Sally Mae patted her lips with a damask napkin and laid it beside her plate. “I said you shouldn’t talk to him about that woman.”
Grant winced. On Sally Mae’s lips, those two simple words sounded like the vilest profanity.
Merrilee cast her glance toward the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention. “Then what am I supposed to discuss? Cows and horses?”
Sally Mae’s sly smile returned. “In a manner of speaking.”
“What good would that do? Nana, I have my work in New York. I can’t just move home and abandon it.”
Sally Mae straightened her back, the proverbial steel magnolia. But her granddaughter was no slouch in the intestinal fortitude department, either. Grant waited, curious who would win this battle of wills.
Sally Mae nodded toward the hall, where Merrilee’s bags sat. “You brought your camera. You can work here.”
“There are precious few weddings in Pleasant Valley,” Merrilee protested.
“And no Bar Mitzvahs,” Grant added. Jim had kept him informed on how Merrilee was earning her living in New York.
Merrilee shot him a grateful glance. “I can’t support myself here.”
“You won’t have to,” Sally Mae said. “I—”
“I won’t accept charity,” Merrilee said with a fierceness Grant remembered well. “When I left home, I vowed to make it on my own. I don’t intend to return with my tail between my legs and my hand out.”
With a sigh, Grant recalled that one of the things he’d loved most about Merrilee was her spunk. Without that gumption, she wouldn’t have set out on her own. She wouldn’t have left Pleasant Valley.
And him.
“I’m not giving any handouts,” Sally Mae said. “I want to commission your work.”
Merrilee’s jaw dropped. “You want me to photograph you?”
“Lord, no,” Sally Mae replied emphatically. “This old ruin doesn’t need chronicling. I want to commission a book.”
After Jim’s infidelity, Grant had believed himself past surprising, but Sally Mae’s proposal stunned him. What kind of book would interest a woman of her age and social standing? Merrilee’s very pretty mouth was gaping again. Her grandmother’s pronouncement had clearly left her speechless.
“I want you to record a pictorial account of the life of a country vet,” Sally Mae said. “Dr. Jim Stratton, D.V.M. I’ll pay all your expenses and underwrite its publication. It will make a stunning addition to your portfolio.”
Merrilee shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not into pastoral settings. I prefer cityscapes.”
Grant, however, saw immediately the tack Sally Mae was suggesting. “It’s brilliant, Merrilee. You’ll have to spend hours with your father, shooting him at work. The more you’re with him, the better chance you have of bringing him back to reality. You’ll be a constant reminder of what he’s giving up.”
“And,” Sally Mae continued, “if you’re living at home, you’ll be a comfort to your mother. This…” She struggled for words. “This foolishness has to be breaking her heart.”
“Mom has you to lean on,” Merrilee said, but Grant could tell she was wavering.
“I will be here for your mother,” Sally Mae said, “but I can’t help your parents as you can. Every time your father looks at you, he’ll see your resemblance to your mother, reminding him of his marriage and the happiness it’s brought him. Heaven knows, he needs something to counteract the lust that’s driving him.”
“Lust!” Merrilee protested. “Dad’s over fifty!”
“Over fifty but not dead,” Sally Mae said with a wry smile. Her smile faded and her eyes grew flinty. “Although if you can’t bring him to his senses, I might have to rectify that.”
“Your grandmother’s plan has merit.” Grant struggled to remain objective. He had motives of his own, besides his friendship with Jim Stratton, for wanting Merrilee to stay. “The only reason Jim’s been able to justify his relationship with Mrs. Parker is that neither you nor your mother has been around. He’s living a fantasy with no one to burst his bubble.”
“A fantasy that will kill him when he wakes up and realizes what he’s done,” Sally Mae added. “You must intervene, Merrilee, before this goes any further.”
Merrilee’s heart-shaped face contorted into a thoughtful frown. “I’ll stay a week and assess the situation. Maybe my homecoming will snap Dad out of it. But I’m not committing to a book.”
Sally Mae nodded in agreement. Grant could tell the old woman had lost the battle but had not conceded the war.
“Grant will take you home,” she announced.
Merrilee cast him a questioning glance before turning to her grandmother. “Grant told me I could use your car.”
Sally Mae nodded. “As soon as the battery’s charged. Jay-Jay’s backed up at the garage, but he said he’ll get to it this afternoon.”
“I’ve kept Grant from his work too long already. I can walk home, Nana. It’s only two blocks.”
Nothing had changed, Grant realized. Merrilee was home, but she still wanted nothing to do with him.
Sally Mae set her jaw in a determined line. “You have two pieces of luggage, and rain’s in the forecast.”
“I don’t mind,” Grant said quickly. “It’s not out of my way.”
“What about Gloria?” Merrilee asked with a challenge in her blue eyes. “Isn’t she expecting you?”
Oh, lordy. Gloria.
He’d forgotten all about her, and there’d be hell to pay when he got home. There always was.
“I have to go by your house anyway,” Grant said, accepting the inevitable. “No problem.”
He hoped.
Merrilee pushed to her feet. “Then I won’t keep you any longer. We can leave now.”
Sally Mae stood and embraced her granddaughter. “Think about my book offer. We need you here, Merrilee. Your parents need you.”
Grant bit his tongue to keep from voicing his opinion and went into the hall to retrieve her bags.
He’d needed Merrilee, too, all those years ago. Needed her like a man needs air. But his need hadn’t been enough to keep her in Pleasant Valley.
Even knowing how much she loved her parents, he wondered if their plight would be enough to keep her here this time.
Chapter Three
In a daze of disbelief, Merrilee followed Grant to his truck. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was moving through a bad dream. If the surrounding trees had started walking and talking, they wouldn’t have surprised her as much as her father’s bizarre and totally uncharacteristic betrayal.
“Are you sure Dad hasn’t lost his reason?” she demanded of Grant when he climbed into the driver’s seat beside her.
“He’s not thinking straight, but he’s not insane. He’s been holding up his end of the practice without any problems.”
“I never thought my father the type to suffer a mid-life crisis. He’s always seemed so steady. So dependable.”
“He’s not as young as he once was, and he’s been pushed to his limit physically. That has to influence his emotions. And your mom’s