Ladd Springs (Ladd Springs, Book #1) (4 page)

He
eyed it warily. “It any good?”

Felicity
suppressed a smile. Uncle Ernie was so suspicious. He acted like it was tainted
with poison! “You know it’s the best.”

“I
don’t know any such thing,” he grumbled under his breath. “But I’ll trust your
word.”

As
expected. Felicity put the bread on the bulky coffee table, the top made from
old planks salvaged from the barn that used to sit on the property, the legs
knotty sticks made from pine branches. “I learned a new piece this week.”

“Alrighty.”
Ernie ambled over and settled himself in his Lazy-Boy, the seams of which were
split open on a top corner. Shifting his weight from side to side, he wedged
himself into the seat, his body fitting into the ratty piece of furniture as if
he were part of it. “Okay, honey. Play away.”

Albert
Ladd trudged in from the kitchen. On the heavy side, he moved at the speed of
molasses. Dressed in denim coveralls and white T-shirt, Felicity never saw him
in anything else, nor did it seem like he ever combed the thin hair that fell
from his bald head. Long and stringy, it hung clear down to his shoulders and
looked downright un-kept. But that was her great uncle,
bless his heart
.

“Did
I hear the princess?” he asked.

She
grinned. “Hi, Uncle Albert.”

“You
gonna play us a song?” he asked, and walked slowly to his chair.

“Yes,
and it’s a new one.” Retrieving the shiny flute from its black velvet case, she
pulled a sheet of music from her portfolio, set it on its stand and prepared to
play. Shaking the hair from her face, Felicity brought the mouthpiece to her
puckered lips and warmed up by blowing a steady stream of air into the
instrument.

Hands
folded across his small protrusion of a belly, Uncle Ernie laid his head back
against the chair and closed his eyes.

Felicity
straightened. She pulled her abdomen in, focused on her diaphragm, aligned her
fingers on the keys and blew a steady stream of air into the flute as she held
it high to her side to her side. Breathing in and out, she played a tune
composed by Charles Griffes. The piece reminded her of the ebb and flow of the
property’s numerous streams and creeks, sweeping rhythm moving high and low,
spanning a broad range of timbre. Along the waterways were her favorite spots,
the ones she sat by for hours. When she was younger, she used to sit by the water
and read. Now, she played the flute. Slow, fast, her fingers danced along its length,
hitting keys in rapid succession as she released herself to the power of the
music. Swinging and bowing, her head and arms moved in rhythm as she played,
dipping and pausing, escalating the pace toward the grand finale.

The
door slammed . Felicity cried out, her breath expelled in a rush of fright.

Ernie
shot forward in his chair.

Clem
Sweeney stood just inside the threshold.

“Damn
it, Clem! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Tall
and lanky, he wore a blue plaid shirt that looked like it hadn’t been washed in
weeks. “Sounds like an angel is playin’ in here,” he said, his smile dripping
with creep.

Felicity’s
heart thudded hard against her ribs. She swallowed hard. Clem was not one of
her favorite people. He was rude, crude, and took every opportunity to leer at
her whenever she was within eyesight. Her mother didn’t care for him either. She
grew up with the man, so she should know. And if she knew he was here, she’d
have a fit.

Drawn
to the plate on the table, Clem stepped forward. “Is that cornbread I smell?”

“It’s
mine,” Ernie warned him, “so keep your grubby hands off it.”

Albert
watched the exchange wordlessly.

“Felicity
here make it?” he asked greedily, though the hunger she discerned in his eyes
had nothing do with the food.

Felicity
stood. “I should go.” She glanced between the two men, her mood for music
dunked in ice water. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this man.

“Sit
down—you’re not going anywhere,” Ernie commanded. “Clem’s the one who has to
go.”

“But
we have a meeting,” Clem said, his attention jarred free from her, latching on
to Ernie. “You scheduled it yourself.”

“It
can wait.”

A
meeting? Felicity’s mind whirred as she glanced between the two. What could
these two possibly have to meet about?

“I
ain’t waitin’ no more. You put me off last night, and now I’m here.”

Ernie’s
eyes practically popped out of his bony skull. “You keep this up, and I’m not
givin’ you a thing.”

The
image of her Uncle Ernie frightened her, more skeleton with eyes than old man
with a beating heart. But the comment served to silence Clem. Hurriedly,
Felicity collected her instrument and music, closed up her case. Tucking the
portfolio under an arm, she turned for the door. Through the front windows, she
could see the sun had almost set. If she hurried, she could make it before
complete dark. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Moving
past Clem, she held her breath against the stench of cigarette smoke that clung
to him—it was in his clothes, his hair and from experience she knew that if she
looked, she’d see nicotine stains on his fingers, too.

Fleeing
the cabin, Felicity dashed down the steps and over the creek bridge, her heart
pounding. But more than the initial surprise from Clem’s arrival, it was nerves
that battered at her now. Her mother’s warning about trespassers slithered up
her spine. The sound of rushing creek and whisper of wind usually appealed to
her, but at the moment only served to scare her.

Forcing
her legs to keep pace, she trekked up the path to her home. Her mother would
not be happy knowing Clem showed up. Nor would she like the fact that her
daughter had decided to make the trip back on her own. But taking the time to
call for her mother’s escort seemed silly and would keep her near the wretched
man all the longer.

A
branch snapped in the woods below her. Felicity froze at the sound—but only for
a second. Was someone there? Her heart kicked into overdrive, adrenaline
pummeling her muscles into action. It could be a deer or a rabbit. It could be
a bear.

Making
it to the porch, she ran up the steps, not pausing until she was at her front
door and her mother’s figure was in sight through the glass. Felicity breathed
in and out, calming her pulse. As she gathered her wits, the door opened in a
rush.

“What
are you doing here?”

Partly
relieved by her mom’s aggressive stance, the lamplight washing over her,
Felicity lifted her pant legs to remove her boots. “I left early,” she said,
purposefully vague. Although grateful for the safety of her mother’s strength,
she didn’t want to worry her.

“Why
didn’t you call me? It’s dark outside.”

“It
wasn’t when I left,” Felicity said.

Her
mother walked inside and closed the door behind her. “You know how I feel about
it, Felicity.”

The
hard edge in her mother’s voice demanded explanation. She turned. Met by the
expected displeasure circling like wolves, she said, “Clem Sweeney showed up so
I left. But, honest, it was still kinda light out. I figured if I hurried, I
could make it.”

Her
mother stilled. “What was Clem doing there?”

Working
to smooth out the final bumps in her pulse, Felicity replied, “I don’t know. He
said something about a meeting.”

“A
meeting?” She paused. “What does he have to meet with Ernie about?”

Felicity
relayed the conversation and her mother frowned. “You stay away from him, you
hear me?”

Breathing
a sigh of relief, Felicity nodded. There would be no argument on that point.

Chapter Four

Delaney
rose early the next morning, intent on searching the spot where she had seen
the men the day before. She could hear Felicity’s blow-dryer running and knew
she’d be out for breakfast soon. Grabbing bread from the cabinet, she pulled
out two slices and plopped them into the toaster. The poached eggs and grits
were almost ready. It was a simple meal, but simple usually meant smart. At
least in her neck of the woods, it did. Besides, it was the only breakfast she
could get her daughter to eat anymore, so it would have to do.

Checking
her watch, Delaney mentally sketched out her day. First she had to see to the
horses, make sure Sadie had enough feed for the day. The two Appaloosas and
Felicity’s mare were pigs when it came to sweet hay, and they’d starve Sadie if
Delaney let them. At some point she’d have to make a trip downtown to see a
client, hit the post office and office supply store. She had a few customers
who insisted on paper statements as a backup to her computer records, despite
the fact she emailed them a copy to download on their own computer. They were
the holdouts, resisting the digital age, though she suspected Mrs. Meyers
requested the copies so she could prove it was Delaney cooking her books,
should the need ever arise. She shook her head and turned at the toaster ding. That
woman barely scratched the surface of her checkbook, let alone a deposit slip! But
people were people and they came in all forms.

If
Mrs. Meyers wanted paper copies, then paper copies she’d get. Delaney’s
personal service was her hallmark, garnering her two more clients this week. Which
reminded her—she needed to send “thank you” notes for the referrals. Word of
mouth was critical to her success, especially in a small town where lips
flapped at high speed. When people talked about Delaney Wilkins, she wanted it
to be positive.

Draining
the water from the pan, she rinsed the eggs in cold tap water, then quickly
cracked them open into a bowl, tossing the shells into the sink. Ashley would
want those for the garden.

Felicity,
dressed in T-shirt and jeans, her waves of strawberry blonde shiny and clean as
they flowed about her shoulders, strolled into the kitchen just as the toast
popped up in the toaster. “What timing!”

“They
call me ‘the clock.’”

Felicity
screwed her face. “Nobody calls you ‘the clock.’”

“Well,
they could.” Delaney smiled. “Time management is my middle name.”

Felicity
rolled her eyes, strolled over and plucked the bread free, her freckles
brighter after the hot morning shower.

“Here
you go,” Delaney said and slid the bowl across the counter. “Two perfectly
poached eggs and grits.”

Next
to her, Felicity poked one with her finger. “They’re hot.”

“Would
you rather they were cold?” Instead of waiting for an answer, Delaney shook her
head and mumbled, “Tough crowd, tough crowd...”

As
Felicity salted her breakfast, Delaney retreated to her bedroom in search of
her cell phone and wallet. Single bed, single dresser, a framed mirror hanging
above, it was all the furniture she could fit in the tiny space and still have
room for her personal items. Which were few—jeans, boots, tops, underwear,
nightshirts. She didn’t need much. Hairbrush and mascara were in the bathroom,
along with her favorite hoop earrings but nothing more. When she left Jack
Foster, she took her daughter and a suitcase and got the hell out. He could
have everything else, but he couldn’t have her and Felicity. Not after what he
did. There were no second chances in her book. Strike one, you’re out. Period,
exclamation point.

In
the beginning, it had been an easier transition. Felicity had been eight and
the move held more adventure than sacrifice. But as she grew older, the cramped
living arrangement became more noticeable, more trying. Once Felicity hit
twelve, the sparks began to fly until Delaney let it slip why they were here. From
then on, the girl had been a perfect angel.

Which
hurt. Felicity was young when they left and Delaney didn’t want her only memory
of her father to be an ugly one, but that was his choosing, not hers. If his
daughter meant anything to Jack, he would have stayed in town. Stayed in touch,
at least. But Jack was a drinker and drink ruled his life.

“Mom,
I’m leaving!” Felicity called out from the living room.

Emerging
from her bedroom, Delaney was right behind her. “I’ll walk you out.”

Felicity
drove herself to school these days but still had to make the hike down to her
car.

“You’re
gonna be late!” Ernie hollered from down below.

Speak
of the devil. Scrambling down the porch steps, Delaney spied the old man
through the trees. He was standing by the creek.

“I’m
okay, Uncle Ernie!” Felicity called back to him. “It’s Wednesday and I don’t
start class until nine-thirty.”

Hands
dug into his front pockets, he watched them through the trees as they made
their way down the trail. Good grief, Delaney thought, was he looking for
something to complain about?

As
if he had any clue what the high school schedule entailed. The man barely
grazed his senior year before he signed on to work at the mill. Only reason he
had a diploma was because his
sister encouraged him. Grandma and Grandpa
Ladd hadn’t been real worried about education. Just wasn’t something that
seemed to concern them.

When
Delaney and Felicity made it down to the open patch of grass by the creek, he
confronted them. Big eyes glared at Delaney through smudged lens. “What kind of
mother are you, allowin’ her to be late to school? Don’t you know she needs a
degree if she’s gonna escape your heavy eye?”

“She’s
fine,” Delaney said, suddenly glad he was here. She wanted a word with him
about Clem.

“I
don’t have any classes first period,” Felicity told him, traipsing over to his
side of the bridge. “It’s okay.”

Delaney’s
boots pounded over the uneven slats of wood, drowning out the gurgle of creek
below. The man didn’t know a period from a comma. Which was neither here nor
there at the moment. She wanted information. “Ernie, what was Clem doing here
last night?”

He
glowered at her. “None of your business.”

“It
is when it involves my daughter.”

Ernie
turned a kind eye toward Felicity. “About that. I wanted to apologize for that
hillbilly’s poor manners. I’m sorry he disturbed your music last night.”

“It’s
okay.”

“It’s
not okay,” he said. “That ruffian should’ve known better than to barge in like
that! If he hears pretty music, he should know it doesn’t concern him.”

Felicity
giggled which drew the light of a smile into his dull gray eyes. “You’ll come
back again tonight, won’t you?”

“I
will.” She pecked his cheek with a kiss, then her mother’s. “See you later!”

Delaney
watched her daughter trot off to her car, the used Honda it took three years of
savings to buy and a neighbor friend to fix. Ernie didn’t help. When Delaney suggested
it would make a nice eighteenth birthday present, he’d refused.
She don’t
need no car
.
I never had a car at her age
. Delaney had wanted to
shout, “Probably because the car wasn’t invented yet!” Ernie could have afforded
to buy Felicity a new car. He could help pay for her college education. He
chose to do neither.

“I’m
waiting,” Delaney reminded him.

“For
what?”

“What
business does Clem have with you?”

“That
ain’t none of your affair!” he cried, and took off for the house.

Delaney
followed him. Something was going on. It was the way Clem had been staring at
Ernie on the porch yesterday that kept coming back to her. “You’re not sharing
any private information with him, are you?”

“I
don’t report to you.” Marching as hard and fast as two scrawny legs would let
him, Ernie continued his escape.

Now
she had a bad feeling. No denial wasn’t a good sign when it came to Ernie Ladd.
Denial was his answer to everything he didn’t refuse flat-out. Hurrying after
him, she demanded, “What have you done?”

He
stopped and turned on her. “I ain’t done nothin’ but if I do”—his pasty skin
flushed crimson—“it’s my business and not yours.”

“Clem
would like nothing more than to sink his claws into you even more than he has. You
already pay him too much to mow the fields. What else are you giving him?”

Delaney
leaned forward. She could hear the rasp of Ernie’s breath, see the tiny veins
etched in his skin. “Clem is the only one who helps me around here,” he smacked
back. “He’s the only one who does a damn thing for me. He deserves this
property.”

Alarms
went off. Her pulse exploded in her chest. “What?”

“You
heard me. You can't even keep a man! Why should I trust this property to you?”

“To
Felicity. You promised mom you were leaving it to Felicity.”

Ernie
stabbed a finger toward her face. “Don’t you bring her name up to me.” Gray
eyes turned dark with rage and his voice shook, “Clem should have it. He’s the
only one who knows how to look after it. You girls would let it rot!”

“You
are not giving this property to Clem.” Delaney suddenly understood Clem’s
presence on the porch yesterday, at the house last evening. He was digging in
for the kill. He was manipulating her uncle against them with his professed
duty and devotion. “He has no right to this land.”

“If
I give it to him, he does.” Ernie stomped off, leaving her dumbfounded. The
soft swash of the creek came back to life, the misty chill of morning
penetrated her lightweight jersey top.

Could
Ernie be serious? Clem Sweeney was a loser. His own family had recognized the
fact and kicked him out! Now he lived down the street, holed up in a broken-down
trailer on the side of the road, on land bordering the Sweeney-Ladd property
line. It was an open wound between the two families. Ernie allowed him to stay,
Clem’s father wanted him to go. But in the end Clem wasn’t worth fighting over,
so there he squatted.

Delaney
headed for the stables and was at once swallowed up by trees and shade and the
dense scent of wet pine. As she arrived at the old horse barn, her mood dipped
further. Practically falling apart, it was the original structure, built back
in the early forties. Back in the day, these stables housed more than a dozen
horses, both work horses and pleasure ponies. The Ladd family had been avid
horsemen, but now the tin roof was rusting, the panels bent and caving in at
points. The walls, no longer brown, were gray and rotten. Iron posts, propped
up on either end of the entrance, had been rigged to keep the roof from falling
in. Weeds climbed up the corners. The sad sight brought Ernie’s admonition home
to roost.
You girls would let it rot.

Delaney
prided herself on being independent and self-reliant, but fixing this old barn
was out of her realm. Nails she could hammer and floors she could sweep—and had
done so often enough—but these stables needed complete overhaul. The worst part
was knowing the decline meant dangerous conditions for her horses, but it was
all she had. “Sadie!” she called out, brushing the negative thoughts from her
mind. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now.

The
Palomino came running from behind the barn.

Delaney
rubbed the spot between Sadie’s eyes and looked around for sign of the other
horses. “How ya doing? Hungry?”

The
horse made a low nicker, a rumbling sound deep within her throat.

Through
the back window, Delaney saw the Appaloosa but none of the others. “Are the
boys out for a stroll?” she asked Sadie, breathing in the scent of her. Which,
combined with the smell of sweet feed and damp earth and the faint aroma of
manure, made up one of her favorite scents in the whole world. If she could
bottle them up and take them with her, she would. Met by a gentle bump from her
mare’s nose, Delaney said, “Time for feed, but not for you. I’ll mix yours when
we get back.”

Filling
the bins with food, Delaney pushed back against a more forceful nudge from her
mare. Sadie wasn’t giving her any room, probably wondering why she wasn’t
getting hers. “Sorry, babe,” Delaney said and unhooked bridle from its spot by
the open entryway. “You and I are going for a ride first.”

The
horse shook her mane, giving no resistance as the bit was slipped into her
mouth. Delaney patted the mare’s wide, flat forehead, then shooed a fly from
her lashes. Rustling the coarse, white mane, Delaney scratched behind one ear,
then the other. Sadie’s favorite spots. The mare responded with a hearty push
from her muzzle. “Good girl,” Delaney cooed with a soft laugh, then grabbing
the base of Sadie’s mane, hoisted herself up and over, settling in for the
trip.

Not
one for saddles, Delaney preferred to ride bare back, making her feel one with
her animal. Totally in tune, she and Sadie ran free, swaying together as they
galloped through fields, slowed over the trails and creeks, swam across rivers.
Saddles made her feel separated, disconnected—neither of which appealed to her.
With a click from her mouth, Delaney gave a rapid tug on the reins and the two
were off. Today she would find out what those two men found so interesting on
her property.