rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_d2d99514-8fee-5e84-8bc3-afe2d9200e27">CHAPTER ONE
IT HAD BEEN Monday morning all day, and it was after three on the last day of November. Not even the soft music or small Christmas tree Peter Elliott’s assistant had placed in the corner of his spacious Social Services office lessened the tension in the room.
Peter tented his fingers and searched for the most diplomatic way to say no to the man across from him. No matter what he came up with, Cal Sheridan would not be happy. He decided to go with direct.
“I appreciate that as a foster parent, you and your wife would like to take Logan, but I’m not separating the twins.”
Sheridan locked his jaw in place. “It looks to me like it’d be better if at least one of the boys was in a decent home instead of the shelter.”
A dull headache throbbed in Peter’s head. Cal Sheridan had twenty years on him, but no one could make his blood pressure spike like this man, whether it was in Cal’s capacity as truant officer for the city schools or voting against him on the Cedar Grove city council. “The shelter is not the abyss. Sarah Redding provides a warm and loving environment, and they’ve been with her for two years now. She’s like a mother to them.”
The fifty-four-year-old’s face turned red. “I didn’t say it wasn’t a good place, but it’s not the same as being in a family.” His tone challenged Peter.
“But therein lies the problem.” He stared Sheridan down. “The only family the twins have left is each other. Do you want to take that away from them? Especially at Christmastime?”
Sheridan’s jaw softened, and he sighed. “Put that way, no, I suppose not. They’re both good kids, but I’ve gotten closer to Logan working with him in the after-school program.”
“I hope you’ll continue working with him. Lucas, too. Until they came to Cedar Grove, they had it pretty rough.” Cal knew that the twins’ mother had died at the hands of their abusive father, who’d used his sons to deliver drugs. The two young boys had ended up in Cedar Grove when the state placed them in protective custody.
Cal ran his hand over the side of his face. “It’s not that I don’t want to take both of them, but little Emily needs a lot of care.”
Peter nodded. Even though Cal was opinionated and set in his ways, the man had a good heart. After his two sons married and moved out, Cal and his wife had become foster parents. Just last year the state had placed an infant born with a cocaine addiction with the Sheridans.
Peter cocked his head. “Have you thought about taking Tyler Bennett? He’s fifteen and extremely bright.”
Cal shook his head. “Are you joking? I’ve seen that boy with my granddaughter a few times, and I don’t like his attitude. In fact, he was just suspended from school today.”
Peter stifled an inward groan. Sarah hadn’t called and told him about that, yet. “How do you know?”
“I was in a meeting with the principal when Coach Dawson brought him into the office. Seems he unscrewed the pepper shaker at the teachers’ table and ruined Dawson’s lunch, not to mention the sneezing fit it caused.”
Peter doodled on a paper on his desk. “You never did that?”
Cal averted his gaze, but didn’t answer.
Peter crossed his arms. “When I was a freshman in high school, I remember hearing this legend—seems like there were these senior boys who put the football coach’s Jeep in the school lobby. If I’m not mistaken, that’s when you were a senior. Know anything about that?” He knew very well Cal Sheridan was the ringleader.
Cal at least had the grace to grin. “That was then and this is now. Tyler’s different, and I’m afraid if the boy doesn’t change, he’ll end up in juvie.”
“You didn’t end up there, and maybe with an understanding hand—”
“Can’t do it, Elliott. I have a granddaughter who’s already defending him every time he does something. Sure don’t want to give them even more opportunities to be together.”
“Well, talk to your wife before you totally rule him out.” Peter’s phone buzzed, and he picked up the receiver. It was his secretary reminding him of an appointment with his grandfather’s lawyer. He checked his watch as he replaced the receiver. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late. “I’m sorry, Cal, but I have a meeting. I’ll walk out with you.”
Peter grabbed his briefcase. “Seriously, give some thought to fostering Tyler. The boy is hurting after losing his mother and dad and his grandparents.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think about something else, too. I want to start a youth center similar to a Boys and Girls Club, and I’ll need your help tomorrow night with the city council.”
“Youth center?” Cal rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re talking big money that the city doesn’t have.”
That wasn’t news to Peter. He sighed. If only his grandfather hadn’t died two weeks ago, the money would not have been a problem, and he wouldn’t be on his way to the reading of the will.
* * *
PETER TURNED INTO his grandfather’s tree-lined drive. He’d always loved the way the magnolias stood sentry at the old home. He parked in front of the Tudor-style house and walked to the front door where magnolia and pine boughs formed a huge Christmas wreath.
He was glad the tradition continued even though his grandfather wasn’t there. The housekeeper ushered him into the foyer.
“They’ve gathered in the den,” she said.
“Thank you, Millie. How are you?”
She sniffed. “Tolerable.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Millie. I’m sure grandfather made provision for you and Gunner to remain here.”
“I’m not worried about that. I just miss the old buzzard.”
Peter laughed out loud. Millie and his grandfather had been at odds ever since Peter could remember, but each of them would defend the other against the world.
“How’s your momma?” Millie asked. “Is she still in Georgia with your grandmother?”
He nodded. “She sounds good when I talk to her, and my grandmother has almost recovered from her surgery. Mother should be coming home soon.”
But not in time to be here today. He glanced toward the den, not looking forward to the next hour.
When Peter entered the room, he nodded to his grandfather’s attorney, Robert Corbett, and then spoke to his aunt Amelia before he took a seat in one of the wingback chairs. His cousin Jake had commandeered his grandfather’s leather recliner.
“Now that everyone is present we can begin,” Corbett said. “First I want you to understand that although the will is in Richard’s wording, it is legal.”
Heads nodded and he began. “To my daughter, Amelia, and my daughter-in-law, Deborah, I leave half of my personal property to be divided equally between you, except for the house. That goes solely to my daughter. Robert will put all the hereby and wherewiths in later if they are needed.”
His grandfather’s verbiage sounded strange in the lawyer’s hushed tones. Peter glanced at his cousin, then his aunt, fearing they might resent Grandfather leaving so much to his daughter-in-law. But no frowns appeared.
Peter hadn’t expected to receive the house. In fact, he didn’t expect to receive much of anything. He was here because his mother had delegated him to represent the family at the reading of the will since she couldn’t come.
Robert Corbett continued, “The other half goes to my two grandsons with the exception of the following bequeaths.”
Peter