Return To Me. Shannon McKenna

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СКАЧАТЬ her great-grandfather Ewan with homemade white lightning until he lost his wits—and the house—in a drunken poker game back in 1918.

      Seamus had settled comfortably into his new house, and married a Nez Perce woman that he’d met in Pendleton. Ellen had seen a photo of her in Gus’s kitchen one day when she’d brought over some fresh bread. Simon, her great-grandson, had inherited her prominent cheekbones, her black hair and her somber, penetrating eyes.

      The place had been an eyesore for as long as Ellen could remember, but Gus had been flatly unreceptive to all offers to buy him out. Perhaps Simon would be willing to sell it to her.

      “Hello, there, Ellen!”

      A handsome middle-aged man pushed his way through the lilacs. Ray Mitchell, Brad’s father. Her future father-in-law was the very last person she expected to see stepping off of the late Gus Riley’s property.

      “Uh, hi, Mr. Mitchell,” she said.

      Ray beamed at her. “Keeping cool, honey?”

      “Hardly,” she murmured. Ray’s hearty voice bugged her, for some reason. Hearty and Affable was one of his four settings; the other three being Solemnly Sincere, Deeply Concerned, or Indulgently Amused.

      She was being unfair. Ray had never been anything but courteous to her. His social style was due to the fact that he’d been a public figure for so many years, she supposed. But Ray Mitchell’s public persona seemed to have taken over the private one. She hoped that wouldn’t happen to Brad if he decided to go into politics. It would drive her nuts.

      “What a nice surprise,” she heard herself say. “Would you like to come in for a glass of iced tea?”

      Ray took the cooler from her arms. “Let me get this for you, honey. Can’t stay long, but I’d be glad for a glass of your great iced tea.”

      He followed her into the kitchen and set the cooler on the table. Ellen stuck a tumbler under the ice maker. “Peach or lemon?”

      “Lemon, please,” Ray said. “Thank you. That’ll just hit the spot. Hotter than the fires of hell out there, isn’t it?”

      He sipped his tea and murmured appreciatively. She waited to hear what he was gathering himself to say, though she had an intuition that she already knew. “You must have heard by now that Simon Riley is back in town,” he began.

      Bingo. She’d guessed it. A headache gathered in the back of her head, throbbing with each beat of her heart. “Yes, I did hear that.”

      “But you haven’t seen him?” Ray’s expression switched like a TV channel into Look #3, Deeply Concerned.

      “I got home just now,” she said. “I was in town running errands.”

      “So he hasn’t been by here yet, then?” Ray persisted.

      “Haven’t seen a trace of him. What’s on your mind, Mr. Mitchell?”

      Ray sipped his tea and gazed out the kitchen window at the bushes that screened Gus’s house. “I’m worried. Even before you got involved with Brad, I was uncomfortable with the idea of a lovely young lady living alone right next to someone so unstable as Gus Riley.”

      “Hardly alone,” Ellen pointed out. “I never have less than six guests in the house with me at any given time.”

      Ray waved that inconsequential detail away. “Be that as it may, Gus had a history of mental illness. He was a land mine that could have exploded at any time. What he did to himself was a tragedy, and I’m deeply sorry for his pain, but I won’t hide from you, honey—that mine has finally exploded. No one has to tiptoe around it anymore. That may sound callous to a tender-hearted young lady such as yourself, but…”

      “Speak your mind. I can take it,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t agree with you, though. Gus was always perfectly polite to me.”

      Sort of. Whenever she’d brought goodies to Gus’s house, she’d been greeted with the sound of a shotgun being pumped. But since he’d always put the gun aside and offered her coffee, it was no big deal.

      “Now there’s another unexploded land mine in town,” Ray said. “And it’s just too close to you. Again.”

      “You mean Simon?” She blinked with exaggerated innocence, just to see if he’d notice her sarcasm.

      He did not appear to register it. “Yes, I do mean Simon, honey. Entirely aside from that business with the fire—”

      “Simon did not set that fire!” Her voice was getting shrill again.

      “Ellen. Honey,” Ray said. “I saw him running away from the stables with my own eyes.”

      “But you didn’t see him set the fire!”

      Ray sighed. “Be that as it may. It’s been a long time, and I’m willing to forgive and forget—”

      “How can you forgive someone for something they didn’t do?”

      Solemnly Sincere took over on Ray’s face. “Let the matter of the fire be, honey. I just want you out of range. I want you to consider moving away from Kent House if Simon should decide to stay at Gus’s. I doubt he’ll stay long, since I’m quite sure his welcome here will be pretty darned cool, but for the time being, what do you say?”

      Ellen stared at him blankly. “Mr. Mitchell, I run a business. I’m fully booked through October. Do you realize what you’re suggesting?”

      “I’m suggesting that you might need to re-order your priorities,” Ray said earnestly. “You’re welcome to stay with Diana and me until the wedding. We have plenty of room. That would be the best solution.”

      Ellen shook her head. “I appreciate your offer and your concern, but I just can’t do that. And now I really need to get started with my teatime preparations. So if you’ll excuse me…?”

      Ray set his glass in the sink. “Think about it,” he urged. “Tell us the second you start to feel uneasy. The door is always open to you, Ellen. I promise that no one will say ‘I told you so.’”

      “It won’t be necessary, Mr. Mitchell, but thanks very much.”

      She watched Ray from the window. He cast a last, lingering glance down at Gus’s house before he got into the Volvo and drove away.

      Another bizarre episode in an atypical day, but she couldn’t really focus on it. Her mind was stuck on Simon. If he ever did come around to see her, he would find her very changed. She wasn’t a lonely, puppyish kid anymore, begging for his attention.

      Like she’d begged for his kiss the night he’d run away.

      And oh, God, she really shouldn’t think about that. She had to think about something else. Quick. Softening the butter for the scones she had to bake for teatime. Rinsing the blueberries. Anything at all.

      She started putting groceries away, but it was no good. The memory reeled through her mind, unstoppable.

      The night that he’d climbed up the oak to her bedroom window to tell her goodbye, she’d СКАЧАТЬ