Garden Of Scandal. Jennifer Blake

head. “They’d been arguing, something about their boy Evan and what Howard wanted to do for him, though it ran into all sorts of other things as fights will between husbands and wives, like what Laurel could and couldn’t do in the yard. Howard was hollering like a crazy man when he stepped behind that car, telling her he’d do anything if she’d stay. Pitiful, really.”

      Alec was quiet as he tried to imagine how he would feel if he thought he was losing Laurel. Of course, he had to imagine having her first. Neither one was easy.

      He drew a deep breath and let it out. Deliberately, he said, “Laurel wants that big pine over next to the fence, there, taken down. She says you might have a saw.”

      5

      It was Grannie Callie’s idea for Alec to take Gregory to Ivywild. Gregory should get out of the house, she said. He needed something else to think about besides himself and the symptoms and progress of his illness. Alec thought his grandmother probably needed to get out for a while, as well, but didn’t want to leave Gregory alone.

      She had been more than generous about letting his brother and him stay, but she had her own life and routine, which they had interrupted, her own friends she was neglecting while she looked after them. Alec had done everything he could think of to make it easier for her. They couldn’t expect her to devote all her waking hours to the invalid.

      Not that Gregory was bedridden. He got around well enough, though his energy level was low. He could handle dressing and undressing himself and was able to take his pain medication when it was set out for him. The main problem was seeing that he didn’t take too much of it, and that he ate regular meals and got some fresh air and sunshine to keep his spirits up. Another good reason for taking him out on the job.

      Gregory seemed to appreciate being out and about. He walked slowly around Laurel’s garden, stopping now and then to smell a flower or finger a leaf. He even tried to help a little, picking up a hoe to tackle a patch of nut grass.

      Alec watched his brother for a moment to be sure he was all right, then turned back to the ditch he was working on with a shovel. It was for the water line to feed the fountain. The garden space inside the fence was too confined, too filled with plants, for him to bring in the ditchdigger he had rented. Once he had the piping finished to the other side of the fence, he would climb on the digger, but for now he was it, since he had to be sure nothing was torn up that Laurel wanted saved.

      In the midst of his concentration, he heard the screen door slam and Laurel scream his name. He whipped around, saw Gregory starting to fall, crumpling like a scarecrow with the stuffing spilling out. Dropping his shovel, he lunged for him in a full, desperate stretch. He barely caught him.

      “Up here,” Laurel called from the steps. “In the shade on the veranda.”

      Alec was grateful beyond words for the offer. He should have known better than to let Gregory do anything strenuous, should have watched him more closely. The trouble was, Gregory didn’t like being watched over like a kid; definitely didn’t like being told what he should and shouldn’t do. He was proud and touchy, which was a fine and necessary thing, but still made it hard to decide when it was best to let things ride and when to knock him flat for his own good.

      Gregory’s moment of weakness lasted only a second. He roused himself in plenty of time to curse Alec for refusing to let him make his own way to the big wicker swing that hung at the rounded oval end of the veranda. Laurel, recognizing correctly that his brother didn’t like her seeing him being carried, moved back into the house. She returned with a glass of ice water when Gregory was settled.

      For a second, Alec was aware of a flash of jealousy; Laurel had never brought him a glass of water, never looked so concerned for his health. Of course, he had never collapsed in her front yard, either.

      Watching Gregory drink the water, studying the haggard paleness of his thin face with its straggly beard, Alec said to him in abrupt decision, “I should have known this was too much. Rest a minute, then I’ll take you back home.”

      “Don’t worry about me, little brother,” Gregory answered irritably. “I’ll be fine right here. You just get on with your job.”

      “It’s my job to worry. It’s what I’m here for.” Alec kept the words patient, but implacable. “It will only take a few minutes to run you back.”

      “I said I’m fine. I’ll just sit here and watch you flex your muscles. Maybe the nice lady will keep me company.”

      Alec was afraid she might at that, which was one reason he was determined to get Gregory away. Without looking at Laurel, he said, “Mrs. Bancroft is busy. Come on, now.”

      “I’m not that busy,” she corrected him in clear tones. “I’ll be glad to sit down for a little while.”

      “You don’t have to,” he said, the words stark as he finally allowed his gaze to move over the cool, lovely planes of her face, the sunbeam sheen of her hair, the long, flowing skirt of lavender cotton she wore with a cool sleeveless blouse.

      She gave a brief smile without quite meeting his gaze as she answered, “I know that.”

      Gregory glanced from one to the other, as if becoming aware of the undercurrents between them. “See?” he said with satisfaction as he waved a hand vaguely toward Alec. “Run along. We don’t need you.”

      Alec felt his stomach muscles tighten as if in anticipation of a blow, but there was nothing he could do. He turned on his heel and went back out into the hot sun.

      

      Laurel, watching Alec go, thought he was upset. He was concerned about his brother, and who could blame him? He was also mad at her for going against him. That was too bad. As Maisie would put it, he could get glad in the same britches. Laurel wanted to talk to Gregory.

      Looking around, she caught the arm of a rocking chair and dragged it closer to the swing. As she sat down, she said easily, “It’s been so hot and humid these last few days, it could get to anyone who isn’t used to it. I really don’t know how Alec stands it out there all day.”

      Gregory glanced at his brother with a brooding look in his eyes. “He’s strong as a bull elephant, can stand anything.”

      “Most of the time he doesn’t even wear a shirt.”

      He looked at her, the expression in his brandy-colored eyes bland. “Sun doesn’t affect him quite the same as you and me. He has Native American blood.”

      When it appeared he was not going to elaborate, she said, “You mean your father was a Native American?”

      “Not mine, just Alec’s.” His smile was thin, as if he had expected some reaction from her that he had not received. “Actually, I think the guy was a half-breed, though who knows? He didn’t stay around long enough for anybody to find out too much about him.”

      “I see,” Laurel said. The main thing she understood was that Gregory was trying to shock her, though she didn’t intend to provide amusement for him by allowing it. Features composed, she glanced from him to his brother. She had thought Gregory’s illness accounted for his slighter frame and lighter skin coloring, but it appeared she was wrong, at least in part. At the same time, she didn’t believe Alec was immune to the sun’s effects.

      Gregory’s gaze was tinged with black humor as he studied her face. “No, we’re not much alike, are we, Alec and I? My dad was your typical WASP, some kind of traveling salesman from the West Coast who took our dear mother away from all this.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture that took in Hillsboro and the state of Louisiana as well as the woods around them. “Our younger sister Mita, now, was fathered by an Asian. Being your typical sixties and seventies woman, Mom was determined to prove her lack of prejudice. Besides, she liked having her own variety pack of kids, or so she said. She bought into the whole earth-mother, single-parent bit. Didn’t care whether the fathers stayed around or not.”

      “She must be an unusual woman.”

      His