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  Pressure built in Annie’s chest. It was the property Lacy had originally mentioned. Jillian Devane was here to ruin Nick. Time ticked away in her skull. Black eyes speared her to the seatback. Five hundred thousand dollars were slipping through her fingers. “I don’t know.”

  Jillian frowned. “Shall I take that as a no?”

  “I’m going through some personal issues at the moment, and they’ve distracted me from the details of this deal,” Annie replied, intuitively knowing she was divulging too much but ill-prepared to play hard ball. This woman didn’t need to know her business. She didn’t need to know what she was considering, or why. Annie couldn’t help it if this wasn’t her realm of expertise. Expertise, hell. Mega real estate deals were like talking a foreign language!

  Five hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. Twice what Cal was talking and Annie didn’t want to walk away from a potential sale. She wanted to think about it. She needed to research, consult with an attorney. Time. It was logical. It was reasonable. No one could fault her for taking the time to consider her options. But if this woman wanted to buy another property, there was nothing stopping her. “Is there any way you can give me a few days?”

  A glimmer of victory lit up her cat eyes. “If you assure me there is a possibility we have a deal, then yes, I think I can convince my impatient investors to wait a few days,” she said, suddenly inflecting a tone of camaraderie with Annie.

  “Thank you.” Annie exhaled against a knot forming in her chest. Selling hundreds of acres of wilderness in Tennessee couldn’t be an easy prospect. It wasn’t like there were people lined up to buy a piece of land that size, let alone lined up with that kind of money. As it was, most people around here could hardly afford a fifty thousand dollar mortgage. Five hundred thousand dollars for nothing but rocks and trees was for developers or the super-rich. And the taxes? Annie didn’t even want to think about the tax bill that would arrive in the mail next month.

  Nerves skirted through her pulse as she glimpsed Malcolm and Lacy strolling past the front window. Annie leapt up from the table, catching her thigh on a corner. Biting back a moan, she said, “I’ll call you when I have an answer, but right now—I have a lunch date.” All she needed was her sister and husband to walk in and see the two of them together and Annie would have to explain why she was cavorting with the enemy!

  Jillian replied genially in her extravagant accent, “Of course.”

  Good God, the woman even sounded rich, Annie thought, and hurried to the lunch counter. Five hundred thousand dollars cash. Annie clutched the worn Formica edge, still trying to wrap her brain around that angle. What did one do with five hundred thousand dollars cash? Open a bank account? Investment account?

  Checking for signs of Fran, Annie wondered if her aunt had witnessed her meeting with Jillian Devane. Fran kept an eye on everything and everyone. Didn’t seem possible she could have missed Annie’s meeting with Jillian, but she seemed consumed with her growing lunch crowd, chattering away with the large party from church.

  Bells jangled again and Annie turned in time to see Malcolm and Lacy stroll in. They caught sight of her instantly. Lacy waved. Annie waved back, darting a glance toward Jillian who was looking at Malcolm and Lacy. Annie gulped. Would she say anything?

  Nearing, Lacy smiled, her lips colored a bright pink, her dress a thin fuchsia woolen material. She wore black leather knee-high boots, sleek and expensive. “Hi, Annie!”

  Behind her Malcolm sported black slacks, gray cardigan and a white turtleneck. Annie was still getting used to his shock of white hair. Cut in fine layers against his tanned skin, it gave him a “celebrity” look. Together, the couple appeared as if they had just strolled off the pages of a glamour magazine. Two pairs of brilliant blue eyes zeroed in on her, trapping Annie in place. If Jillian wanted to sashay over here and tell the two of them what they’d been discussing, Annie had no power to stop her.

  “Are you here for supper?” Lacy inquired.

  “No, I er—of course,” Annie said quickly, realizing her error. “Why else would I be here?”

  “Oh, good.” Lacy glanced around them. “Where’s Cal?”

  Annie released her breath. “I don’t know. Haven’t talked to him today.”

  Lacy appeared confused. “Well, he’ll be joining you, right?”

  Annie shook her head. It wasn’t a good time. Too much going on.

  “How’s the logging deal coming along?” Malcolm asked. “Cal told Delaney you were considering logging the property as a way to earn some income.” Hanging a hand from Lacy’s shoulder, he nodded his approval. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  Surprised by his easy acceptance, Annie hemmed, “Well, I haven’t made any decisions yet.” Walling her peripheral vision against seeking out Jillian, she said, “I’m not sure how we can manage to log without a road in, with no way to get the wood and all.”

  “Cal told me his forester friend was taking care of it. All you need is a permit and that shouldn’t take but a few weeks or so.”

  Once again, Annie felt things were moving too quickly. The logging deal would be ready before she could decide whether or not to sell. She had no idea if Jillian’s offer was the right amount without checking the market. And she still had yet to talk with Casey, discuss their options. Logging would provide them with money and allow them to keep the land, but with the land came expenses, taxes. Jillian’s offer would allow her and Casey the freedom to walk away with a lump sum. It was tempting. “Yes, well, Cal is an optimist.”

  Malcolm returned a thoughtful gaze. “And you’re not?”

  “Of course she is,” Lacy quipped. “And Annie knows value when she sees it. She knows it’s a lot of money.”

  “Value,” Annie repeated. “Yes.” Value. Money. Cash—and lots of it, possibly more than five hundred thousand dollars. Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at Jillian, Annie spotted Aunt Fran as she emerged from the kitchen.

  “Hey, sugar!” Fran wiped her hands on a red waist apron, her standard uniform attire along with her starched white dress, and made a bee line for the three of them. “I thought that was ya’ll I saw out here.” She brushed wayward red curls beneath her hair net, aqua-blue eye shadow jumping out against a line of heavy black lashes.

  A rush of nerves unraveled Annie’s calm. “We’re here for lunch,” she blurted.

  Ignoring the obvious, Fran asked, “Did you find Casey? I’ve been worried sick as a coon huntin’ at noon.”

  Malcolm and Lacy remained mute, assuming they knew the answer.

  “I did.” Annie cleared her throat. “She’s in Murfreesboro. With Troy.”

  “Troy Parker?”

  Annie nodded. “Seems the two are an item.” She glanced at Lacy, reminded of another young girl who thought she wanted to escape on the heels of a boy. “Casey thinks she wants to be with him for a while.”

  As though Fran understood completely, she ceased further scrutiny. Rolling her lips together, she shared a glance with Lacy and said, “Give her time. She’ll be back.”

  “The chicken smells awful good, Aunt Frannie.”

  Fran accepted Lacy’s invitation onto easier terrain with only a slight pause. “Now you know I don’t make anything but the best.” Glancing between them she asked, “Three orders?”

  Malcolm looked to Annie for confirmation. “Actually, I just realized I told Candi I’d be by her place after church,” she lied. Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, she couldn’t very well afford to stick around and have Jillian make an approach!

  “You want a couple orders to go?”

  “No, thanks.” At the disappointment staring back at her, Annie added, “I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “Now, sugar you know it’s no trouble at all.”

  Annie managed a small smile. “Two chicken dinners to go would be great, Aunt Fran. Thank you.”

  The light returned to her expression. “Four fried chicken dinners, double the biscuits!” she called out gaily and whisked back to the kitchen service window. Calling the order back, Fran turned on her white-soled heel and retrieved a host of glasses. Setting them on a tray, she filled them with ice, grabbed a pitcher of tea and delivered the goods in seconds. “Now c’mon ya’ll, sit.” She poured four glasses full. “Just holler if you want more.”

  Malcolm grinned. Guiding Lacy to a seat on a cushioned stool, he said, “You spoil me, Fran.”

  She winked. “It’s my specialty.”

  Annie lowered next to her, trailing Fran’s backside down the counter and around the corner and into the kitchen. The woman didn’t sit still for half a second. Was it possible she missed Annie and Jillian altogether?

  “Is there something else concerning you, Annie?” Malcolm glanced to Lacy. “Other than access and trees, I mean?”

  It wasn’t a judgmental question, rather easy and considerate. Like Lacy, Malcolm Ward was eager to help. Not a trait she expected in a man from Los Angeles, a city renowned for its glitter and fast living, but she appreciated it all the same. “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “Sounds like a lot of red tape to me.”

  Malcolm smiled knowingly. “Shouldn’t be too bad. Nick and I have found the county to be very accommodating and have developed a great working relationship with the guys in the office. If it will help, I’d be happy to submit a permit to the Department of Transportation on your behalf. It might help smooth the process for you.”

  “Oh, Malcolm, would you?” Lacy peered up at him in naked awe. “That would save Annie so much time, wouldn’t it?”

  “I think so.” With a quick wink to his wife, he said, “I’ll call first thing in the morning and see what their time frame is running.”

  Government. Bureaucracy. Time. More decisions, more waiting. If s
he wasn’t being pressed for a decision, she was waiting for one. “Is there a possibility I couldn’t get a permit?”

  Malcolm punched a straw open and stuck it in a glass for Lacy. Handing it over, he repeated the process for himself. “No, you’ll get it. As legal owner, you have a right to access your property. It usually takes a month or so, but I think we can manage it in a couple of weeks. You can probably get the forester to cut you a driveway and take the cost out of the proceeds.”

  Money. Loss of proceeds. It also meant she’d have to decide about Ms. Devane’s offer without a solid idea of how much money she’d receive from a forester to compare. And how was she going to ask anyone about the true value of her property without raising the quilt on her dealings with Jillian Devane?

  Hank Dakota was her lawyer. A native to the area, he helped her prove paternity, helped her close the initial real estate deal with Nick and Delaney. Hank was a fixture in this town, entrenched as she and while attorney-client privilege was the law, Annie didn’t trust the information to stay sealed behind closed doors. People talked. They slipped. It happened. Everyone knew what everyone else was doing and if she was seen talking with Hank, someone was bound to make the connection. At least ask questions.

  Questions she couldn’t afford to answer. Not until she had all the facts, a decision made. Popping a straw through its paper, Annie drew a sip of sweet tea. Cold and sugary, the beverage was a welcome relief to her parched throat. Maybe she could find what she needed on the internet. Maybe she didn’t have to ask anyone for help.

  Malcolm raised his glass, the liquid a light brown as it mixed with ice and didn’t mention another word. He probably assumed she was running through the information in her mind, glad to have him guiding her along. Suddenly the cash offer looming in the forefront of Annie’s brain made her feel like a heel. Here Malcolm and Cal and Lacy were working on her behalf while she was working against them. If she sold the property, all their time and effort would be for nothing. But she had to do what was best for her daughter, didn’t she? Isn’t that what being trustee was all about?

  Ten minutes later Annie walked out of the diner with a warm paper bag in hand. The scent of fried chicken and biscuits pulled hunger pains from her stomach. Forgot she had to stop by Candi’s after church. What kind of weak excuse was that? Was Candi even home? Toting a bag full of food with no place to go, Annie thought maybe she should go to Candi’s place. She could use the company and the ready ear.

  Chapter Seven

  Cal walked into Fran’s Diner, not surprised the place was cackling like a hen house at feeding time. He dodged aside as a toddler bumped into his legs. “Sorry!” came the automatic response from a young mother, a woman who didn’t appear old enough to have a child let alone one she had to chase down and corral in a crowd. Cal waved it off with a smile. But that was Fran’s. Folks of all ages frequented the restaurant, from his Daddy’s generation right down to the students that made Fran’s Diner part of their after-school schedule. Most of today’s crowd was dressed in their Sunday best, relaxing over good old-fashioned country cooking with friends and family after a morning of church services.

  Cal inhaled the scent of roasting meat and fried food, the heavenly blend of baked goods saturating the air. For him this was milk to a baby. There was no better meal than a southern one, even if it did come from a restaurant. Too bad he was dining solo today. He was pumped with news for Annie. His forester friend said cutting a road would be no problem at all and shouldn’t add more than a months’ time to the job, maybe less. Already familiar with the land, he was willing to pay Annie up front, too. She couldn’t argue with those terms, Cal mused.

  Spotting Malcolm and Lacy at the counter, he paused. Malcolm waved him over. Inwardly, Cal smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t be eating alone after all. “Afternoon,” he said as he joined them.

  “Good afternoon,” Malcolm replied.

  “Hi, Cal!” Lacy chirped and looked around him as though searching for his lunch date. “Did you see Annie?”

  Cal frowned, noting the two plates of half-eaten fried chicken, biscuits and okra. “No. Was she here?”

  “She just left.” Lacy delivered the news as if he’d been ditched, adding cheerfully, “You can join us, if you’d like.”

  “Well, don’t mind if I do.” Cal slid onto a stool next to Lacy, marveling how similar in appearance she was to Annie. Jet black hair, fair complexion and those notably blue eyes, the sisters could almost be twins. Next to Malcolm’s white hair and tanned skin, his eyes a pale blue, Cal thought the two looked good together. He’d come to like Malcolm, getting to know him over the last several months. He was decent, smart, and definitely sweet on Lacy.

  She smiled. “Fran will be out in a second.”

  Noting she was hitched so close to Malcolm’s side it was a wonder if the man would be able to eat, Cal surveyed the restaurant. Cooks in white dashed from a smoking grill to the service window, sliding plates, pulling tickets in rhythmic precision complete with shouts of, “Order up!”

  “Fran really packs ‘em in, doesn’t she?”

  “That she does,” Malcolm agreed.

  “Oh, poo.” Lacy waved him off. “That’s nothing new. Aunt Frannie’s has always been the only place to eat in town, you know that.”

  “You won’t hear any complaints from me.” Cal loved southern cooking, and next to his momma, there was no one better than Fran, particularly when it came to her peach pie. He’d never admit as much aloud but sure as he was sitting here, Fran’s was the best, three counties wide. Settling on to a thick-cushioned seat, he asked, “How’s the baby?”

  Lacy’s face lit up brighter than the hot pink of her jacket and she tapped his arm. “Good, and you’re sweet to ask.” She paused with an odd look in her eyes, appearing suddenly confused. “When is Annie gonna get it through her brain that you’d make the perfect husband?”

  Malcolm twisted toward her. “Don’t you think you should let your sister decide that?”

  Lacy pouted. “Not when she’s being so mulish. Why look at him.” She gestured toward Cal. “He’s a fine man and been so patient with her. If I were you, Cal, I’d demand she officially be your girlfriend or tell her you’re gonna leave her flat!”

  “You think threatening will help?” Malcolm asked.

  Lacy scowled. “It might.”

  Cal laughed and leaned forward on his elbows. “Thanks for the suggestion, Lacy, but I think I’ll hang in there a little while longer. Your sister has a lot on her mind these days.” Grabbing her iced tea, Lacy sipped, eyes alert but apparently content to have said her piece.

  Fran whisked out from the kitchen, delivering a bowl of steaming peanuts. “A little something to start you off with, Cal.”

  He breathed in the distinct scent of warm, salt-boiled peanuts and drawled, “Well, thank you, Fran. That’s mighty nice of you.”

  She winked. “You know I take special care of my favorites.”

  Lacy scrunched her nose at the bowl. “Why are you always eating those things?”

  “Habit.” Ever since he quit drinking, Cal found that tossing back a pile of boiled peanuts replaced his urge to pick up a drink, especially when he was around his brothers. The nuts were satisfying in their own right, especially when boiled by a woman with experience. Placing his nose over the bowl, he inhaled. And Fran was certainly a woman with experience. It was her addition of ham hock that sealed it for him. In Arizona no one knew what a boiled peanut was, let alone a ham hock. Recalling the first time he’d asked after them, Cal chuckled. Boiled what? Why would anyone do that to a peanut? He split one open, heedless to the hot juices dripping down his fingers and thought, because they’re tasty. “You oughta try one, Lacy.”

  “They’re too mushy.”

  Fran planted a hand to her hip and said, “Now don’t you go disparagin’ my cooking, young lady. To each his own, you hear me?”

  Lacy flipped her face up to Fran and frowned. “Sorry.”

  Fran took Cal’s order, departing as quick as she’d come, promising him a cup of peanuts to go. It was a gesture he appreciated. Living at home for the time being, his momma wasn’t one for boiling peanuts. Didn’t like the stink in her kitchen. As a boy, his daddy boiled peanuts out by the stables in a huge steel pot, simmering them for hours and adding his secret spices. When he was satisfied they were ready, he’d load the boys up with cups full and send them on their way. Those were good times, good memories. “So,” he turned to Malcolm, popping open a second peanut, “you must be excited about the prospect of becoming a new father.”