I don’t care if he was Keith’s friend.”
Devon made a face. “Oh, Mom.”
“He was obstinate and uncooperative as a kid and I doubt that’s changed. A bad influence on Keith from the beginning. And his questionable reputation continues to precede him.” LeAnne glanced around and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Besides, it’s no secret his mother never married his father.”
Sandi’s sister-in-law smirked. “Like that’s his fault?”
“He’s too old for you, Devon.” Click. Click. Click.
“He’s Keith’s age.”
“Thirty-three to your twenty-three.”
“I can do the math, Mom.”
LeAnne turned to Sandi, putting a halt to her daughter’s impertinence. “I suppose you’ll be working the holiday weekend. But is it a good idea for Gina to spend so much time with that Diaz boy? All that tree climbing and rough-housing and—”
“Come on, Mom,” her daughter cut in. “Now look who’s nagging.”
“I’m not nagging. I’m concerned.”
“About what?” Devon wadded her napkin and tossed it on the table. “That the kid might be having fun?”
Sandi glanced at her watch and rose. Time to make her exit before these two got into it full-scale as they’d been known to do. She forced a lighthearted lilt into her voice. “Thank you for treating me to a birthday dinner. And on one of the nicest days weather-wise we’ve had this year. It’s been fun.”
She loved them both to pieces, but there was only so much Bradshaw fun she could take at a time.
“You’re leaving already?” Devon wouldn’t relish lingering alone with her mother.
As she’d done most of her married life, the now-widowed elder Bradshaw retreated to the family’s mountain home each year to escape the ovenlike temps of Phoenix—the Valley of the Sun. Devon, on the other hand, popped in on occasional weekends and only for as long as she and her mother could tolerate each other. It looked as if this might be an ultrashort weekend.
Sandi pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’m filling in at the Warehouse a few hours this week. Kara Dixon’s juggling the family business, working part-time with an affordable housing group and helping her fiancé at his High Country Equine Center. Grand opening’s Memorial Day. Since Gina went to swimming lessons with a friend last evening and is at a sleepover tonight, I don’t mind.”
LeAnne sighed. “Is it necessary that you work at all in the summer, Sandi? Keith’s daughter is at an age where she’ll need a firm, guiding hand when school lets out next week.”
Keith’s daughter. She always threw that in there when she wanted to emphasize her daughter-in-law’s mothering inadequacies.
She gave LeAnne a smile intended to reassure, not challenge, but explaining about the necessity for the job would ruin the surprise. Besides, it was already her intention to spend more time with Gina in the coming months. “I’ll only be working part-time—afternoons several days a week—and Meg Diaz is as good of a mother stand-in as I could ever hope to find. Her stepson, Davy, is a wonderful little playmate for Gina, too.”
“I’m not being critical, darling, it’s just that—”
“Mom.” Devon’s voice again sliced into the conversation and the pair sat glaring at each other.
Definitely time to go.
Sandi bent to give each a speedy hug. They said their goodbyes with promises to get together soon, and with a sense of relief she headed down the street, drinking in the signature scent of Canyon Springs’s ponderosa pine.
Although she and Keith’s mother had settled into a fairly comfortable peace after his death, it was no secret her mother-in-law hadn’t started out as her greatest fan. From the day Corporal Keith Bradshaw brought his bride home to meet the family, she hadn’t pretended approval of the match.
After all, Sandi not only didn’t hail from the country-club crowd, but had put herself through a less-than-prestigious Midwestern college on scholarships, student loans and minimum-wage jobs. To add to her unsuitable pedigree, her “introduction” to Keith came via a letter written in support of the troops while he was stationed in Iraq.
Not at all what Mommy envisioned for her youngest son.
As much as Sandi disliked the association, she and Bryce Harding had one thing in common: LeAnne Bradshaw’s disdain of their dubious influence on her beloved baby boy. But in Bryce’s case, her mother-in-law’s perceptions were right on target.
A niggling unease swam up through the murky darkness of Sandi’s subconscious. The same apprehension that assaulted her when she’d run into Bryce last winter. And again last night.
How much had her husband shared with him about their relationship? About her? About the quarrel that had haunted her for too many long, lonely nights in the wake of Keith’s death?
And did she really want to know?
Chapter Two
“You’re not real talkative tonight.” Grandma Mae, her silver-gray hair tightly wrapped in pink plastic curlers, sat at the kitchen table across from him peeling potatoes into a pan nestled on her lap. Gnarled fingers clasped the handheld peeler Bryce had bought for her so she’d be less likely to cut herself with a knife. She wouldn’t let him help with the chore. Said she had to keep her arthritic hands as limber as she could for as long as she could, and working with them was better than any medication she’d yet found.
She gave him a knowing look. “In fact, you’re even less talkative than usual.”
Bryce grunted as he turned to gaze out the window over the sink where the last dregs of sunlight filtered through the pine branches. God had been poking at him since yesterday. About Keith’s wife. Wouldn’t leave him alone. Saying he was being too hard on her. Needed to tell her about his plans for the museum, too. He’d seldom had to deal with that kind of prodding much B.J. Before Jesus. Keith would have said that was because he’d been like a kid with his eyes closed and his hands over his ears yelling la la la la la.
Sure was a lot of stuff he wished he could talk to Keith about now. Spiritual stuff. Women.
But it was too late.
He turned back to the woman who’d raised him, who knew him better than anybody else did. “Nothing much to say, I guess.”
She fixed him with a scrutinizing eye. “Are you regretting coming back here?”
“No.”
“Awfully small town for such a big man.” She set the pan on the table, pushed both it and a cutting board toward him to indicate he could do the slicing. Then she grasped the arm of the chair as she attempted to pull herself to her feet. Bryce was halfway out of his own chair to assist her, but she waved him off and accomplished it on her own. Shuffled to the sink, still favoring that ankle she’d broken late last fall. “Not a whole lot exciting going on around here for someone who’s lived off an adrenaline rush for fifteen years.”
“Overrated.” He placed a potato on the cutting board and reached for a wooden-handled knife. He’d had enough of that kind of excitement to last him a good long while. Iraq. Afghanistan. Bad enough he dreamed about it. Woke up in a cold sweat.
In comparison, firefighting in a tiny town would seem like child’s play. Not that he’d mention that to the fire chief who’d promised to back his application. But nobody in Canyon Springs—you’d hope anyway—would be waiting in ambush when you raced in to put out a fire.
Grandma turned on the faucet. “Don’t imagine there’s much around here in the way of young single women, either.”
Sandi Bradshaw’s