Coming Home (12 page)

She glared at him and said, “I've known Milo since we were in school together. I know he's supposed to be a bad boy, but trust me, he's a cupcake compared to some men I've met.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” he drawled, her words reminding him again of how different their lives were, “you would know all about bad boys, wouldn't you?”

It was amazing, she thought with a pang, how easily they slipped into their old confrontational mode. She smiled icily. “Indeed, I would—after all, the tabloids are always right, aren't they?”

“How the hell would I know?” he snapped, furious and not knowing why. “I don't read the damn things.” “Oh, no. Then how come you know so much about all the bad boys in my life?”

He stifled the urge to shake her. “OK, I was out of line. But not about Scott. You may have known him in high school, but that was a long time ago. He runs with a nasty crew these days.”

“So what? And if you're talking about dope—for get
^1.
about it—he was selling it back then.” Flippantly she added, “I even used to buy some from him.”

His grip on her arm tightened. “I don't give a damn what you did back then, this is now and I'm telling you that Scott is someone you should avoid. Tell him to get lost.”

She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “And who,” she grated, “gave you the right to decide who I see and who I don't see?”

He'd gone about this all wrong, he could see that now. If he'd kept his mouth shut, even acted friendly to Scott, Roxanne probably would have sent him on his way. But no, what did he do? He told her, almost ordered her, to have nothing to do with the guy. He scowled. A surefire method to have her greeting the creep with open arms. Damn! He was dumb sometimes.

And sure enough, when Milo Scott finally decided that the dogs were greeting him and not thinking about eating him and risked getting out of the truck, what did Roxanne do? After throwing him a challenging look, she turned on her heels and just walked right up to Milo, gave him a big hug, a kiss on the cheek, and exclaimed, “Milo! It's great to see you.”

Disgusted with himself, Jeb whistled to the dogs. To his astonishment, for once they obeyed. Loading them into his truck, he climbed in behind them. Rolling down the window, he said, “Guess I'll be on my way.”

“You do that,” Roxanne murmured, her eyes glittering. “Milo and I have tons to catch up on.” She smiled warmly at Milo. “Don't we?”

Milo put an arm around her shoulder. “Sure do,” he said with a smirk in Jeb's direction. “Roxy and me will be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Is that so?” Jeb asked in a dry tone.

“Yeah,” Milo drawled. “I'm the cement contractor on the house.” He grinned at Roxanne. “We' 11 be spending lots of time together out here.”

Chapter
6

J
eb's truck was hardly out of sight before Roxanne slapped Milo's arm off her shoulder. “Knock it off,” she said irritably. “We're not
that
good of friends.”

Milo cocked a sandy-colored brow. “Hey, you were the one that came over all friendly-like.”

“My mistake.” She flashed him a hard look. “Despite what just happened, don't get any ideas—anything between us is strictly business.”

“No problem.” He nodded in the direction Jeb's truck had disappeared. “So what is it with you and macho-man.”

“None of your business.”

“Hey, I only asked.”

“Well, don't ask anymore.” She frowned. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

It wasn't that she didn't trust Milo Scott exactly … Despite her act in front of Jeb, she didn't care for Milo all that much. Never had. Not even in high school. There had always been something furtive, creepyabout him and the years hadn't changed that aspect of him, she thought as she studied him. He was considered an attractive man with even features and a head full of wavy sandy-blond hair, but she'd never found him particularly appealing. Something about those flat dark blue eyes and his thin-lipped mouth gave her the whim-whams. Almost six feet and slimly built, he still exuded a wiry strength that she remembered from high school. Milo had been two years ahead of her and as a giggly freshman she had looked up to the school's star quarterback. In a small town like St. Galen's, Milo had been a very big fish, but even then there'd been rumors of dope-dealing and word among the kids had been that if you were looking for a score, go see Milo Scott. She hadn't smoked a toke in over a decade, and as for any other drug, she'd passed them by—she'd seen too many lives and careers ruined by drugs. And Jeb hadn't told her anything new—she'd come back to the valley enough times to know that Milo Scott was still selling dope and had expanded his, ah, area of expertise.

“So,” she asked again when Milo remained silent, “what are you doing out here?”

He shrugged. “Just thought I'd take another look before Monday.”

She frowned again. It would be several days yet before Milo's company could start pouring cement and she didn't really see the need for him to be out here today. If he wanted to waste his time, it didn't matter to her. “OK, I'll walk you through it.”

He hesitated and she got the distinct impression that he'd rather have been alone. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you know Dirk Aston?” she asked abruptly.

If he was startled at the change of topic, he gave no sign. Just shrugged again and said, “Sure. Everybody knew Dirk.” He nodded in the direction of the A-frame. “I helped him build the place.” He smiled, showing very nice, very even white teeth, but Roxanne noticed that the smile didn't reach his eyes. “Dirk and I were good buds. We did some business together.”

“Drug business?”

“Maybe.” He glanced at her, those flat blue eyes watchful. “You working for the sheriff's office these days? Doing a little investigating for Jeb?”

Roxanne snorted. “Get real. I was just curious. You know St. Galen's—there are so many rumors going around, I just thought I'd get things clarified … from someone who might know the true story.”

Milo looked off. “Well, about half the stories are true. Dirk did grow a little pot up here, but he wasn't one of the big growers. He grew a little for himself and sold a little to buy himself a few, er, necessities of life.” He shook his head. “Sure was a shame him getting offed like that in Oakland. But that was poor stupid Dirk—too damn dumb to know he should have stayed in Oak Valley and kept his nose clean.”

The contempt in his voice was obvious and his comment about Dirk keeping his nose clean made her wonder if he knew more about Dirk's death than he was letting on. She considered pumping him somemore, but something about his expression told her he'd said all he was going to say on the subject.

“So you're a cement contractor these days,” she said by way of changing the topic.

He grinned. “Yep. Sure am. Do lots of work all over the county. Got myself a couple of different businesses. You know, keep the cash flowing.”

And how much of that cash, Roxanne wondered, was actually generated by those companies. Again it wasn't a subject she was going to pursue. None of her business.

“Well, good for you,” she said. “It's always nice to see someone become successful.”

“Hey, babe. I'm successful, but nothing like you—you're
Roxanne.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I
was
Roxanne. Those days are over. I'm home to stay. I may still do a few special jobs just to keep my hand in, but as of the first of September, I'm retired.”

His jaw dropped. “You're shitting me, right? You've giving up all that fame and money to come back to St. Galen's? Are you nuts?”

Laughing, she linked her arm in his and said, “No, I think for the first time in a long time, I'm thinking straight. Now come on—I've got a copy of the plans in the Jeep. Let me grab them and then we can do that inspection of yours.”

Once she had unearthed the architectural drawings, side by side they walked around the house, Roxanne pointing out the changes that would take place. For someone whose sole purpose for coming out was to inspect the place, Milo didn't seem to be all that interested. She knew he'd already seen and studied the plans—after all, he'd made a bid on the job, and won it for that matter, but his disinterest bothered her. While she was talking, she noticed that his gaze drifted away in the direction of the outbuildings, the garage, the dilapidated pump house, and the falling-down woodshed.

Again she considered calling him on it, but figured he'd just give her some song-and-dance, so she let it go. But he was wasting her time and rolling up the drawings, she said, “I think that's it, don't you?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He glanced at her. “Don Bean's doing the tractor work, isn't he? Leveling and digging the foundation?”

She nodded. “Yes, he is. He starts bright and early Monday morning. It'll probably be at least a week or two before your part of the job will start.”

“That's OK. My crew will be ready.” He took in another encompassing gaze around. “Well, guess I'll be on my way. Nice seeing you again.”

Roxanne watched him drive away with a frown between her brows. What, she wondered as she slid behind the wheel of the Jeep, was that all about? He'd barely looked at the house site and he'd agreed way too quickly when she'd called it quits. She bit her lip. If she knew Milo, and she rather thought she did, she'd lay odds he was just waiting for her to leave and then he'd come back and check out what was really on his mind. She'd always considered him a slippery bastard.

It bothered her, the possibility of his sneaking around the place, but there was nothing she could do about it, unless she was going to stay in the cabin twenty-four hours a day. She shook her head. Nope. She wasn't that interested in the games that Milo Scott played. She took one last look at the A-frame and then turned on the ignition.

The Ballinger family mansion was located off Adobe Lane in the middle of the valley. Driving down the mile-long driveway lined with wide-spreading century old oak trees, she could imagine for just a minute that she was in Louisiana. Gray-green moss even hung from the heavy limbs of the trees, but it wasn't as luxurious or ghostly as found in the South. The sight of the three-storied house with its ten magnificent Doric columns marching across the front and the pair of circular freestanding staircases always made Roxanne's heart leap. Today was no different. It didn't matter that she'd grown up in the house, didn't matter that she was as familiar with it as one could be, it still gave her a thrill to see it.

Wide, shady verandas on the first and second stories surrounded the house on all sides and its style was such that it would have looked perfectly at home perched along a grand vista overlooking the Mississippi River. York Ballinger, the first Ballinger in the valley, had commissioned the house to be built in the late 1860s.

Roxanne had always wondered why York, a Yankee L from Boston, who had fought for the Union during the Civil War, had chosen such an obviously southern-styled home. Maybe he'd fallen in love with the gracious southern mansions he'd helped sack and burn? She shook her head. Nah. Probably something to do with the feud with the Grangers. Probably thought it was the style of house old Jeb Granger would have built so York had wanted to beat him to it. She nodded. Yeah. That sounded like the Ballinger/Granger feud.

Bypassing the broad circular driveway in front of the house, she took the narrow offshoot that angled to the back. A minute later she was bounding up the wide steps to the screened-in veranda at the rear of the house.

Walking through the spacious wash/mud room, she entered the big country kitchen her mom had insisted upon remodeling about ten years ago. No one had blamed her—the last time it had been done had been sometime in the fifties or sixties and the whole family had been pretty sick of the gold and avocado color scheme—especially the avocado linoleum on the floor.

Roxanne automatically glanced toward the huge family room that opened off the kitchen—a favorite gathering place. It was a sunny, casually elegant room with an impressive rock-fronted fireplace in one corner. These days it sported a brass and bronze enameled fireplace insert and with the wide glass front, it was as cheery and inviting as a regular fireplace. The room was filled with windows and two pairs of French doorsopened onto both the screened-in veranda at the rear, and the veranda on the south. Her mother, Helen, and younger sister, Ilka, were sitting there, her mom in a comfortable recliner done in a vibrant shade of striped wine-colored velvet and her sister on a pillow-backed couch covered in teal leather. They were both reading and looked up when the back door slammed shut.

“Oh, good, you're home,” her mother said, smiling. “I didn't know whether to plan on you being here for dinner tonight or not.”

At sixty-two years of age, Helen Ballinger was still a beautiful woman. Thanks to excellent genes, she easily looked a decade younger and even possibly younger than that—on a good day, her children teased her. It helped that her hair had been a lovely ash blond in her youth and had just grown lighter as she had aged until it was a gorgeous shade of champagne blond. Roxanne had never seen her wear it in any other style than the one she currently wore, a short bouncy pageboy. As always, she looked elegant, even in blue jeans and a sapphire-blue shirt that deepened the hue of her stunning silvery-blue eyes.

Ilka looked like her mother's twin. She had the same ash-fair hair and cool blue eyes. Unlike Ilka, Roxanne, Sloan, and the others took after the Ballinger side of the family, having inherited from their father tall, lean bodies, black hair, and amber-gold eyes. Like her mother whom she so resembled, Ilka was small, delicate, and ethereal, and most people unfamiliar with the family couldn't believe Ilka was related to the oth ers … until they met Helen. There were almost five years between Roxanne and Ilka and they had never been particularly close. Roxanne had left home just as Ilka was entering her teens and while they had some fond childhood memories of each other, they weren't exactly easy with one another as adults. Their lives, so far, had been very different and it had always been difficult to find common ground. Roxanne was hoping that now that she would be living in Oak Valley she could get to know all of her siblings better, including Ilka. Ilka would turn thirty-three in October, and Roxanne figured if they were ever going to forge some bonds, it would be now, since age wasn't an issue anymore—they were all adults. She hoped. Sometimes she worried about herself and if her actions lately were anything to go by, she had reason to be worried.