each of us something and Tucker will likely still run Burnt Creek. The only difference is that it won’t be his ranch. You have to remember that none of us are blood kin to Susan. If this little boy is Mitch’s son, who do you think will inherit?”
Quickly she punched numbers. She began without preamble. “Susan’s going to talk to Wade tomorrow.” She twined a bristly strand of too-often-bleached hair around a finger. “That’s easy for you to say.” Heavily penciled brows drew down in a tight frown. “I suppose you’ll get to run the ranch, no matter what happens. And you’re paid a pretty handsome salary.” She tapped a nervous tattoo on the table. “No.” The words came slowly. “I don’t suppose she’ll throw us out and I know she’s generous. But Tucker, we thought everything was going to be ours.” Her eyes widened. “Of course I’m going to be sweet to the little boy. If he turns out to be Mitch’s son, I’ll be the first to be thrilled for Susan. But it all seems peculiar to me, his arriving right before Christmas with nothing but a shabby suitcase and some papers.” She massaged one temple. “I know.” Her voice was dull. “They’ll be able to prove the truth. I suppose he must be Mitch’s son. Everyone knows about DNA. But we’ve all stood by Susan, when there was no family for her. Tucker, maybe you could talk to Susan. She’s always liked you a lot.” She sat up straighter. “I’m not asking you to beg. But it never hurts to be nice.” Her face looked hurt. “I’ve never asked any favors of you and Gina and I made a home for you when your folks died and now if you can help me…Well, if that’s how you feel about it.”
Jake clicked off the cell, sagged against the tufted chair back. She looked around the room, cluttered with mementos ranging from a painted-face coconut shell to a replica of the Matterhorn. “It’s my house. She promised.” There was pathos and despair in her cry. Jake’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“Susan hates cigarette smoke.” Peg sounded irritated.
Gina took another deep drag. “A: She won’t come in here. B: I have the window open. C: I am blowing the smoke outside. Give it a rest.”
Peg moved to a dresser, opened the drawer. “I don’t mind sharing my room when you’re here between jobs, but I don’t like smoke either.” She pulled out a pair of yellow flannel pajamas with a prancing reindeer pattern.
Gina leaned against the wall. “Where’s the problem? You’re sleeping in the blue room tonight with the little guy. Lucky me, Susan obviously has never noticed my maternal charm.” Her laughter was wry. “You’ll probably be named nanny-in-chief when she writes a new will. You could spend a bunch before he gets to twenty-one, maybe take him to Paris over holidays.”
Peg slammed the drawer shut. She quickly undressed, neatly hanging up a blue sweater and gray wool slacks. “I wish you didn’t sound so bitter.”
“It doesn’t bother you to go from heiress to pauper in the space of one cold December night?” Gina’s voice shook a little. “One minute you’re looking ahead to a couple of million and maybe you get your art history degree and end up with a job in a museum that won’t pay enough to keep a mouse in cheese. The next you’re out in the cold world, the real cold world, like I am. It isn’t easy to get jobs these days. How are you going to pay back your student loans?”
“I’ll manage.” Peg’s gaze was thoughtful. “How are you going to pay off your credit cards? You don’t even have a job.”
“I’m trying to get one. I’ve sent in resumes and stood in lines and filled out applications online until I’m cross- eyed. There’s nothing out there, and I’m down to my last fifty bucks. I got evicted from my apartment and I canceled my cell because I got so many calls from collection agencies. Nasty calls. I’m using a prepaid cell.” Gina gave a last puff, snuffed the cigarette in a potted plant. She flapped a magazine to fan the air, then closed the window. “Speaking of calls, have you buzzed Dave?”
Peg paused as she buttoned the pajama top. “No.”
“Don’t you think he’d like to know the latest? He’s really pumped that Susan’s considering advancing him enough to build a clinic.” Gina strolled to a love seat, dropped onto it.
Peg’s voice was even. “We don’t know the latest. We’ll have to see what Wade says. Besides, Susan knows a good investment when she sees one. The money will be a loan.”
Gina’s expression was sardonic. “A loan he sure couldn’t get from the bank these days. It’s a big gamble to come out of vet school and waltz right into a fancy clinic of his own. Susan used to be a sharp businesswoman, always driving a hard bargain. After all, she’s a Pritchard. She may start making decisions based on what would be best for Keith.”
“The loan to Dave would be a sound business decision.” But Peg’s voice was thin.
I sat at the end of the chaise longue. I was aware of the deepening chill of the room. Several quilts were stacked atop a wicker chest. I intended to snag one after Peg fell asleep.
She moved restlessly.
Perhaps she sensed my unseen but admittedly impatient presence. I would give her time to relax. I’d promised myself a satisfying sandwich. I decided to make sure everyone was settled for the night and I could have free use of the kitchen.
In Gina’s room, she once again stood by the wide-open window, blowing smoke into the night. Her scarlet robe would have been flattering to her gypsy dark coloring, but her sharp features were drawn in a tight frown.
Jake rested against a bolster and two large pillows. Her faded blond hair was pinned in protuberant tufts. A white mask of night cream covered her face but didn’t hide the droop of her mouth. She held an open book in her hands, but she stared blankly at the page.
Susan sat in her chair by the fake fire, the manila envelope in her lap. She lifted a cup of cocoa, absently sipped. Her patrician features were alight with happiness.
