Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,2

flooding down from the mountains!” Allison couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Actually, there is a land route.” Her mother slid behind the wheel. “It’s rough, but Heath has assured me we can manage.”

“We…three…alone?” This had to be some crazy, surreal dream full of dense spring fog and crazy ideas…

“Get in, dear.” Her mother started the motor. “It looks like rain. The trail out to the Landing isn’t the best even on a dry summer’s day, and we still have to pick up our suitcases at the motel before checkout time. We mustn’t keep Heath waiting.”

The whole world has gone nuts, and it’s dragging me along with it. She got into the passenger seat.

“Mom, that man, James Wilcox.” I have to get a handle on reality. Discuss something down to earth and sane…like business. “Maybe you should at least hear what he has to say. Not now,” she hastened as Myra threw her an exasperated glance. “But later, after the will is read. You’ll be looking to sell the place and…”

“Allison, really! Your grandfather is barely gone, and you’re discussing liquidation of his assets.” She shifted into drive, and headed the car out of the churchyard.

“Mom, I…”

“Enough. I don’t want us to quarrel today of all days. We have to concentrate on carrying out your grandfather’s last wishes.”

She glanced over at her daughter, whose tears brimmed as she shook her head and replied, “I’m sorry. It’s just that everything about today is turning out all wrong.”

“You mean Heath.” Myra blinked and focused her attention on the road.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. As if I cared about a piece of street trash Gramps rescued simply to get his mother as housekeeper after Gram died. He should have found some other lady for the job and left Heath Oakes where he belongs…in prison.”

“I don’t know what the man did to inspire you with such hatred, but just for today let’s leave the past alone and focus on the chore ahead.” Her mother’s words brooked no room for further discussion.

Forty-five minutes later, Myra pulled the car onto the shoulder of the narrow country road. Headed down a rutted, impassable-looking trail that led into the bush on the right was a dirty, dented relic that must once have been a farm tractor. Jack Adams’ coffin lay strapped to the wooden trailer hitched to it. Heath Oakes glanced up from checking the straps that held it in place and touched his hat brim in Myra’s direction. The undertaker was not present.

“Mom, this is insane.” Allison whirled on her mother. “You can’t believe the three of us are going to take Gramps’ remains down this road with that…thing and bury his coffin?”

“Allison.” Myra placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “This was his last wish. It’s the least I can do. I wasn’t exactly the best of daughters.”

“He never believed that for a minute.” Allison couldn’t bear the remorse in her mother’s voice and expression. “He loved you. He never blamed you for marrying Dad and moving away.”

“And how often did I visit him?” Myra jerked the key from the ignition. “I was so busy with my family and with fundraising, I rarely visited him. Even after your grandmother died, even when I should have known how lost and lonely he must have been without her. If it hadn’t been for Heath and Ella Oakes…”

“He did them the kindness!” How could a clever woman like her mother be so blind to the reality of the situation! “Ella Oakes was a destitute widow with no job, no place to live, and a convicted criminal for a son when Gramps took her in. Who else would have done that? And let’s not forget her jailbird offspring was alone with Gramps when he died…”

“That’s quite enough!” Myra Armstrong met her daughter’s blazing green-eyed defiance with an unfaltering emerald one. “Heath and his mother saved your grandfather from loneliness and despair after your grandmother died. They did what you and I, his daughter and granddaughter, should have done. Don’t make any more ridiculous innuendoes. Go tell Heath we’ll be with him directly. I want to change my footwear.”

“But, Mom…”

“Go.”

Allison heaved an exasperated sigh and climbed out of the car. The Oakes had completely finessed Myra Armstrong.

The wet chip-sealed road made walking in high heels a balancing act. By the time she reached Heath, her temper hadn’t improved.

“My mother’s coming,” she muttered. “She’s changing her shoes.”

“Wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.” He paused in checking the straps and glanced down at her