Not on Her Own. Cynthia Reese

the lot of ’em.”

      Penelope wrapped her arm around her grandfather’s too-big middle and gave him an encouraging hug. “You are not supposed to be worrying, remember? You told me the doctor said that stress complicated regulating your blood-sugar levels. Those lawyers of yours will do their job. There is such a thing as reasonable doubt and innocent before proven guilty.”

      Grandpa Murphy hugged her back. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Sorry I’m such a sourpuss, girl.”

      Penelope felt a tug on the box in her hand. Grandpa stepped back, a doughnut triumphantly in his grasp and took a quick bite out of it.

      “You are absolutely incorrigible, did you know that? Who brought you those doughnuts, anyway? Now we’ve got to fuss with the test strips and check to see how much insulin you need, and you’ll probably need a shot.”

      He waved away her concerns and took another bite. “And you tell me not to worry. You’re a fine one to be talking. I bought my own doughnuts, thank you very much. Sit down here at the table. Lord, you know how many years I wanted you around so I could have the pleasure of you just dropping in for an unexpected visit?”

      His words blew away her aggravation. In the scheme of things, what was one doughnut as long as she could make sure his blood sugar was okay before she left? She’d missed him for so long. If only her mother could have gotten along with Grandpa Murphy. If only Mom had given him a chance.

      They sat down at Grandpa Murphy’s kitchen table and she watched as he savored the doughnut, licking the last of the glaze off his fingertips. “Bum pancreas. Don’t ever let your pancreas go to pot, girl. Worst thing in the world.”

      “Well, not the worst, surely.”

      “No, I’d guess federal prison is worse.”

      Penelope’s heart squeezed in her chest. “Your lawyers will help you, Grandpa. You’re not going to prison. You didn’t do anything wrong, right? They don’t put innocent people in prison.”

      “They do if they’re out for blood. And they are out for blood—mine. If they’ll believe that JT, a farmhand with no high school degree, somebody who’s been in the clink before, I don’t have a chance. I might as well eat that whole damn box of doughnuts.”

      “Are we feeling sorry for ourselves today?” Penelope met his eyes pointedly.

      Grandpa Murphy’s mouth pulled down even more, but then he lifted his chin. “To hell with them. I’m not going to let them get me down. Cheer me up, Penelope, tell me something to get my mind off my troubles.”

      “Uh…” She thought about the reason she’d come over, to ask about Brandon Wilkes’s intense hatred of her grandfather.

      “That sculpture you’re working on. You got started on it yet?”

      Ouch. Another tender point. She hadn’t intended on telling him about the cancelled commission. “Well. About that. I’ve had a bit of a setback. The company has changed its mind.”

      “About buying it? Just as well you hadn’t got started on it then. Tell ’em to go jump in a lake somewhere. Bad break for you, Penny-girl, but I’ll bet you’ll get everything figured out. You’re a Murphy, after all, and Murphys land on their feet.”

      She reached over and patted his hand. “I’m still going to do it. Don’t worry. I’m not giving up yet. But thanks, Grandpa, for not going all ballistic on me. Mom would have insisted I turn everything back over to the bank, pack up and come home.”

      “Your mother, bless her heart, is nothing if she’s not a Chicken Little. Always in an uproar about something.” He leaned back in his chair, the back of it creaking under his weight. “So what are your plans? You have enough money to make it?”

      “I’m…I’m not sure. Haven’t landed on my feet yet, but I’m working on it.” She tried to inject a cheerful, confident note in her voice.

      “I might have just the thing for you, then. If you don’t need that entire tract of land, you interested in selling part of it?”

      She cocked her head to one side and stared at him. “Is it something in the air?”

      “What do you mean?”

      Penelope hesitated. “Brandon Wilkes came—”

      Grandpa Murphy uttered a foul word.

      Penelope laughed uneasily. “I take it you don’t have any more warm, fuzzy feelings for him than he does for you.”

      “Busybody deputy. It was him and Ryan MacIntosh and that Becca Reynolds MacIntosh hooked up with—all of them got me in this jam I’m in. They’d like nothing more than to see me rot behind bars, Penelope. You stay away from them.”

      “That won’t be a problem. I’ve not been the one looking for Brandon, that’s for sure.” The dark expression on Brandon’s good-looking face came back fresh and clear. He’d been so self-righteous about the whole thing, as though there were no doubt that her grandfather had orchestrated the loss of his uncle’s land.

      He really believed it, too. Penelope had seen the way his expression had softened when he talked about his uncle, had seen pain in his eyes. That pain had driven her here, to be sure that she wasn’t profiting off something that hadn’t been on the up-and-up.

      “Grandpa Murphy?” Penelope struggled to couch the question in a nonaccusatory way. “About how you got the Wilkes property…”

      Grandpa’s lips thinned. “Told you, girl. I told you all that when I first called you about the banks calling in all my notes and my entire place going on the auction block. Damn banks, getting all my money. I got the land when Jake Wilkes’s old tax debt finally caught up with him. A man doesn’t think he has to pay taxes and then makes up all kinds of stories about how he paid it. Well, why can’t he produce proof, I say?”

      “Brandon said there were other—”

      “You listening to that Brandon Wilkes? You believe that lug of a deputy over me? Your own flesh and blood?” he thundered, his face turning purple.

      Penelope held up a hand. “Whoa, calm down, Grandpa. Of course I believe you. I wanted to be sure, that’s all.”

      She could see a storm of emotions swirl over him, but finally his expression settled into an uneasy calm. “Yeah. Yeah. That Brandon can spin a sad tale, that’s for damn sure. I can see why you felt the need to ask, although, I can’t lie. It cuts that you doubted me, your own grandfather.”

      “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I meant…I wasn’t questioning…well, I guess I was, wasn’t I?” Penelope chuckled, but that didn’t ease the tension.

      “It’s okay, Penelope. I understand. But listen, about your money problems.”

      The abrupt shift in topic confused her for a moment. “That’s okay, Grandpa, I’ll figure—”

      “No, no. I want to hook you up with some people, some folks who will give you good money for your land. They’ve been after it for a while. Before the banks started calling in their notes, I was about to sell the land you’ve got now to these people.”

      “If they wanted the land, why didn’t they bid against me at the auction?”

      “Didn’t know about it. It all happened so fast. Penny-girl, I hope you never have to see all you worked for being bid off on the auction block. It’s a horrible thing.”

      She wrapped her fingers around his again and squeezed. The twist of his lips reminded her of Brandon’s when he’d tried to explain his uncle’s loss. “I feel really awful, Grandpa, that I managed to profit off your misfortune.”

      He pulled his hand from hers and pressed his fingertips to his eyes. “Well, if I had to lose it all, I’m glad some of it went to you. That’s why I told you. You’re family, Penny-girl, and I knew you’d want to help out. I knew you wouldn’t