and daughter. Two high-powered women whose minds were simpatico.
“So...how’s Stan?” Natasha asked, after their brainstorming morphed into a series of ideas, a plan, that pleased them both.
When she was up and ready, Bryant’s wife was going to be doing a walk-through with her of the staging and kitchens that had been built in a tractor barn on the property. The pantry and green room. Now that she was awake, she was eager to get to it.
“That’s what I called about...”
Back straightening, Natasha slowed her thinking. Had something happened to her mother’s long-term companion? While not technically her father, Stan had been in their lives for over a decade, and...
“What’s wrong? Is he ill?”
The appeals court judge had been in perfect health when she’d visited her mother over Christmas. But that had been...nine months ago.
“No...to the contrary, he’s more physically fit than he’s been in years,” Susan said. A note in her mother’s voice gave her concern. Or rather, a lack of any particular one did.
“He’s taking an early retirement,” Susan continued, her words even. Emotionless.
“But...he’s only, what, fifty-one?” Her mother had thrown a high-powered fiftieth birthday bash for him. The guest list had included most anyone who was anyone in power in the city. Natasha had flown home to New York to oversee the caterer her mother had hired for the occasion.
“Fifty-two. And he’s decided that he wants to sail around the world,” she continued. Natasha sat frozen on the bed. She couldn’t tell if her mother was being literal. Normally she’d have been able to tell.
“Wow.” Not her best articulation, but she was shocked. To the bone. “I thought he’d die at ninety-five, still on the bench,” she half murmured.
“I know. Me, too.”
Just as her mother planned to do...
Unless... With a surge of...she didn’t know what exactly—an emotion that felt a lot better than the disbelief and uncertainty weighing her down—she entertained the thought that had struck.
Could her mother be calling to tell Natasha that she was retiring, too? That she’d finally reached a point where she felt she’d done her duty to the world that had given her life—to the purpose for which she’d been born—and could just relax?
Where that thought came from, Natasha didn’t know. She was certain it was unbidden. And unwelcome, too.
Her mother and she were not women who wanted to just relax. They weren’t made for sitting around.
And yet...to think that Susan and Stan were moving on to the next stage of their lives together was...reassuring. In an odd, offhand sense...
“So, I just thought I should let you know...”
Wait. What? Wasn’t there more? “Are you having a retirement party for him? Do you need me to cater?” Sense was coming back into focus.
“No. I won’t be doing that.” Susan sounded distracted now. Which made no sense again.
“My gosh, Mom, he’s been employed by New York’s legal system for thirty years. Has had an illustrious career. I can’t imagine him not wanting a party to celebrate that. If nothing else, I’m sure there are a lot of people who’d be offended not to be a part of such a celebration.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Natasha. Which is why I’m certain he’ll have a party such as you describe. I just won’t be having it for him.”
Oh. No. With a sudden thud, realization dawned. “Why not?” she asked, dreading the answer.
Her entire life, anytime anyone had tried to get too close to her and her mother, Susan had ended the relationship. Because invariably, the man had wanted her to become less of who she was and more like he’d needed her to be. Less powerful. More nurturing.
But Stan...
“We are no longer...friends.”
They’d broken up, Natasha translated.
“Because he wanted to retire?”
That didn’t sound like Susan. Even if she didn’t want to join him in early relaxation, Susan wasn’t one to ask anyone to be anything they were not. Because she couldn’t be who she was not. Her mother was nothing if not fair...
“Because he wanted me to marry him. He wants to get married again. He said if I won’t marry him, we’re through.”
Mouth open, Natasha just sat there. What was probably one of the most critical moments of her life, and she had nothing to offer in response.
Except a couple of inexplicable, seldom-present tears that slid slowly down her cheeks.
It was happening again.
Just as it always would.
For her mother.
For her.
Because, as the women they were, the women they’d been born to be, there was no other choice.
* * *
“SO, BRO, THAT’S one hot babe you’ve got staying with you,” Bryant said. Spencer had stopped to tell his right-hand man that he was taking the kids to school. Bryant, who’d been after Spencer to take a look at some new side-by-sides for hands to use to check fence line, had invited himself to hook up the trailer to the back of Spencer’s truck and ride along.
He’d talked Spencer into purchasing two of the all-purpose off-road vehicles. Which had used up more of his cash than he’d have liked. There was still a bundle put away. But that was all the security his kids had, and he didn’t like dipping into it. Ever.
“She’s not staying with me,” he said now, still brewing over the side-by-side matter. Maybe he was being too much of a stickler by refusing to buy anything on credit. Maybe Bryant was right and he needed to loosen up a bit.
“You put her up in your old house...”
With a sideways glance at a man he wanted to punch on a regular basis—mostly because Bryant knew Spencer too well—he shrugged.
If he overreacted, Bryant would be on it like a newborn calf on her mother’s teat.
What a night they’d had. The city woman had not puked as he’d been half expecting—hoping?—and she’d actually been a bit of a help there, toward the end. For a second...
“You got nothing to say for yourself?” Bryant’s words prodded him. But not as much as the other man’s grin. “You know when you say nothing, you’re just telling me that I’m getting to you.”
There came that urge to punch again.
“I’m not going to feed your lurid and completely drama-filled and ludicrous imagination,” Spencer said, focusing on the road. He was kind
