A Place to Call Home (Harlequin Heartwarming) (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

P
ENELOPE
AWOKE
the next morning to find more rain pattering on the window. She propped herself up on one elbow and stared at the raindrops sliding down the pane.

Could the promise she and Brandon had made work? Or was she stupid to think they could bridge the chasm between them? If he cared about her—and when he’d kissed her last night he’d certainly seemed to care—he’d back off hounding Grandpa Murphy into prison, wouldn’t he?

You care about him. Does that mean you’re ready to sacrifice Grandpa’s future so that Brandon can have his dream? You of all people know about dreams.

The clock flashed half-past eight. If she wanted to share the Pacific with Brandon, then she couldn’t afford to linger, not if they were going to make their flight to Redmond. Penelope slid out of bed, jerking back her feet at the coldness of the hardwood floor. She was used to warmer winters already.

She listened intently, but heard no sounds from Brandon in the room next to hers. Penelope opened her palm, where he’d placed his kiss like a gift, a vow, the night before. She laid her palm flat on the wall that separated them—four inches, more or less. Four inches of honor and stubborness and pride, a gap that was maybe a little narrower after their heart-to-heart last night. And today? Today was a brand new start.

With that thought, she banged on the wall. “Hey, sleeping beauty! You awake in there? We’d better get a move on if we’re going to make that plane.”

Brandon’s groan came through the old plaster loud and clear. “Not again. Not another plane. Can’t we stay here forever?”

Now that’s the answer. If we could stay here, charmed, isolated...

She pushed away the thought. Shower, breakfast, a walk down the beach, and then on to Portland.

* * *

“I
CAN
’
T
BELIEVE
I’m walking in the rain on a beach,” Brandon said as they locked the front door. “This is nuts.”

“You were the one who wanted to see the Pacific in the fall. What’d you expect? Blue skies? Are you afraid of a little rain? Up here, we’re used to the wet stuff.” Penelope pointed to the galoshes she’d scored after searching the closets. “And we come prepared.”

“I guess up here they come in handy, huh.”

Luggage stowed, Penelope turned the car back toward town, and, once she hit Tillamook, made a right toward Cape Meares State Park and the ocean.

The quiet between her and Brandon didn’t irritate her like last night’s trip had. But she was glad he wasn’t talking much. When he talked to her in the way he had this morning, warm and loving, carefully avoiding the subject of Grandpa Murphy, she found herself willing to believe this could last.

On the deserted beach, with the wind and spray and cold rain slicing through her raincoat, Penelope held Brandon’s hand and tried not to think of what she’d face back in Georgia.

How could she face Grandpa now that she’d gotten close to Brandon? And how could she tell her grandfather that she could never go through with the land sale to the solid-waste company? He needed money for his defense. A federal investigation wasn’t going to disappear, as much as she wanted it to.

The incoming tide nibbled at her boots as they headed toward the stark basalt face of Cape Meares. Her choices seemed just as stark.

“Beautiful,” Brandon called beside her over the sound of the surf. “Beautiful!”

“Yes, it is!” she called back. Penelope stretched out a hand toward the basalt face. “That’s my favorite part of this whole stretch of beach.”

He grinned and shook his head. “My favorite part is right here!”

His frank admiration warmed her and reignited her guilt.
Traitor. I am a traitor.

* * *

W
HAT
SEEMED
an eternity and another change of planes later, Brandon felt the plane begin its final approach to the Redmond airport and looked out past Penelope to see the unexpectedly stark landscape glow in the afternoon light. Weird how he’d assumed Oregon would be all lush green pines. This looked more like a desert than the home of the Spotted Owl.

He touched Penelope. She stirred from where she’d been nestled against his shoulder, and he flexed his arm gratefully.

She yawned. “Are we there yet?”

“Yeah. I think so, anyway.”

Penelope peered out the window. “Yeah, we’re closing in on Bend, sweet Bend. Oh, joy.”

“You really aren’t looking forward to this, are you?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. There are worse things,” she replied with a laugh. “Root canals. Traffic court.”

“What have I got myself into? Are your folks nuts or what?”

“No, they’re...not like me. Definitely not like me.”

“Your mom seemed nice enough on the phone.”

The plane suddenly dropped toward the runway and landed with a few stomach-hurtling bumps. Brandon tried hard to hide how disconcerting it was to him. How could Penelope sit there so calmly? How had she managed to sleep on the plane?

Well, you did keep her up talking and kissing most of the night.

They hadn’t discussed anything about their future beyond this trip. Brandon was grateful Penelope had seemingly taken to heart the nothing-beyond-Oregon deal. As long as they skirted exactly how they were going to deal with Murphy once they got home, then Brandon could fool himself into not thinking about it.

It was coming, though. And he couldn’t lie, he was anxious to hear what Marlene Langston had to tell him about her father. Maybe some of Murphy’s skeletons would come back to haunt him and show Penelope exactly who Murphy was.

Off the plane and in the airport, they made their way past the luggage carousel. Brandon was shifting his garment bag over his shoulder and dragging Penelope’s rolling duffel behind him when he heard her say, “There they are.”

He looked up to see a tall, slender brunette waving excitedly.

“Darling!” Marlene Langston greeted her daughter, wrapping her in an effusive embrace.

“Wow, Mom, what a hug! Careful or I’ll think you missed me,” Penelope told her, returning it.

“Of course I’ve missed you!” She turned to Brandon and extended a hand. “I’m Marlene Langston, Penelope’s mother. And you must be Brandon.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for having me.”

Marlene craned her head back toward a quiet, silver-haired man waiting behind her. “Peter, did you hear that? Ma’am. He called me
ma’am.
And that accent. Takes me back home.”

In person, Brandon could barely detect the slight Southern lilt in Marlene Langston’s voice. It was covered by an accent that sounded a lot like Penelope’s.

Peter Langston stretched out a hand. “Thank you for taking care of our daughter. I’m afraid she’s no good at taking care of herself.”

Beside him, Penelope winced. “Dad, you may not like to hear it, but I have managed to survive on my own for several years now. I’m not a complete idiot.”

Her father didn’t seem convinced in the slightest. His argument was cut short by Marlene steering Penelope toward the exit.

“Peter, I’m sure they’re tired—such a long trip from Tillamook—how was the house, dear? Did you get to take Brandon to the beach? Was it raining? The weather here has been terrible, and Jill’s mother
insists
on an outdoor wedding for two hundred people. And Jill
insists
on being barefoot. Oh, dear, it’s a mess....”

Brandon tried to wrap his mind around a 200-person guest list for a wedding with a barefoot bride. The weddings he’d been dragged to involved hoop skirts and tulle straight out of
Gone With The Wind.
Maybe this one wouldn’t be quite so uptight as those.

But his hopes were dashed on the way to the car, as Marlene launched into a long description of the wedding plans. It sounded as complex as any other wedding. Maybe he and Penelope should simply elope.

The errant thought caught him flat-footed. Had he just been thinking about marrying Penelope?

“Brandon? Did you leave something behind?” Marlene asked.

He realized he’d stood still and let them walk on ahead. “Uh, no.”

He didn’t have to supply a ready excuse. Marlene walked back, patted him on the arm and said, “Poor fellow is exhausted! Penelope, what have you been doing to him?”

* * *

T
HE
DAY
OF
HER
brother’s wedding, Penelope woke three hundred fifty dollars poorer than when she’d arrived in Bend. She hadn’t been able to endure her mother flipping out her charge card to pay for the J. Crew emerald-green bridesmaid dress and matching shoes. So she’d smiled and dug out her own frail plastic, praying it wouldn’t smoke when the clerk zipped it through the card reader.

Penelope took a look at the dress and hung it back up for later. At least it was something they could all agree on. Her mother hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d described the battle royal between Trent’s future wife and mother-in-law.

In addition to dodging wrangles between Jill and her mother, Penelope found herself with a to-do list a mile long. Today, her latest and hopefully last mission was to make sure the florist had changed the baby’s breath for berries. “More fall, you know? And baby’s breath is just so common,” Jill’s mom had explained. Penelope also had to double-check that the caterer had added pumpkin-colored runners on every table.

Penelope blew out a breath and headed downstairs to grab a bite. Maybe Brandon would want to keep her company.

She found him in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, miraculously alone. Still, she was unsure exactly how to greet him. Would a cheery good morning be what he was after or should she kiss him? Since their arrival in Bend, they’d been plunged back into limbo.

“And I thought you’d been sent on a wedding mission already,” Brandon joked.

“On my way out. Last-minute check with the florists and caterer. Mom said she had something to do.” As she poured her own cup of coffee, she risked asking, “Why? Have you missed me?”

“Oh, yeah. The minute you appear, they whisk you away. I can’t imagine how insane it would be if it were your own wedding.”

For a moment, she let herself have a thirty-second fantasy of a quiet wedding on a beach somewhere, maybe just a couple of witnesses. She jerked back with a start when she realized it was Brandon saying
I do.

“Trust me, I’m not the two-hundred-guest type,” Penelope told him.

“That’s a relief.”

The coffee in her hand splattered on the counter. He couldn’t possibly mean—no, of course not. And why would she think for an instant she wanted him to mean that? Weddings, they completely messed up a girl’s mind. Suddenly all those happily-ever-after fantasies came alive. Suddenly even a Mr. Right Now seemed a sure fit to be Mr. Right.

“I was wondering...” Coffee firmly under control, Penelope leaned back against her mother’s granite countertop. “Want to go along? Keep me company?”

Brandon grimaced. “Where was it again? Florist and caterer? Can I beg off? That sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

“And hanging around here is more exciting? Gee.” Penelope took a sip of her coffee to hide her disappointment. “Tells me what a popular gal I am.”

“It’s—” Brandon screwed up his face as he apparently tried to find words to soften the blow.

She held up a hand. “Don’t. It’s a guy thing. I can tell.”

“Well, your mom had asked me to, uh, help her with something this morning.”

Penelope drained her cup and dropped it in the dishwasher. “Poor you. I think I definitely got the better end of the deal.”

As she brushed by him, he pulled her down into his lap. “You want me to go, I’ll go. After all, even if it is flowers and food, it’s got a definite advantage—you.”

“It’s okay. Really. Don’t let my mom work you to death.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and headed for her purse and the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

B
RANDON
PEERED
out the window, making sure Penelope was backing down the driveway before he sought out Marlene. This whole weekend had been an exercise in frustration for him. On the one hand, he had a devil of a time keeping his mind off Penelope; on the other, he couldn’t get Marlene to sit still long enough to give him the dirt on Murphy.

Brandon and Penelope’s flight back to Georgia was on Sunday morning. They didn’t have much more time here. Marlene had promised last night after the rehearsal dinner, at some sushi place, that she would be ready to talk this morning. He’d been up since five, but for Marlene, weddings apparently took precedent over putting criminals in jail where they belonged.

Be fair. It’s her dad. This can’t be easy for her.

In the study, Marlene sat down, got up, and then sat down again, filled with restless energy. Brandon tried to calm her by pretending to relax in a club chair across from her and offering small talk.

But the small talk made her more nervous, not less. “All right, then,” Marlene blurted. “You want to know about my father.”

“If you’re ready to tell me, yes, ma’am.”

“My mother says I should let sleeping dogs lie. And I would, ordinarily.” Her eyes wide, she clenched and unclenched her fingers. “If he’d never brought Penelope into it, I would have happily let it be. But...my...my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” he prompted gently. “What about Penelope?”

“Don’t you see? He’s using her. He’s manipulating her, and because I wouldn’t tell her all this when she was young, now she wants to believe her grandfather is a kind old man. She’ll close her eyes to everything. That’s how Penelope always is, loyal to a fault.”

“So why shouldn’t she be loyal to Richard Murphy? I mean, I know my reasons. What’s yours?”

Brandon let her stew in the indecision that played over her face. He waited her out, holding his breath.

“My father used to take me along with him when we’d collect the rent,” Marlene finally said. “I was maybe eight or so. This was before my parents divorced.”

Marlene bounced up from her seat again and walked over to the window. When she spoke, her voice was softer, her Southern accent more pronounced, as though she were channeling who she was in a previous life. “I liked going with Daddy. It didn’t matter that the kids I met on those trips were sharecroppers’ kids. I liked playing with them. I don’t know whether they liked me or whether they played with me because I was the landlord’s daughter, but I’d play while Daddy collected the rent.”

Brandon tried to be patient.

Marlene went on. “There was one family I liked best. They always played the neatest games, and they had an old tire swing they’d rigged up to look like a horse. I wanted a horse so badly—horse-crazy, Daddy said I was. He wouldn’t give me one, told me I wasn’t old enough to look after it.”

Knew he wouldn’t have an animal he couldn’t eat. Marlene would have had more luck asking for a pig.
Aloud, though, he responded with an, “Uh-huh.”

“Their granddaddy lived with them, a black man—the family was black—and I remember one day, in the summer, we went to collect the rent. He was out under a mimosa tree, trying to learn how to read. I felt like such a big girl because I could read it. It was simple, really, but the old man was illiterate, I know that now. So I helped him memorize it. I was so proud.” Marlene turned to face Brandon.

He was surprised by the tears in her eyes. Nothing he’d heard should trigger such a powerful response.

Marlene gathered her composure. “I told Daddy on the way home. He acted so proud of me, wanted to know exactly what I’d taught the man. Sweet, oh, he was so sweet. My daddy could charm flies away from honey when he wanted to.”

Again, Brandon was confused. What could be so painful about this?

“But later, I heard Mama and Daddy arguing. She wanted him to stay, but he said...all I could gather was that he had to go out. He hit her, that night, when she tried to stop him. I remember crawling in bed beside Mama, holding her as she cried. I was scared, because I’d never seen Mama cry in front of me.”

“He abused your mom? Is that why she divorced him?”

But Marlene didn’t hear him. “Daddy came into the bedroom when he got in that night. He was...a little drunk, I think now. But he was happy. Satisfied, the way he was after he’d collected all the rents. He told Mama...he told her, I can’t remember the words, but something about buying the old man a cocktail. He said, I remember, ‘That’s the only drink I’ll ever buy one of their kind. It was worth losing the house just to show ’em what happens when they get uppity.’ He laughed and laughed, like it was the funniest thing. And Mama just cried.”

Brandon struggled to put the pieces together. Marlene beat him to the punch, drawing in a strangled breath and wiping away tears. “Mama took me away that night. I didn’t understand, not until I was older. The cocktail he’d bought that man was a Molotov cocktail. He’d burnt him out of his house because I’d helped the old man study for the literacy test the man had to take in order to vote.”

* * *

H
ALFWAY
TO
THE
CATERER
, Penelope realized she’d forgotten the swatch of fabric Jill’s mom had decided on for the table runners. She punched in her mom’s number, but it went straight to voicemail.

Perfect. Whatever project Mom had Brandon tangled up in had taken them out of the house. Penelope would have to return for the swatch.

Her mother’s car was still in the driveway when Penelope pulled back in. Odd. They weren’t outside. Had Jill or her mom come by and picked them up?

The swatch was where she’d left it, on the kitchen counter with her notepad of wedding details. But curiosity got the best of her.

Penelope walked through the house until she got to the front hall, off the study. Voices filtered out, her mother’s and Brandon’s.

“I don’t know, I just don’t know!” her mother wept. “I wish I could remember more. My mother refuses to talk about it. Surely someone in the county remembers something.”

“I can check. I’ll ask Uncle Jake. But, unless someone was killed, arson’s statute of limitations ran out years ago. Plus, it was Murphy’s house, so it might not even be considered arson. Unless the feds might be interested in tacking on a hate crime or a civil rights violation to Murphy’s indictment.”

Penelope sucked in a breath, felt suddenly cold. She shoved the study door open.

“What are you doing? Was this the reason you came?”

Her mother put her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Penelope, darling, no. It’s not like that at all. He’s not interrogating me. I asked him to come. I wanted to—”

“You wanted to what?” Bile rose in her throat. “Make sure Grandpa dies in prison?” She jerked her head toward Brandon, whose face was as green as it had been on the airplane coming here. “You’re conspiring with him? You’re...I don’t know either of you. What’s more, I don’t think I want to know.”

Penelope spun on her heel. Brandon was up now, behind her.

“Wait, Penelope. It’s not what you think. Penelope, give me a chance to—”

She barely heard him over her own heaving breaths. She slammed out of the house at a dead run for the car, fumbling for her keys. They slipped from her grasp onto the driveway.

She couldn’t scoop them up in time to escape Brandon. He blocked her access to the car. Penelope stared at him, saw him gulp in air from the sprint, and started to push past him.

“Penelope, you’ve got to hear me out. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you squat. And if you don’t move, I’ll lay you on the ground. Don’t think I can’t.”

Brandon stepped aside. “Won’t you just listen?”

She snatched open the car door. “So I can what? Hear more lies? Or are you going to try to tell me you and Mom weren’t...” Penelope swallowed bile.

“Your grandfather is not who you think he is or hope he is. And if you’d only listen to your mother...”

Tears scalded the back of her throat. Her mother. Her mother had admitted she’d brought Brandon out here to help plan his attack on an old man who’d die in prison if Penelope didn’t do something to stop them.

She threw up both hands, shook her head and got into the car. Penelope put the car in Reverse. Backing out of the driveway, she saw Brandon still standing there, fists clenched by his side, his eyebrows lowered in a glare.

A car horn wailed behind Penelope and she stomped on the brake to avoid backing into the passing car. Brandon took a step toward her, but a quick glance in the mirror told her the road was clear. She backed out, not caring which direction she took. Anywhere but here.

At the end of her parents’ street, she stopped the car and gasped for breath. Tears streamed down her face.

I have to do something.

Penelope fumbled through her purse for her cell phone. With fingers that trembled so much she had to redial, she punched in the digits.

“Grandpa? Grandpa, you were right. I—I...” She sobbed, leaning against the steering wheel. “I can’t trust Brandon. He...” She couldn’t bear to tell him about his own daughter turning traitor. “Whatever you need me to do, I’m ready to do it. Okay?”

On the other end of the line, she heard him breathe out a long sigh. “Well, now, Penny-girl,” he said in the gentlest of tones. “Well, now. I knew I could count on you.”