“How did all of that end up in the Pinewood file?” Eden glanced at Stuart, who merely shrugged.
“Stuff like that is part of the public record,” Stuart said. “Just a matter of typing some basic information into the state’s court records files, and voila.”
So Judson had looked for reasons to turn her down, even before hearing how much she wanted to borrow? But why?
“First of all,” Eden said, “lack of proper supervision by the former administrator was to blame for everything on your list. And since your research is so thorough, you’re no doubt also aware that since I took over, the house has been well-maintained, and there hasn’t been a single complaint.”
“True, but...” Judson tapped the file entry. “With kids like that, you can’t guarantee continued good behavior. Uprooting those boys, in and of itself, could spark a rebellion and who knows what else.” Click-click. “I personally approved the mortgage on your grandparents’ home, so it pains me that I can’t help you out now.”
Not can’t, Eden silently corrected. Won’t. “It isn’t fair to judge the boys based solely on what happened in the past, or to punish them for their parents’ mistakes, or for the former director’s neglect, for that matter.”
Judson closed the file and got to his feet, a not-so-subtle indication that the meeting was over.
“It was good seeing you both, truly.”
Stunned and disappointed, Eden felt her mouth go dry. Returning his half-baked compliment or offering her hand seemed beyond hypocritical, but she did it anyway.
“Wish I could say the same,” Stuart growled, taking her elbow. “Sorry we wasted one another’s time.”
Halfway across the parking lot, he said, “If I had the money, I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”
“I know.” She side-bumped him. “Ya big softie.”
He feigned pain and rubbed his biceps. “Sheesh! Have you been working out?”
“Oh, right. Like I have the time and money for a gym membership or exercise equipment.” Instantly, she regretted her brusque tone. “Sorry, little brother. You’re not to blame for any of this mess. I should have barked at that tightwad, instead of taking my frustrations out on you.”
He stood between his pickup truck and her van. “Meet me at Tom’s. My treat.”
“Your treat? I thought I promised breakfast would be my treat.”
“You don’t have money for a gym membership, remember?”
“Ah, I see. It’s pity food.”
He produced a ten-dollar bill. “Found this last night in the precinct parking lot.” He returned her halfhearted grin. “Do you know how to get there from here?”
“I was a little beside myself for a minute in there,” she said, “but I think I can find my way to our favorite diner.”
Thanks to their crazy work schedules, getting together was a challenge, so they met at Tom’s once a month to catch up. Eden considered passing on his offer, but she didn’t want to go home just yet. One look at her worried face and the boys would want to know what was wrong. They would also know if she was lying, so she needed time to collect herself.
“I’ll follow you over there,” she said. “But just so you know, I’m not in my usual chatty mood.”
Stuart unlocked his pickup truck. “You won’t hear me complaining. You talked enough when we were kids—and ever since—to tide me over till retirement.”
She opened the driver’s door, grimacing when the rusty hinge groaned. “I hear they’re looking for comics over at the Bug Theater. In case you ever decide to switch careers, that is, wise guy.”
He slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll keep that in mind, if you’ll be my straight man.”
During the short drive, Eden thanked her lucky stars for that brother of hers. He’d made it easier to cope with the brutal loss of their parents. Made it easier to adjust to relocating from Baltimore to Denver after the funeral, too. They’d always been close, but over the years, they’d also become best friends.
Friends. She steered into Tom’s parking lot, wondering why the word brought Nate to mind. Had his offer to finance repairs at Pinewood been genuine? Or was he cut from the same cloth as Jake, whose every action had been carefully calculated to ensure complete control?
* * *
NATE’S SISTER LEANED around their cousin and his new wife. “Just look at you,” she said, “hoggin’ the biscuit basket, again.”
Zach and Summer sat back to give the siblings a direct line of sight to each other.
“Poor Henrietta,” Nate said, “never has figured out the difference between biscuits and rolls.”
Her wadded-up napkin flew past the newlyweds and landed in Nate’s mashed potatoes.
“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Hank, not Henrietta.”
“You may be Hank on the barrel-racing circuit,” he told her, calmly buttering his roll, “but you’ll always be Henrietta to me.”
“Nate,” his mother scolded, “don’t taunt your sister. You know as well as anyone that her name change is legal.”
“Legal or not,” his dad muttered, “I’m sticking with my initial opinion— it’s ridiculous. The name Henrietta was good enough for your grandmother, and I’ll never understand why it isn’t good enough for you.”
Hank sighed. “Dad, please. We’ve been over this a dozen times. It was a business decision, pure and simple. The name gives me a psychological edge over my competition. No one would fear a barrel racer named Henrietta.”
She’d probably taken this guilt trip often enough to earn frequent-flyer miles, and Nate felt bad about stirring things up again, especially over Sunday dinner at Aunt Ellen and Uncle John’s house.
“You still planning to change it back once you’re married with kids?” he asked. With a little luck, she’d agree, at least for the moment, and put an end to the whole name-change discussion.
Zach laughed. “Don’t do it, cousin! I can hardly wait to introduce our young’un to Auntie Hank,” he said, patting Summer’s round belly. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to quit the rodeo circuit and settle down. I can almost hear your kids’ kids calling you Granny Hank. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Your grandmother might not agree.”
If their father noticed Hank’s second heavy sigh, he hid it well. Nate heard it, though, and he didn’t need to look up to know she’d branded him with a blistering glare. After dessert, he’d take her aside and apologize. She’d always had a fiery temper, and if things ran true to course, she’d make him prove how sorry he was...with dinner at Shanahan’s, her favorite restaurant. Hank sure did know how to get her way.
“I thought you gave up sucking your thumb when you were three, Nate.”
It took a second to figure out what his mother was talking about. Laughing quietly, Nate put down the butter knife and wiped his glistening thumb on a napkin.
“I know that googly-eyed look,” Hank said, smirking. “I’d bet my Greeley Stampede barrel champion buckle on it. He was off in la-la land, daydreaming about some woman.”
Time and again, he’d told well-intentioned family members that he wasn’t ready for another relationship, not with the cultured young women who volunteered with his mom and aunt or the flirty rodeo gals Hank tried to set him up with. His sister knew the reasons better than