“She’s resting comfortably,” said Dr. Diers, quietly closing the door to Grandma’s bedroom. “She’s obviously had a shock.”

“We gave her some bad news,” said Cole, turning from the big picture window. “Probably should have kept our mouths shut.”

His shoulders were tense and Sydney knew he blamed himself. But it was her fault. Trying to salvage her career on the back of an old woman was unforgivable.

“I’ve given her a light sedative,” said Dr. Diers. “She’s going to be fine. She’d like to see you.”

Cole nodded and made a move toward the bedroom.

“Sydney,” said the doctor.

“Yes?” asked Sydney.

“Your grandma asked to see Sydney.”

Sydney straightened in surprise and Cole blinked.

“Why does she want to see Sydney?”

The doctor gave a slight shrug. “Maybe she’d rather talk to a woman?”

“I can go get Katie,” he said.

“She did ask for Sydney.”

“I’ll go in,” Sydney agreed.

Cole took a jerking step toward her.

“I promise,” said Sydney, holding up her palm. “I’ll just listen to what she has to say.”

“I can’t let you upset her,” said Cole. “We’ve made enough mistakes already.”

“I’m not going to upset her.”

Cole’s mouth was taut and his knuckles were white; guilt was obviously eating him up.

“We had no choice,” said Sydney, trying to reassure him.

“Oh, yes, we did.”

True enough. She wasn’t about to take on that debate. “I’ll go find out what she wants, then we can talk, okay?”

Before he could tell her no, she cut through the entrance foyer to the bedroom door, turning the cut-glass knob as quietly as possible, just in case Grandma had fallen asleep.

Grandma’s eyes were open, but the sparkle was gone from their blue depths. The harsh, noonday sun streamed in through the paned window, making her look small and frail beneath the patchwork quilt.

“Sydney,” she whispered, reaching for a hankie.

Sydney clicked the door shut and came to her side. “Can I get you anything? A drink of water? An aspirin?”

“I’ve done something terrible, Sydney,” said Grandma, dabbing the hankie beneath her nose.

“Grandma?” Sydney crouched down by the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.”

“Tell me.”

Grandma grasped Sydney’s hand, searching her eyes. She drew a breath. “I have no right to ask.”

“Go ahead and ask.”

“What I did. What I’m going to say. Please don’t tell my family.”

“Of course I won’t.”

Grandma drew a breath, and there was a catch in her voice as her glance slid away from Sydney’s. “It was me.”

“What was you?”

“I faked the Thunderbolt.”

A jolt of shock ricocheted through Sydney’s body. “What? When? How?” Then she quickly shut her mouth, biting back more staccato questions.

She forced herself to moderate her voice. “Do you know where the real one is?”

Grandma shook her head miserably. “No.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sydney, straining not to sound judgmental. Why on earth would Grandma fake her own heirloom? Did she need money?

“It was a long time ago.”

Sydney nodded, waiting for this to start making sense.

“I was young, only twenty.” Grandma’s voice faded and a faraway look came into her eyes.

Sydney carefully lowered herself to the carpet, trying not to interrupt the flow of the story. She rested her back against the small bedside table, placing her hand on Grandma’s.

“It was Harold’s and my second anniversary, and I was pregnant with Neil. And there was this woman…”

Sydney’s heart sank.

“She had a baby. A son.” Grandma’s voice broke. “He was six months old…”

“I’m sorry.”

Grandma shook her head. “She said things. She knew things.” She looked into Sydney’s eyes. “I could tell it was all true.”

Sydney groaned in heartfelt sympathy. What a hurtful secret. What a terrible thing for Grandma to experience. “I am so sorry.”

“Things weren’t like they are now,” Grandma continued, “the neighbors would have gossiped, Neil would have been ostracized, sales from the ranch might have dropped.”

“Did you talk to him?” asked Sydney. It was Harold’s responsibility to make it right.

Grandma shook her head.

“Why not?”

“We’d been through so much. We’d come so far.”

Sydney didn’t understand.

“I was lonely that first year, and I blamed Harold, and we weren’t…” The silence stretched.

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Sydney. Infidelity was not justifiable, no matter what was going on in a relationship.

Grandma gave a watery smile. “The Thunderbolt was all my doing.” She stabbed a finger against her chest. “Me. I was young and inexperienced. Then I was afraid of what people might say. Bottom line, I wanted my husband and our life more than I wanted a piece of jewelry.”

A cold chill snaked up Sydney’s spine. “What are you saying?”

Grandma impatiently swiped at a tear with the back of her hand. “I gave it away.”

Oh, no.

“She demanded the Thunderbolt and I gave it to her.”

Sydney’s entire body cringed.

“She said Rupert was the first-born Erickson, and so he was entitled. She promised she’d leave us alone forever.”

“She blackmailed you?”

Grandma nodded, her voice quavering. “And I was a willing victim. To save my marriage, I betrayed my family.”

Sydney closed her eyes. “Did it work?”

Grandma gave a short laugh. “It worked. It worked for thirty years. Except…”

Sydney dropped her head forward onto her chest. There was nothing she could say, nothing anybody could say. The Thunderbolt was gone.

In her mind she saw a flash of her mother’s blond hair, the twinkle of her silver locket-the heirloom that had been snatched away from Sydney. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought it was the day before the fire. She was five years old, and it was the last day her mother had held her. The last day she’d seen the silver locket, or anything else her family had ever owned.

“Can you get it back?” Grandma asked in a small voice. “Because if you could get it back…”

Sydney opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she promised, although she had no idea how she was going to keep it. Then a vow came from the deepest recesses of her being. “No matter who has it. No matter where it is.”

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