The Bride's Choice. Sara Orwig

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      His feelings seesawed as he surveyed the living room’s clutter and disarray, with books and baseball mitts and model airplanes on the tables. Nondescript chairs and ta- bles lined the walls and filled the corners. His tension level rose again at the disorder, yet at the same time the clutter reassured him that this was not the room of a woman who put money above all else. The ancient shag carpet was threadbare. The stuffed chairs had worn spots on the arms and there was a crack in the glass-topped coffee table. A petite woman with white hair smiled at him from a rocker.

      “Grandmother, this is Elnora’s attorney, Caleb Duncan. Mr. Duncan, this is my grandmother, Mimi Gibson.”

      “Evening, Mrs. Gibson.”

      “Juliana told me about Miz Siever’s will,” Mrs. Gibson said slyly, smiling at him with a gleam that made him feel like a chocolate morsel about to be consumed.

      “It’s unusual,” he said uneasily.

      “We won’t be late, Grandmother,” Juliana said.

      “Do you like crossword puzzles?” the old woman asked, pushing her glasses higher on her nose and shifting the pa- per spread on her lap.

      “Yes, I like to figure things out,” he replied, looking into Juliana’s cool blue eyes.

      “Maybe you can tell me,” Mrs. Gibson said, poising her pencil over the puzzle, “airplane-wing parts that have eight letters.”

      “Could be ailerons or spoilers,” he answered, mentally counting the letters.

      “The aileron word fits perfectly.” She smiled at him again. “I told Juliana that Miz Siever would never pick a bum to inherit her money.”

      “Thanks,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling uncomfortable. It was obvious that Juliana Al- drich’s grandmother felt just the same as Elnora about Ju- liana’s future.

      “Mimi, we better be going. The boys are still outside playing ball,” Juliana said, conscious of Cal Duncan’s scrutiny and Mimi’s blatant approval.

      “Have a nice evening,” Mimi said, smiling at Cal.

      “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Gibson.”

      “Oh, please, call me Mimi, like the rest of the family does.”

      “Sure, Mimi,” Cal complied, feeling as if a noose were closing around his neck—the rest of the family… The woman already had them married.

      As they stepped outside, one of the kids yelled. The baseball flew toward Juliana. Stretching out a long arm, Cal caught it and tossed it back to the boys.

      “Way to go!” the tall boy yelled, throwing it to a friend.

      “I’m terribly impressed,” she said, too aware of Caleb Duncan’s fitness, of his dark, handsome looks. The char- coal suit and white shirt gave him the same successful, ap- pealing appearance that he’d had in the lawyer’s office three days ago. And a close look still made her feel as if she was gazing at someone who was strong, determined and accus- tomed to getting his way. “Very good catch.”

      “I’ve played ball, and those boys aren’t college-age or pros. That was easy enough.”

      “I’ll have to admit, I don’t catch very well,” she said. “They’d just as soon I didn’t try. The tallest boy is my nephew Chris. I can call them over to introduce you.”

      “I don’t think you’ll have to call Chris over. Here he comes,” Cal said.

      The gangly boy loped toward them, blond curls a tangle over his forehead. “Hi,” he said, studying Cal with open curiosity. “You must be Mr. Duncan.”

      “That’s right,” Cal said, offering his hand. “And you’re Chris.”

      “Glad to meet you. Did you used to play ball?”

      Cal nodded. “In college. Never pro. I had a baseball scholarship to Texas University.”

      “Awesome!” Chris’s blue eyes sparkled and he rubbed a dusty finger along his jaw.

      “It was a long time ago.”

      “Yeah, I’ll bet. Gol, you’re still good for an old guy—”

      “Chris!”

      Cal laughed. “Thanks, Chris.”

      “I gotta run—” Then the boy was gone, racing away to join the others, while Juliana looked up at Cal and shrugged.

      “Sorry. He thinks anyone over eighteen is decrepit.”

      “I’m sure.”

      “They’re a handful. Sometimes I feel inadequate,” she said, staring across the yard. He followed her gaze and no- ticed a small boy curled in the fork of the tree.

      “Which one is that?”

      “Quin. And I am inadequate for him. I just can’t get through to him.”

      “You must love all three to give your life over to them. That’ll get through to him sometime.”

      Juliana heard a strange note in Cal’s voice and wondered about his childhood, but she walked beside him without asking questions.

      When they reached the car, Cal held the door. Looking at the flash of her long, shapely legs, he felt his smoldering anger at Elnora dissipate, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to give himself a prison sentence.

      As if trying to postpone an ordeal, Cal drove far more slowly than usual, his thoughts still churning. He turned on Main to take the highway to the outskirts of Garland on the east side of Dallas. He intended to get away from people they knew in Colby, to avoid constant interruptions through dinner. Details of the will would be in the public domain all too soon and they would have to live with everyone’s gos- sip about Elnora’s stipulations.

      A short while later, he parked in a graveled lot filled with cars, and in minutes, they were seated in the secluded cor- ner of a rustic room. After ordering glasses of wine, Cal leaned back in his chair to study her. “Tell me about your nephews.”

      “Chris is eleven, Quin is eight and Josh is five.”

      “I understand you took them in two years ago when your sister died after a long illness and their father was killed in a plane crash. Tough luck.”

      “I have a feeling you know everything about us,” Ju- liana said, wondering exactly how much he did know. “It was tough for the boys. Quin goes for counseling. Chris and Josh seem to have adjusted to the changes in their lives.”

      “It was good of you to take them. I would have thought your mother would raise them.”

      Juliana shook her head, thinking of her tall, thin mother. “Mom’s frail, and the boys make her nervous. It never would have worked. My dad would have been good with them, but he died years ago, when I was seventeen. Now Mom’s remarried and living in California, busy СКАЧАТЬ