly.” Adam put the angel hair in the boiling water. “But things have a way of working out all for the best. What I want to know is why Sarah told you all this.”
Titus hemmed a bit and glanced away.
Adam stopped stirring the pesto. “Titus…”
“She didn’t exactly say all that.”
“What?” Adam put his hand on his hip. “What’s going on here?”
“You know how it is. I asked a few questions. Put some things together. Like you asking Joy to marry you.”
“So, this is something you deduced all by yourself.”
“Deduced? What does that mean?”
“Figured out.” Adam turned another tender, knowing fully that Titus had used the word deduced over a month ago. His son was stalling. Adam had him on the run and the idea pleased him. But only a little.
“I did.” Titus smiled sheepishly. “But I needed confirmation.”
“Which I gave you.”
“Yes.” Titus lifted his chin proudly.
“You know, Titus, I don’t think you should be a playwright.”
“No?”
“Clearly, you have the makings of a lawyer.”
“Hmm.” Titus went to the sink, stepped onto his step stool so that he could reach the faucet and washed his hands. Then he rinsed the lettuce. “I have to