A Gift for All Seasons

Then he remembered to check his voice mail, only to feel his gut turn inside out when he heard Natalie’s voice, saying she wanted to see Lilianna that weekend, was it okay?

Okay? No. Since every time his ex blew into town and disrupted their daughter’s routine, it took a solid week to get Lili back on track. Four-year-olds weren’t good with change. Or understanding why Mama kept disappearing. But it wasn’t like he could deny either of them some time together. And, if nothing else, dealing with that would take his mind off pretty, married, out-of-his-league clients.

Although he had a good idea it would take a lot more than his ex’s shenanigans, or even his daughter’s inevitable bad mood as a result, to expunge April Ross from his thoughts.

***

“Yes, you need to leave,” Blythe had said. “And not return until I’ve finished your suite. Because you hover, that’s why. And I’ve already called Aunt Tilda, told her you’re coming. She’s thrilled.”

Hence, three days later, April found herself staring out of her parents’ Richmond condo at the bleak November sky hanging over a dozen condos that looked exactly like this one. Not that she had any right to turn up her nose, since she’d helped them pick it out. Only she’d never planned on spending any real time here herself.

And, as her mother bustled about in the open kitchen behind her, listening to talk radio at full volume as she made lunch, she remembered why.

She loved her parents, don’t get her wrong. Enough to freak out when her father became seriously ill, to worry when her mother had to quit her job to take care of him, enough to make sacrifices on their behalf she doubted few women her age would have dreamed of making. Even if, at the end, she’d didn’t feel she’d sacrificed all that much. But she’d forgotten how stubborn her mother could be. A propensity inherited from Mama’s own mother, most likely, since nobody could hold on to things—newspapers, margarine tubs, grudges—like Nana.

“It’s a simple invitation,” April said, swallowing down the irritation, the hurt. Fine, so maybe she’d led her mother to believe they were renovating Nana’s house to sell it. Meaning, yes, she’d deliberately kept her parents in the dark about buying out her cousins, about her plans, because April was having enough trouble convincing herself she could make a go of this without throwing her mother’s inevitable disapproval into the mix. So why she’d thought presenting it as a fait accompli would garner a better reaction, she had no idea. Because clearly it hadn’t.

“And you know I can’t set foot back in that house,” Mama said behind her. “I just can’t.”

April turned away from the window, thinking that—from a distance, anyway—with her ash-blond pixie haircut and still-trim figure, her mother looked far younger than she was. “Except it’s my house now—”

“It’s still tainted, April. With all those bad memories …” Her mother shut her eyes, shaking her head. “So many bad memories.”

Although how terrible her mother’s memories really were, April wondered. Lord knew Nana had been irascible and strict, and from all accounts had given her three daughters far less freedom than most children of their generation—prompting all three girls to rebel by marrying men Nana heartily disapproved of. And which, in turn, led her grandmother to cut all three of them off. Warm and fuzzy, Nana had not been.

But while her grandmother might’ve been a pain in the butt, April had no reason to believe she’d ever been out-and-out abusive. And weirdly enough she hadn’t let the rifts between her and her daughters tarnish her relationship with her granddaughters. Not when they were kids, at least. Those summers at the beach house with Blythe and Mel—summers when April could, for six or eight weeks, forget her own chaotic homelife—had been the high points of her childhood.

“I know you and Nana had your differences,” April said gently, “but she and I didn’t—”

“Why, April? Why?” Her mother squawked the last word like her neck was being wrung. “Even if the place weren’t a money pit, which you know it is, for you to, to do this without telling us, to throw away everything Clayton left you … I don’t understand, April. I really don’t. You could have bought any house you liked—”

“Because I don’t want any place, I want this one. I love the Rinehart, Mama,” she said when her mother pursed her lips. “I always have. And now, unbelievably, it’s all mine. My money pit.” Although what she’d spent on the house so far had barely made a dent in the inheritance. Of course, she knew she couldn’t coast on that forever, that if the inn didn’t turn a profit within a reasonable time she wouldn’t be able to keep it going. A worry for another day, however. “Besides, you wouldn’t recognize it now, what with everything Blythe’s done. And especially once the land-scaping’s complete.”

Which, unfortunately, wouldn’t be before April’s return.

Too bad, that. Since, now that April had put some space between herself and Patrick Shaughnessy’s lethal gaze and could look at things with something resembling objectivity, she had to admit two things: one, that she was seriously attracted to the man, which she supposed, given her … situation and the before mentioned lethal gaze, wasn’t really a stretch; but that, two, the timing couldn’t be worse for her to be attracted to anybody.

“No,” her mother said again, shaking her head, and it took April a moment to click back into the conversation. “When your grandmother threw me out, I vowed I’d never return. And I don’t renege on my promises.”

Yeah, back to that stubbornness thing. As witness her mother’s never giving up on April’s father, no matter how many times he’d propose yet another “brilliant” get-rich scheme that inevitably fizzled out, but only after blowing through whatever savings they had. A good man, a kind man, but with the business acumen—and sense—of a gerbil.

So her mother going on about April’s “throwing her money away” was just a trifle inconsistent. That said, at least her parents were still together. Yes, her mother’s intractability about never going near Nana’s house again was annoying as all get-out, but the woman sure knew how to stick to her guns … and stand by her man, no matter what. As she said, she didn’t break her promises.

And neither did April.

Mama carted a plate of sandwiches to the dinette table on the other side of the counter, calling April’s father before setting them down. “And what on earth put the idea in your head to be an innkeeper, anyway?”

“I suppose because I like taking care of people. Feeling useful.”

Her mother dusted her hands, then crossed her arms, censure softening into concern. An unexpected shift that caught April off guard. “I would have thought you’d already done that. More than enough for one lifetime.”

April’s forehead scrunched. “What? Oh. You mean, because of Clay?”

“Exactly. Because …” Mama glanced toward the hall, then lowered her voice. “Because after taking care of your father all those months, I know how hard that must’ve been on you. At the … at the end.”

“But this isn’t even remotely the same thing—”

“And for you to lose your husband so early,” her mother went on, clearly determined to keep this particular train off track, “it was so unfair, honey. Especially since … well.”

Especially since she and Clayton hadn’t had children. But then Mama wasn’t privy to the particulars. Probably never would be, either, it being a nonissue now. Because if she had known … oh, Lord. Woman would’ve had a fit and fallen into it.

And for somebody who considered herself an honest person, April had more secrets than a TV preacher.

Mama cleared her throat. “What Clayton did for us … I still thank him in my prayers every day. Thank God that he was in our lives, even if only for such a short time. He truly was the most generous man on earth.”

“Yes. He was—”

“Then, baby, don’t you think, after what you’ve been through, he’d want you to take things easy? To enjoy life?”

Laughing, April went to the kitchen for a pitcher of tea. “I’m only twenty-six, Mama. Not sure how I’m supposed to enjoy life without living it. To …” She swung the tea pitcher, making her mother suck in a breath. “Embrace unexpected opportunities.”

Her mother hurried over to rescue the hapless pitcher, clutching it to her stomach as she stared at April. “By running an inn?”

“By realizing my dream, of having my own business, doing what I love to do. That’s what Clayton would have wanted for me. And that’s the best way I know how to honor him,” she added before her mother could shoehorn in another protest. Which she did, anyway.

“But it doesn’t make sense—”

Mama clamped shut her mouth as Daddy finally shuffled in from their bedroom where he’d been watching TV, grunting appreciatively at the array of sandwiches before lowering himself into his chair with a contented sigh. Although thinner than he used to be, Edward Ross was otherwise remarkably fit for someone who’d all but rubbed shoulders with death not three years before, even if his entrepreneurial days were in all likelihood behind him. And praise Jesus for that. But what brought tears to April’s eyes was knowing that, thanks to Clayton, her parents’ needs would be met for the rest of their lives. That in exchange for putting her dreams on hold for a few years, he’d now given her the freedom to follow them.

Wherever they led her.

And however scary they were.

A thrill of anticipation shunted through her as she turned to her mother and said softly, “And you of all people should understand that what makes us happy isn’t necessarily what makes sense.”

Another moment or two passed before her mother muttered, “Then you’re as much of a blamed fool as the rest of us,” before carting the pitcher over to the table to pour her husband his tea. Only as April opened her mouth to refute her mother’s statement, she couldn’t seem to shove the words past a certain somebody’s lethal blue gaze.

Lethal … and, unless she was sadly mistaken, needy.

Yeah. What Mama said.

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