Small-Town Dreams (24 page)

“I wish I had power of attorney for Jeff’s care. I’d toss half that crew of his out the door and get things back to normal over there,” she grumbled, hooking a thick lock of hair behind her ear. She stared at the agreements. They looked nearly identical.

Could it be this easy?

“A word changed here,” she murmured, “a word there.”

“Hope, you’ve really got that look now,” Cole said from his slouched seat on the old sofa. “And every time you’ve ever had it, you’ve done something outlandish.”

“He needs someone riding him twenty-four seven. And it has to be someone who wants what’s best for him. Someone strong enough to do what needs to be done and not bow to his will. Someone who wants him to get better as much, if not more, than he does right now. And someone who can run a farm.”

She turned and reached for the phone. “Mrs. R, it’s Hope. Is the homestead house unoccupied?”

Hope glanced in her rearview mirror at Laurel Glen. She still couldn’t believe her father had fired her. Hope knew he’d regret it and the harsh things he’d said. She was sorry she’d driven him to act so rashly, but she had to do this.

She loved Jeff and she had to get him to help himself. Even if she had no feelings beyond friendship, she’d still have to help. It was her fault he was in the condition he was in and therefore her fault his animals were endangered. She had to make things better.

Her plan was a bold one and sure to get as strong a reaction from Jeff as it had from her father. She had warned her father not to ask her to choose between the man she loved and him. And she would just as readily explain to him another truth she’d learned lately. Peace at any price is not worth it. Jeff might hate her by the time she left, but as sure as her name was Hope Taggert, he would at least care about life again!

H
ope stood for a second outside Jeff’s room. She looked at the piece of paper in her hand and closed her eyes.
Please forgive this deception, Lord. I won’t lie but I can’t tell him the truth, either. This is for his own good. I have to get him to take a good hard look at what he’s doing to himself.

Hope took a deep breath and knocked. When no answer came, she knocked again—harder this time.

“What?” Jeff’s voice snapped from within.

“It’s Hope. I have the agreement,” she called, then entered when he told her to come in. She nearly gasped when she saw the room—smelled the room. It was worse than a locker room. She’d smelled stables that were fresher and was sure there were trash dumps that were more orderly. As she approached the bed, Hope realized that it wasn’t only the room in need of a good scrubbing.

She looked at Jeff. He lay on the bed, still wearing the T-shirt he’d had on earlier in the day. From the looks of things, it was the same one he’d had on all week. He was haphazardly covered to the waist by a wrinkled sheet. His hair was matted and needed a good washing, and the scraggly beard still hid much of his handsome face.

Mrs. R had warned her that the room was as much a mess as Jeff, but she hadn’t believed it. Now she did. She’d wondered where to start. Well, she had her answer.

But there were preparations for the campaign to get him to straighten up and fly right that she and Cole had mapped out. And getting the agreement signed was the first step. Holding her breath, Hope handed Jeff the contract and a pen.

He blinked his eyes, leafed through the pages and sighed. “How much a year?” he asked, annoyed.

She named the standard boarding fee at Laurel Glen. She hadn’t lied. Not yet. But Mr. March wouldn’t be making a move. Because Hope already had. Into Lavender Hill’s quaint little homestead house.

Jeff scribbled his name on the last page and handed it to her. “That’s it then?” he asked.

Hope nodded. She’d file the papers in the morning. But today she intended to clean house. Not literally, she thought, looking around at the room’s early American trash dump decor. Literal cleaning would come soon enough.

“I’ll be seeing you,” she told him after examining his signature.

“What, no comment?” Jeff demanded and took a swig from a beer someone obviously had brought him. She doubted it had been Mrs. Roberts. Enjoy it, Hope thought, looking at the amber-colored bottle in his hand. It’ll be your last.

Hope put her hand on her hip. “You expect a comment? About this?” She gestured to the room. “It just confirms what I’ve heard. You’ve decided to not only wallow in self-pity but to do it in a pigsty while you’re at it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tempted to make an unwise comment about what he could expect tomorrow to be like, Hope turned on her heels and left. Out in the hall, she leaned against the wall. Billy, the guard who had been toting and fetching for Jeff as well as screening his visitors, was the first on her list of things to go.

Jeff closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the headboard. Does the torture never end? Just when he’d thought he’d figured out how to get from one day to the next, he had to go and have a day like this. First Reggie stopped by and brought home just how worthless he was and made him remember all the yesterdays that were gone. Then, when he was about to really lose it, Hope had to go and ride to the rescue. Not only had it been humiliating, but seeing her again had reminded him of all the tomorrows he’d lost, too.

He glanced at the bottle in his hand, then tipped it to his lips, draining it. If only this stuff didn’t taste so lousy, his new life master plan wouldn’t be so bad. He reached next to the bed and pulled another amber-colored bottle out of the little refrigerator he’d had Billy fill that morning. By dark, or a little after, he ought to be able to sleep. The alcohol numbed not only his mind to the past and future but the knotted muscles in his legs and back. And when the numbness came, one more day would be over.

Just like his life.

“Well, look who’s up bright and early this morning,” Mrs. R said with a pleasant smile the next morning as Hope walked through the back door into the Italian country kitchen. The kitchen and breakfast room were a homey enclave from the cold starkness of the rest of the house.

“What do you plan to do today?” Mrs. R continued as she poured a cup of coffee and walked with it to the table. “Are you going to replace the staff you gave the axe yesterday?”

Hope shook her head. “I already called the agency my aunt Meg uses. I gave them the names and numbers of everyone you thought we should hire back if we can. They’re going to handle the rest of that. Unfortunately when I called Gus Peoples, he said he was already working and feels he can’t break his contract, so I guess I’m running the stables now. They sent temps for us till we get everything back to normal. At least today you won’t have Sally’s Fortune stomping around the back door.

“The next thing on my agenda is to get rid of that gorilla at the front gate. I’m looking forward to it. I took a look at the petty cash ledger last night. His math is inventive, I’ll give him that much. After that happy task is over, I’ll tackle the really tough job.”

Mrs. R’s eyebrows rose, wrinkling her brow. “Oh. What would that be?”

Hope took a deep breath. “Mrs. R, I—”

Mrs. R put her hand on Hope’s shoulder. “Dear, if you’re going to be living here helping my Jeffrey find himself again, don’t you think we could dispense with the Mrs. R? It’s Emily. Please.”

Hope nodded. “Emily it is, then. I do want to help Jeff. But Jeff has to want to help himself, too. First thing this morning, I called Curtis Madden from church. I was hoping he’d be free and, praise the Lord, he is. He’s looking for a long-term assignment. I gave him one. Jeff. Curt’s a good nurse and an even better physical therapist. This is the type of work he trained for. He’ll be here at nine and ready for a challenge.”

“Challenge? You aren’t going to upset Jeff, are you?” Emily asked and sank to a chair at the table. Hope saw that her hands shook. She sat across from Emily and took one of her increasingly frail hands in her own. This had to be so painful for her. She loved Jeff like a son, yet she had no say in how he went about his life.

Hope checked her watch. She had promised Emily that she’d get Jeff moving ahead in life again. But she hadn’t outlined her tough-love idea yet. Without Emily’s help and cooperation, this plan would fail. While Hope hated to see the older woman upset, she hated to see Jeff waste the gift of his life more. A lot more.

“Yesterday,” she began, “I got Jeff’s signature on a power of attorney, but he thinks he signed a Laurel Glen boarding agreement for Mr. March.”

Emily’s wrinkled brow scrunched with her worried frown. “I don’t understand, dear.”

“Jeff needs help whether he wants it or not. And he doesn’t want it. You know it. I know it. He’s given up. It’s our job to make him want to get better. Being nice and giving him room and time to come to grips with the accident isn’t working. He’s gaining weight and losing muscle mass every day. There’s no time to tiptoe around this. The most important month of his recovery is already wasted. That’s why we’re changing the staff back to people who care about him. He doesn’t know what I’ve done. When everything is in place, he will. Are you ready for the explosion?”

“He’ll be furious. Oh, Hope, I don’t know about this.”

“Mrs. R, Emily, do you trust me? Do you believe I love Jeff too much to take advantage of the power of attorney?”

The housekeeper looked surprised. “Of course, I do. That isn’t an issue.”

“Good, because the president of First Nation will be here any minute.”

“The president of Jeff’s bank?”

Hope nodded as the back door opened.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Billy Dever, the soon-to-be unemployed security guard, asked. “You aren’t on the
A
list.”

Hope stood and smiled. “There have been a few changes in the
A
list since you left yesterday, Mr. Dever. Would you come to the study with me? We need to have a chat. Emily, if the gentleman I mentioned arrives, please show him to the front parlor and tell him I’ll be with him any minute.”

Moments later Hope took a seat behind the ebony desk in Jeff’s study and motioned Billy Dever to the chair facing her. “I won’t beat around the bush with you, Mr. Dever. Your services are no longer required at Lavender Hill. Here is a check for two months’ wages. I’m sorry for the abruptness of this dismissal, but I’m sure someone as conscientious as you will be able to find employment in that amount of time.”

“I’m fired? You can’t do that! Carrington hired me.”

“I beg to differ.” Hope handed him a copy of the power of attorney Jeff had mistakenly signed the evening before. “As you can see, Mr. Carrington has placed his welfare and Lavender Hill’s in my hands. And having you here, sir, is
not
in his best interests. As for unemployment compensation, I think your creative accounting speaks for itself. I wouldn’t try to file a claim. If you do I may be forced to speak to the district attorney about the discrepancies I found in the petty cash account.” Hope stood. “Have a nice day.”

Dever glanced at the agreement in stunned silence, then at her with narrowed eyes. “I knew you were trouble.”

“It’s my middle name, Mr. Dever.” Hope stood, fighting a smile. It was a clear dismissal. Even someone of Billy Dever’s ilk knew that.

Having heard the door chimes ring just after she gave Dever his walking papers, Hope headed for the front parlor. After a short visit to Jeff’s room, the banker was only too happy to help his old friends’ grandson any way he could. Tough love, he’d said, was clearly better than the status quo.

“What’s next?” Emily asked.

“Jeff.” Hope took a deep breath. “Curt should be here any minute. Send him up, will you? Oh, and where do you keep the trash bags?”

“Rise and shine, lazybones!”

Jeff found himself blasted out of sleep. A voice—Hope’s voice—reverberated in his head like a gong. Then light flooded the room and thrust a thousand knives into his skull.

“What the—” The curse word froze on his lips when he opened his eyes and saw Hope, her hair bouncing with every movement, throw open the terrace doors. Then she moved to the windows across from his bed and opened them, too. The icy fingers of March followed. He closed his eyes. His head was pounding. “Go away and let a man die in peace. What are you doing? Are you trying to torture me?”

“What I am doing is shaping you up, Carrington. And first things first.” She walked to the terrace. “You all set down there, Manny?”

“All set, Ms. Taggert,” Lavender Hill’s gardener, jack-of-all-trades and helper of all—whether they wanted help or not—shouted.

Jeff frowned, keeping his eyes closed against the sunlight, and tried to order his thoughts. There was more wrong with this scene than Hope being in his room, opening windows and trying to blast the head off his shoulders. Oh, if only beer didn’t leave him so fuzzy and achy headed after a couple six-packs. What was he saying? Fuzzy-headed mornings—a fuzzy-headed life—were what he was looking for.

“Manny. I fired Manny,” he said, figuring out one inconsistency. Manny had been the first one he’d let go. His cheer and enthusiasm had been too much to bear.

“And I rehired him.” Hope chirped the words gleefully, then turned back to Manny. “I’ll toss the trash left and the clothes right. Just stuff it all in the plastic bags. Mrs. Roberts will see to the clothes, and you can handle the trash.”

“I gave him six months’ severance. And hey, why are you tossing my stuff out the window? I like my room just the way it is.”

“Honestly, Jeff, I’ve smelled stables more pleasant than this room,” Hope complained. “I didn’t intend to subject anyone else to this. It can be sorted in the fresh air just as easily.”

“No one invited you in here. Get out. And hey! What do you mean, you rehired him? You don’t have the right to hire and fire people around here. You’re fired, Manny,” Jeff shouted.

“
Si,
Mr. Carrington. Whatever you say, Mr. Carrington,” Manny called, sounding entirely too happy to have just lost his income.

Jeff watched in impotent fury as Hope gathered more of his clothes.

“Actually,” she said as she heaved the pile over the balcony into the fresh air she seemed to crave, “I do have the right to hire and fire around here. You gave it to me yesterday when you signed the power of attorney I brought over.”

“What power of attorney? The only thing I signed was a boarding agreement.”

“You really shouldn’t drink. Not only is it an unappealing trait but it impairs your faculties.” Hope grinned and walked toward the side of the bed where Billy had replaced the nightstand with a neat little dorm fridge. She eyed it suspiciously.

Jeff glanced at the fridge that still contained a six-pack. “Where’s Billy? Billy!” he bellowed.

“Billy is probably off celebrating his good fortune. You see, rather than being arrested for petty theft, he got two months’ severance pay.”

“You fired him? I need him. He helps me. You think I can get dressed on my own? Get into the bathroom on my own?”