Texas Redeemed (22 page)

Others would be there, too—Jasper’s friends, people from
Memorial and neighbors whom Peyton wouldn’t mind seeing. But holidays in
general, especially Christmas, didn’t make him think of family in a deep-down
joyful sense. His mother had been happy to use Christmas as an excuse to work
on him, to get money out of him. Instead of holidays being about togetherness
and goodwill, they’d been about opportunity. He offhandedly wondered whether
that was still the case.

In the heat of the moment, he’d invited Valerie because
he wanted a reason to have her on his turf. Now, the idea of her dressed up and
mingling with people outside of the ranch gave him a taste of optimism. Maybe
he could invite his friend Malcolm, and even Faye, whose dry humor he was
starting to miss.

But first he needed to get himself put back on the guest
list.

Shirt in hand, he jogged from his wing of the house to
his grandfather’s study. “Grandpa,” he said, after rapping at the door and
being called inside. He halted to see Rose still in
the study, burdened with a stack of files.

He hastened to put his shirt on, forcing a smile that
probably looked painful. “’Morning, Rose. I—uh, sorry,
I didn’t know you were here.” He noticed the chairs stacked in the room’s
farthest corner and realized he’d narrowly escaped interrupting a meeting
half-naked.

“Good morning.” The corner of her mouth curved up. “Working
for a menswear company, I’m almost immune to the sight of a shirtless man,
Doctor Turner. Modesty is refreshing though.”

Nathaniel chuckled, not looking away from his computer
screen. “Deliver those documents to my attorney, Rose, and take the rest of the
morning off.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back at one. The video conference
with the VP of marketing is at two.”

“Fine.”

Peyton waited until Rose left before he spoke. “About the Christmas party.”

“You already made it clear, son. You’re not coming.”

“That’s the thing,” Peyton said, clearing his throat and
wishing a snifter of brandy could appear in front of him—a shot of liquid
courage. “I’d like to.”

Nathaniel’s eyes slowly settled on his grandson. “Sit
down.”

Bolts of fabric and boxes filled with swatches were
strewn about the room. Peyton cleared the club chair of a box containing silk
lining material and sat.

“Come to the party?” Nathaniel asked. “Why’d you change
your mind?”

“I invited Valerie. And Lucy and their
family.”

“When?”

“This morning, when Val was here.
She dropped off an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at Battle Creek, and I … I
don’t know … I just asked her.”

“Where’s the invitation?”

“Still in my room. I’ll get it
to you later.”

“Valerie was in your bedroom.” This wasn’t phrased as a
question. “What is this, Peyton? What are you trying to do here?”

“Nothing happened, Grandpa.”

“Nothing happened? Of
course
something happened. You went too far with her years ago and now you’re doing it
again.” Nathaniel steepled his fingers.
“Someone at the hospital mentioned Chief Lindsey offered you a permanent
position.”

Peyton shot forward. “Whose business is it what I discuss
with Chief?”

“Are you at least channeling your influence to the right
goals?”

“Channeling my influence? What the hell are you talking
about?” And, as if someone had dropped a ball of light into a dark pit, he
could see clearly now. “I thought you pulled me back to Night Sky to railroad
Valerie into letting Lucy get involved with the business. But that was too simple.
You knew, Grandpa, that if I came back here I’d want to spend time at the
hospital—and you were so damn sure that I’d do whatever it took to get everyone
on board for your plans.”

Intrigue sparkled in the old man’s stone-colored eyes. “
Have
you gotten through to Valerie?”

“Gotten through? I think you mean influenced, and I’ve
already told her that I’m not here to do your dirty work. That goes for the
neuroscience proposal, too. I don’t want to be dragged into the middle of this,
Grandpa, because it’s not as simple as building a facility. The location’s
downtown, and people’s businesses would literally have to be bulldozed to make
this happen. I know you, so I know you’re not going to stop at a neuroscience
building. Think about what’ll happen to this town if Night Sky gets into a
pissing match with Meridien over medical facilities. Meridien has triple the population—”

“This debate’s been done to death, son. You act like the
choice is solely mine. It’s not.” Nathaniel studied him for a moment. “I’ll
take it with a grain of salt that you want no long-term involvement with
Memorial.”

“Why do you look so pleased?”

“It’s a fine hospital. I put my wife in its hands, didn’t
I? But you’re meant for better horizons. Think about your career. No question Johns
Hopkins gave you a reasonable salary, but it can’t compare to what you’d find
in Los Angeles.”

“I don’t want Los Angeles.”

“Then what
do
you
want? What’s so much better than wealth and status? That right there is what
opens doors! I’ve always known it. Anthony knew it.”

“I want to control my own career, my own life. I was
lucky to go on that first mission in Sri Lanka, because I got the chance to
help people who don’t have the resources we do in the States. After that I
found out that it doesn’t even matter where you live or who you are when a
hurricane or an earthquake hits.”

“Isn’t donating enough—”

“Not even close. Throwing money at a problem’s not always
a cure-all. What good is money if there’s no one to treat an infection or
perform surgery or even do something as simple as put up mosquito netting?”
Peyton got up and braced his hands on the desk. “I have the know-how and the
drive to help out people who can’t shove money at all their problems, and I’m
asking you not to get in my way.”

Nathaniel only frowned.

“How can you not understand that, Grandpa? How could you
have loved and married Grandma and not known who she was?”

“I’m a charitable man—the foundation in little Anna’s
name is proof of that. But Estella was hell-bent on putting all her effort into
her causes,” his grandfather said, and the words sounded bittersweet. “Your
Valerie was one of those causes.”

“Valerie was a kid in a bad situation who needed help,
and Grandma was there for her,” Peyton corrected. “My grandmother—your wife—had
a purpose. So do I. Part of my purpose now is making things right with the
people I care about. And that includes Valerie.”

“Patching up a few people in third-world countries won’t
bring Estella back.”

“Forcing me to be the man my father was won’t bring him
back.”

Nathaniel shook his head, considering. “Answer me this
time, Peyton. What are you trying to do?”

“Be with my family.” He recalled Dinah’s note on the
invitation. “Isn’t that what holidays are for?”

“You never cared about holidays before.”

I’m starting to.
“Am I invited, or not?”

Nathaniel stood with his cane at the ready, removed a
fistful of coins from his pocket and dropped them into the nearly full ashtray
on the nearby table. “You’re invited.”

“Thank you. So what’s with the coins?”

“Doc says I shouldn’t be smoking anymore, not after the
stroke. Every time I want a cigar, I toss some coins in the tray.”

“Decent plan.”

“If you say so.” Nathaniel
shrugged and clapped Peyton’s shoulder; his signet ring caught the light as he
motioned for Peyton to follow him out of the study. “Got a shift at Memorial
today?”

“No.”

“Good. Let’s get you measured for a tux.”

Peyton nodded, unable to stop himself from comparing his
wrinkled shirt and jeans to Nathaniel’s impeccable three-piece ensemble. “Turner brand?”

“Of course. Nothing
but the best for my grandson.”

“N
OBODY
REALLY
LIKES
cold turkey.”

With a bottle of merlot in tow, Peyton had arrived at the
ranch to find it in comfortable chaos: Jack muscled a
turkey from the oven while Cordelia fussed over cranberry
sauce and Dinah complained that a fork was missing from her collection of
antique silverware. Lucy was lamenting to Coop, who’d dressed up his worn plaid
and dungarees with a necktie and suspenders, that her mother’s food would be
ice-cold and ruined by the time she returned from the stables.

“I like cold turkey. Makes a good sandwich,” Peyton said
to Lucy, who, apparently designated as hostess, had not only delivered the
merlot to Dinah, but politely introduced Peyton to Otis and Imogene Culpepper
from the neighboring ranch who’d contributed deviled eggs to the Thanksgiving
feast. “Why is Valerie at the stables?”

Lucy explained that Valerie’s favorite filly, Daffodil,
had an injured hoof and needed fresh bandages and a thorough body massage to
reduce her distress.

An hour later, the turkey had been carved and the side
dishes served, and everyone at the table had cleared their plates except for Jack,
who’d taken a second helping of every dish, and Cordelia,
who had bolted to the nearest bathroom with an upset stomach, leaving her meal
barely touched.

Even though Valerie had ducked in while her plate was
still warm, she’d eaten in a rush and was out the door again so quickly it was
almost like she hadn’t been there at all—like having her beside him at the
table smiling and laughing in between bites had been a daydream.

Dinah had taken special care with the seating
arrangements, but Valerie’s absence during most of dinner had foiled her little
plot.

Peyton waited until everyone had retreated to the family
room to watch football before he put a generous slice of citrus-glazed
pumpkin-carrot cake, along with two forks, onto a plate, grabbed a throw
blanket and the half-full bottle of merlot and went out to the stables.

Under the golden lamplight, Valerie stood at the injured
filly’s side, running her gloved hands firmly over the horse’s flanks, uttering
soft words.

Noticing him, she looked up with a smile that couldn’t
hide the weariness in her face. “What’s all this?” she asked, nodding at the
plate and merlot.

“You hardly ate any dinner, so I brought you some
dessert.”

“That’s so …”

“Unexpected?”

“Actually the opposite. I mean,
it’s something I’d expect from the old you. Thoughtful everyday gestures, the
little surprises … I could always count on you for that.” Valerie gave the
filly one last pat, then stepped back and pulled off her gloves. “All done here. Where’s everyone now?”

“In front of the TV.”

“Football?”

“What else is there on Thanksgiving?”

Valerie snorted. “Parades, maybe? Holiday
movies?”

Peyton spread the blanket, and they sat with the plate
between them. After sipping the merlot straight from the bottle, she offered it
to him and sampled the cake. She was distracted, going through the motions of
eating and drinking as her brow furrowed in a contemplative frown. He didn’t
interrupt her, just watched her and ate in silence. When their forks touched
with a clink, they both looked down to find the plate empty aside from a few
leftover crumbs.

“Were you going through a mental to-do list?” He stood
and pulled her to her feet, then picked up the plate and bottle.

“Reminding myself to mention a
deep muscle massage technique for horses to Vet—something I read about online.”
She rolled up the blanket. “Suppose that was rude. Sorry. Sometimes my brain
stays locked on work even when I don’t want it to.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve been there before.” Oftentimes the
people on the receiving end—acquaintances, dates and even a few
colleagues—weren’t so understanding, and found him preoccupied, single-minded
and, yes, rude. “How’s Daffodil?”

“Fresh bandages always help. The girl just needed a
little attention.” Valerie shrugged. “I guess I did, too, today. So thanks for
coming out here.”

With the blanket tucked under one arm, Valerie led the
way to the house, but at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, they both
stopped. A man’s shadowy figure appeared, and when he stepped into the light
Valerie tossed the blanket to Peyton and broke into a run. “Chase, where the
hell have you been? Dinah contacted your unit, and everyone said you’d left.”

“I did leave.” Chase set his jaw, frowning into the dark
night at something only he could see in his mind. “How’s Mama?”

“Come in and find out.” Valerie grabbed his wrist. “Oh,
Peyton, this is Cordelia’s brother, Chase. And Chase,
this is Peyton Turner. My friend.”

Peyton’s gaze found hers. Was that true? Were they really
friends again, or was classifying him as a friend to her cousin just simpler?

Chase, sober and clean-shaven now but still haggard,
nodded at Peyton with a look that straddled resentment and gratitude.