Tangled Memories. Marta Perry
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rented to a family friend, Lydia Baron.” He paused for an instant. “That was originally Trey’s house.”
He thought there was a small intake of breath, but otherwise she didn’t react. Maybe she was tougher than she looked.
“Shall we go in?” He gestured to the curving stairway.
Corrie hesitated. Then, with her face wooden, she started up.
He followed, running his hand along the polished rail. He couldn’t help but love introducing his city to a stranger, even an unwelcome one like Corrie. Savannah was bred in him. For all the city’s faults, he’d be a foreigner anywhere else.
“The main floor in many of Savannah’s historic homes is on the second floor—the parlor floor. The downstairs is called the garden level.”
She paused in front of the glossy black door. Heavy pots of alyssum stood on either side of it, perfuming the air. “I understand Mr. Manning hasn’t returned yet.”
Corrie, naturally, would be more concerned with the man she hoped to impress than with the decor.
“Not yet.” He reached past her to turn the brass knob. “But I’m sure some of the family is waiting to meet you.”
And ready to behave, he hoped. He’d warned all of them not to give this woman any ammunition to use against them with Baxter. He could just hope they’d paid attention.
He opened the door. They stepped into the long entrance hallway, rich with the mingled aromas of polish and potpourri. Two people waited for them: Eulalie, his mother-in-law; Deidre Ashworth, his sister-in-law. He shot Deidre a warning look.
“Eulalie, this is Corrie Grant.” He smiled reassuringly at Eulalie, knowing she was torn between her innate Southern courtesy and her fear that Corrie would somehow supplant her two children. “Corrie, this is Eulalie Ashworth, Mr. Manning’s niece. Who may, or may not, be your…let’s see, second cousin.”
“Of course she is not our cousin.” Deidre took a step forward, hands curling into fists as if she’d like to throw Corrie out bodily. “She’s a fraud, and she’s not welcome in this house.”
TWO
Corrie froze for an instant. Obviously she should have been ready for direct hostility, but she wasn’t. What had happened to that Southern hospitality she’d heard so much about?
She stiffened her spine. Aunt Ella had taught her how to behave, and she wouldn’t shame her. She held out her hand to the older of the two women, trying to manage a smile.
Eulalie Ashworth was as soft and round and fluffy as a mound of cotton candy. She also looked perplexed. She studied Corrie’s hand as if it might be a deadly weapon and then took it. Corrie felt soft, powdery skin and smelled a whiff of lilac scent.
“Welcome to Savannah…” Eulalie began, but the younger woman interrupted.
“She’s not welcome. I don’t see any reason why we should be polite.”
“An accusation no one could possibly make about you, Deidre.” Lucas smiled, but Corrie thought his amber eyes held a warning. “Corrie, this is Eulalie’s daughter, Deidre Ashworth.”
Deidre obviously wouldn’t take her hand. Her eyes flashed with anger, and her dark hair fairly sparked with electricity. Midtwenties, at a guess, she was sharp, thin, brittle and beautifully dressed.
“Deidre. Mr. Manning mentioned you.”
Deidre lifted arched black brows. “Not calling him Grandfather already? How subtle of you.”
“I’ve already told Lucas. Now I’ll tell you.” She darted a glance at Lucas. He leaned broad shoulders against the newel post of the soaring staircase, watching her with a sardonic expression. “I don’t want anything except to find out about my parents.”
“As I said, how subtle.” Deidre was clearly not impressed. She swung on Lucas, as if he were to blame. “Do we really have to have this creature in our house?”
“Deidre, please.” Eulalie’s cheeks turned as pink as her dress. “Think what Uncle Baxter would say.”
Deidre glared at her mother. “Uncle Baxter must have entered his second childhood. We should have him declared incompetent.”
Corrie’s head began to throb. Maybe Baxter Manning had overestimated his control over his family. If they didn’t cooperate, she’d find out nothing.
“This is Baxter’s home.” Lucas’s voice hadn’t lost its lazy timbre, but there was steel underneath. “It’s up to him to say who stays here. And need I remind you who owns the house you live in?”
For a moment the fury in Deidre’s face was so out of control Corrie thought she’d strike him. Her hands clenched until the veins stood out. “You’d take Uncle Baxter’s side, of course. You always do. But then, you know which side your bread is buttered on, don’t you, Lucas?”
If the barb hurt, Lucas didn’t show it. “It’s common sense, Deidre, which you seem to be sadly lacking.”
The side door into the hall swung open.
“Grandma, is she here yet?” A small figure ran into the hallway. The boy threw himself at Lucas. “Is she, Daddy?”
Lucas caught the child, lifting him high in the air. For an instant Lucas’s face was open, and the love when he looked at his son touched a surprising chord in Corrie.
Was that what she really wanted from this trip? Some sign that the father she’d never known would have loved her?
“Please, Lucas. Put Jason down.” Eulalie fluttered toward them, hands outstretched as if to take a baby. “That’s not good for him.”
Not good for him? The words startled Corrie. Was something wrong with the boy? He looked like a normal six-year-old, fair and a little skinny, as active kids often were at that age.
But Lucas set him down immediately, something that might have been guilt flickering in his face. He brushed the boy’s silky blond hair back from his forehead gently.
“He’s all right. Corrie, this is my son, Jason. He’s eight.”
Corrie mentally adjusted her image of the child. He was a bit small for eight. He came forward to shake hands solemnly.
“Hi, Jason.” At last, someone who didn’t seem to be out to get her. She smiled at him.
“Hello, Cousin Corrie.”
Deidre jerked as if she’d been shot. “Don’t call her cousin, Jason. She’s not your cousin.”
“But Grandma said that Uncle Baxter said—”
“Just call me Corrie, okay?” She wouldn’t let a child be pulled into their quarrel. “I’m glad to meet you, Jason.”
His mother had been Deidre’s older sister—she knew that from the briefing the attorneys had given her. Julia, her name was. She’d died three years earlier.
Jason studied her, brown eyes grave. “You don’t look like a cowgirl.” He sounded disappointed.
Eulalie drew in a scandalized breath, but Corrie just smiled. Cowgirl was probably the least of the things the family had been calling her.
“Well, even cowgirls get a little dressed up to travel. My boots are in my luggage.”
Jason’s small face lit with a smile. “Maybe we can go riding while you’re here. My daddy’s a good rider. He’s won lots of ribbons.”
That was an unexpected sidelight on Lucas. “He’s probably better than I am, then.”
“Jason, you know you’re not allowed to ride,” Eulalie said. She frowned at Corrie, as if this were her fault.
“If we might get the conversation