Return to Oak Valley (41 page)

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Roman said with a chuckle.

The afternoon was busy. After lunch, during which he was peppered with questions in between managing a few of his own, Roman's numerous bags were dragged upstairs, and before too long he was regally installed in the guest suite across the wide hall from Shelly's room. Taking in the plush wine-and-gray patterned carpet, the breathtaking view of the mountains through the long windows, and the fine furnishings scattered through the suite, Roman sighed. “Yes, this is more like it.” Grinning at Shelly as they stood in the pleasant sitting room that adjoined the bedroom, he said, “With all this comfort and elegance to look forward to, I'll be able to handle anything that Acey and Nick deal me.”

“Other people might buy that languid, fastidious, city slicker attitude, but I know you,” Shelly said with twinkling eyes. “I've no doubt that Acey and Nick will test you, but I'm quite certain that you'll pass with flying colors. Don't forget—
I
know you're not the prissy dilettante you like to pretend to be.”

“Prissy! Now that's unfair,” he said with a laugh. Putting his arm around her shoulder, they stood together staring out at the mountains in the distance. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

Shelly nodded, emotion suddenly clogging her throat. She turned, resting her head on Roman's shoulder. “It's been hard, I won't pretend otherwise, but I think the worst is over.” She looked up at him, her eyes troubled. “There's so much about Josh that I don't understand. There are things I've found out that make me wonder if I ever knew him at all.”

Roman smiled down kindly at her. “
Ma belle
, your problem is that you saw him as some sort of godlike creature who could do no wrong.” Roman grimaced. “And, while I disagreed with him, I can't blame him for letting you go on believing just that.” Ruefully, he said, “We males tend to enjoy having females look up adoringly at us—even when we know we don't deserve it.” His voice grew serious. “Josh was just human, Shelly, nothing more, nothing less.”

She sighed. “You're right, but it's been a rough adjustment.” She glanced at him. “Did you know about his gambling?”

“I knew he gambled, but I take it you mean more than just a weekend fling now and then.”

“Yes, I do,” she said softly. Over the years, she had come to rely on Roman almost as much as Josh. Three years her elder and decades older in experience, he had stepped easily into the role of older brother when Josh hadn't been around. It had been Roman who had helped her find her apartment in New Orleans and prowled antique stores with her for furnishings; Roman who had introduced her to the gallery owner where her work was displayed: Roman who had guided her steps during those first, painful, uneasy weeks in New Orleans. He'd always been there for her, and unlike her feelings about her brother, she had no illusions about Roman; he could be a devil, but he could also be trusted. And because she did trust him, she proceeded to tell him everything, Josh's gambling, the connection to Milo Scott, the raiding of the trust funds, Nick's parentage, the renewal, or semirenewal, of her love affair with Sloan, everything. She might have skirted around touchy issues like her relationship with Sloan, but essentially she left nothing out.

Roman blinked when she finished speaking, his expression astonished. He took a deep breath. “Man, and I thought New Orleans was Sin City. Sounds like little ole St. Galen's isn't doing so badly in the sin and corruption department. You and this Jeb character don't really believe that Josh was murdered by some drug lord, do you?”

Shelly made a face. “I don't know. I guess I want that to have happened because it makes more sense to me than Josh committing suicide.”

“Hmm, maybe, and I don't disagree that suicide is hard to swallow, but just look at how wrong you were about that money he took from Ballinger for that right-of-way. He deliberately scalped Sloan, but then he turned around and put the money to good use by setting up the scholarship.” He grinned. “Now
that
sounds like the Josh we all knew and loved. He was a scoundrel with a heart of gold.”

“But see, you knew that side of him,” she said earnestly. “I didn't. And because I didn't, I guess that's why I'm having so much trouble believing that one day out of the blue he just decided to kill himself.” Wryly, she admitted, “I really did think he walked on water.”

“He didn't, trust me on that,” Roman said. “Something else for you to think about—I'd be more than half-inclined to believe your Sloan's version of what happened on that night seventeen years ago.” At her look of dismay, he added, “Josh loved you. But always remember that he wanted what
he
thought was best for you, and I can tell you that he sure as hell didn't want you marrying a Ballinger.” When she would have protested, he held up a hand. “Listen to me. Being removed from the source of the feud, even though I'm as much a Granger as you are, I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to all the family tales about the dastardly Ballingers. But Josh did. He hated the Ballingers—dead ones as well as live ones—and what happened over a hundred years ago was as real and fresh in his mind as if it had happened a year ago. I know—every now and then I'd make the mistake of razzing him about the feud and would nearly get my head separated from my body for my efforts. I don't want to blacken his name or have you think ill of him, or even, God forbid, appear to be on the Ballinger side, but believe me, Josh would have done
anything
to keep you from hooking up with a Ballinger.”

“Did he tell you that?” she asked in a low voice.

“No. He didn't have to. All you had to know was how he felt about you and how he felt about the Ballingers to figure it out.”

“You think the feud is stupid, don't you?”

Roman shrugged. “Not stupid, but you have to remember, my branch of the family was tucked safely away in Louisiana, and while word of the ugliness traveled back to us, none of us personally suffered at the hands of a Ballinger.” He winked at her. “Now that isn't to say that we didn't take great offense at our kinfolk being mistreated by some damn Yankees or that if those same damn Yankees had come drifting down to N'Awlins we wouldn't have kicked their Yankee asses just because their name was Ballinger. We would have. Blood is blood.” He grimaced. “Especially Rebel blood. We've been known to hold grudges for generations.”

Shelly nodded. “I know. Sometimes I feel guilty for even considering letting Sloan back in my life. It's like I'll be letting down all those generations that came before me.”

“That's true, but think of this; they're all dead, honey. Moldering in their graves. You're alive, and it's
your
life that you need to be thinking about—not some long-dead ancestor's.”

The phone rang and, walking over to the gleaming walnut end table where the phone sat, she picked it up.

“It's only me,” said M.J. “Listen, will you be terribly disappointed if I cancel out on tonight? My beloved ex just called and said that I can have the kids for the rest of the weekend if I meet him in Willits to pick them up. Guess he's got a hot overnight date.”

“Oh, don't worry about it—we can do it some other time,” Shelly said. Glancing over at Roman, she decided that cancellation of tonight's plans might just be the best thing that could have happened. M.J. was too vulnerable right now to be around someone like Roman. “You have a nice time with the boys.”

M.J. gave a wry chuckle. “Nice isn't exactly how I would describe it, but I'll take an evening with my sons over anything else—no offense.”

“None taken. Talk to you later.”

Walking back to stand beside Roman, she explained, “That was M.J. The two of us had planned to sort of have a slumber party and watch a video, but something came up, and she had to cancel.” She nudged Roman in the ribs. “Probably just as well—I don't want my handsome Creole cousin putting the moves on her.”

Roman arched a brow. “Are you warning me off?”

“Yep. M.J. is strictly off-limits—and I mean it. You can seduce any other female in the valley, but leave M.J. alone.”

“Ah, what a disappointment, since the entire purpose of my whole trip was to finally meet and woo the infamous M.J.”

“Speaking of your trip,” Shelly said smoothly, “why are you here?”

Roman shrugged and glanced back at the view. “I don't know. New Orleans suddenly bored me, and I wanted to get away—and I was worried about you.” He smiled over at her. “Honest. This may have been home to you, but you've been gone for a long time—I thought you could use some family support. Sort of like better the devil you know…”

Her heart warmed. “I'm glad you're here. Acey, Nick, and Maria, and M.J.—I have wonderful memories from my youth of them and everybody has been wonderful, but you're right, seventeen years is a long time. We've all grown up, grown older, changed. They're not strangers, yet I'm conscious, especially in view of what I've learned about Josh, that I don't really know any of them—not like I know you.” She hugged him. “It's nice to have you here.”

“I should damn well hope so,” Roman teased. “I'll have you know that I gave up a weekend with a voluptuous Playmate of the Month to be with you.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “She terrified me—every other word out of her mouth had something to do with commitment.” He shivered. “And you know how that word affects me.”

“Poor baby,” she sympathized, patting his arm. “I'd be more impressed if I didn't know that you're a master at escaping the clutches of women with commitment and marriage at the top of their agendas.”

Roman laughed. “All teasing aside,” he said, “I was worried about you. I cleared my schedule, turned the farm over to my assistant, and here I am.”

The New Orleans branch of the Granger family had done very well for itself since the end of the Civil War. Money was not something that Roman or his other siblings had ever had to worry about. Through hook and by crook, and an expedient marriage to a Yankee heiress, Forrest Granger, Jeb Granger's youngest brother, had managed to amass a huge fortune, most of it in land, land that was now known as Granger Enterprises. These days they were a diverse corporation, but their roots were deep in the farming community and despite owning office buildings, several resorts, and oil fields, Roman was a farmer at heart. A staff headed by his father, Fritz Granger, known as Fritzie to family and friends, and Roman's two older brothers, Fritz Jr. and Noble, ran most of the businesses, while Roman oversaw the farming operations. Since he, too, had an excellent staff he was able to have as much free time as he wanted. Roman worked hard, but he was prone to playing harder.

The conversation slid to family, and several minutes passed as Roman brought Shelly up to date with the latest with relatives in Louisiana. They might have lingered longer, but Nick tapped on the door to the sitting room and stuck his head inside.

“Sloan's here,” he said and grinned. “And man, oh, man you should see the bruises he's sporting. He
claims
he ran into a door, but I'd like to see Milo Scott. Bet he ran into a bigger door and looks worse.”

Alarmed, Shelly flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the kitchen doorway when she caught sight of Sloan, who was seated at the kitchen table, helping himself to a slice of apple pie warm from the oven. He was absorbed in placing the piece of pie on his plate and didn't notice her immediately, which gave her ample time to take in his battered face.

He looked awful. A black eye, a gloriously purple bruise on the opposite cheek, a split lip and eyebrow, and various other nicks and scrapes were apparent.

Her voice calm despite her shock at the sight of his battered features, she strolled into the kitchen. Sloan glanced up at her and smiled, then winced when his split lip made itself felt.

“Nick said you ran into a door,” she murmured, lifting up his chin and taking a closer inventory of his various wounds. “Must have been some door.”

He grinned lopsidedly, and her heart turned right over in her breast. “Yeah,” he said. “Big ole sucker. Knocked me flat. Just wasn't paying attention to where I was going.”

Admiration in his gaze, Acey, who was seated across the table, said, “That's the thing about them damn doors, leap out at a fellow when least expected. Happened to me once or twice.”

Nick and Roman followed her into the kitchen and introductions were made again. Both men were more subtle about their reaction to each other than Acey and Nick had been, but Roman was aware that he was being pretty thoroughly checked out. Either Shelly seemed to have surrounded herself with a bunch of very territorial and protective males, or Oak Valley bred them that way, he thought sourly. Nick and Acey's initial reaction hadn't bothered him; he'd been confident that any fight, physical or mental, would have seen him the winner, but Sloan…Sloan was a big bruiser, clever, too, from what he knew, and Roman decided that he'd really,
really
hate to tangle with him. Besides, Shelly was in love with the guy, and he'd learned long ago, never,
ever
, get between a pair of lovers.

Shaking hands with Sloan was like being caught in a bear trap and, delicately extracting his hand, with a pained smile, Roman said, “I surrender. You're bigger, tougher, and probably meaner than I am.” He met Sloan's watchful gaze. “A couple things we should get out of the way right up front: I love my cousin in the most platonic way possible—believe me, I am not competition. I am not after her money or her land. I would never do anything to harm her, in fact I would do anything within my power to keep her from harm. So knowing that, could we please forgo the male bonding procedure? I've had a long trip, and I'm really not up to knocking heads.”

“In that case,” Sloan said with a wry chuckle, “I guess I can do as you ask. Besides, Acey's been filling me in and he says that you may look like you've never done a day of hard work in your life, but that I shouldn't let that fool me.”

Nick and Acey both looked a little shamefaced. Pulling on his ear, Nick said, “We, uh, got off on the wrong foot with Roman.”

“Yes, you did,” Shelly said severely. “You both acted like a pair of glue-sniffing dorks.” She glanced at Sloan. “And considering your argument with that door, I don't think you need to add any new bruises.”