What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(89)

Lolly raised a hand to her mouth. “Is she—?”

Nyquist shook his head. “No, just very tired. She needs to rest now.”

He led them back to the living room and shook Jase’s hand.

“Thank you, Jason. And thank you for bringing Lolly. Marguerite didn’t know what she was saying when Lolly came before, and she wanted to set things right.” Nyquist’s chin trembled. “Margo and I—we wronged you, Jason. You’ve been better to us than we deserved.”

“Is it cancer?” Laurel asked quietly.

Nyquist nodded. “Marguerite taught until two years ago, when she started going downhill fast. She’s been through it all—chemo, radiation, surgery, acupuncture—everything. There’s nothing for her now but painkillers. The doctor said she’ll probably go within the next twenty-four hours.”

Jase frowned, trying to understand. “And you’ve taken care of her all this time?”

Nyquist looked at him in surprise. “What else could I do? I love her.”

Jase’s his mouth opened, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Marguerite Shelton must have led Bert Nyquist on a merry chase. Apparently he’d quit his job and deserted his family for her, but Jase doubted she’d ever given up a thing for him, least of all her string of young lovers. Yet none of that mattered to Nyquist.

He loved Marguerite whether she was faithful or not, in sickness and in health, till death did them part. There was no getting around it. For all his sins, Bert Nyquist was a better man than he.

Grabbing a card out of his billfold, he scribbled his cell phone number on the back of it, and handed it to Nyquist.

“Call me if you need anything. Anything. I mean it.”

*



The three of them walked to the car in silence. Lolly slid into the back and lay down on the seat, so Laurel sat up front with Jase. The air was thick with melancholy. The past had caught up with the present, Laurel realized, and they all had a lot to think about.

Jase was like a carving in stone, occasional movements of his arms and head being the only indicators that he was more than part of the car’s driving mechanism, while Lolly had wedged herself in the corner next to the door, wrapped her arms around herself, and closed her eyes. Maybe she slept, maybe not.

A few miles out of San Antonio, thunder began to roll around the sunny sky. Laurel searched the horizon and saw that a row of clouds was bunched up to the south, their bottoms darkening. As she watched, a few tentative rain drops descended, dancing delicately on the windshield. Minutes later, the wind picked up and the clouds darkened to purple.

Jase switched on his wipers as the storm hit.

Laurel tried to stay alert, but she felt totally depleted. The tension that had been building ever since Lolly appeared on her doorstep a second time had dissipated, and she was exhausted. The last thing she remembered was the Selma town hall, the old Spanish-style one that was a Hooters now, its bright pink stucco overpainted with blue-gray.

She woke up when Jase turned off I-35 at the familiar Bosque Bend exit.

After pulling into her driveway, Jase retrieved a collapsible umbrella from his center console and walked her to the porch. “We have to talk, Laurel,” he said, then glanced back at the car as a long bolt of lightning lit up the sky. “But not right now. I’ve got to get Lolly home.”

*



The flowers arrived the next day—a dozen red roses. The accompanying card read Love, Jase.

What did that mean? Was he apologizing for leaving or thanking her for taking care of his daughter? Or did it mean that…no, she refused to go there. Her future was built on reality, not romantic daydreams. She arranged the roses in a vase and left it on the kitchen counter.

*



Four days later there was still no follow-up from Jase. It was as if Jase had disappeared off the face of the earth. Despite herself, Laurel tried to call him, but a steely-voiced woman who declined to identify herself said that the ladies of the household were indisposed and Mr. Redlander was unavailable.

She replaced the phone in its cradle and moved into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. This was going to be her last day in Kinkaid House. She’d consigned her bedroom suite, the portraits, and the family mementoes in storage, and her personal belongings were either stuffed in her luggage or on their way to Brownsville. The only things she’d saved out were her traveling outfit for tomorrow and the clothes she had on—an old pair of jeans and a loose Mexican-style blouse.

The doorbell rang. Probably her Realtor with yet another paper to sign. Luckily she’d just put Hugo, who didn’t like the man, in the backyard to enjoy one last day of squirrel chasing.

She threw the door open and stepped back in surprise. “Kel!”

He smiled. “May I come in?”

She stepped aside. “Of course.”

Why did this polite young man make her so nervous, so self-conscious? It wasn’t as though she was attracted to him—or was she? For all his soft voice and innocent eyes, there was something seductive about him. He wasn’t as tall as Jase, of course, and had a lighter build, but there were real muscles beneath that thin T-shirt.

Stepping inside, he glanced at the luggage heaped by the door. “Pen told me you’ve sold the house and you’re leaving town tomorrow.”

Laurel edged over to the stairs and anchored her hand to the newel post. “Yes, I’ve got a new teaching job in Brownsville. That’s in South Texas.”