Something About Ewe. Ruth Jean Dale

it was the Daltons who sold all that land to the developer for Shangri-la. They tried to buy my measly little five acres, and when I wouldn’t sell, they just built around me like I was a tree stump in the middle of a road.”

      Thalia glanced questioningly at Luke, who nodded.

      “That’s pretty much how it happened,” he agreed. “But it’s not like your mom’s stubborn or anything, or like they didn’t offer her ten times what this land is worth.”

      Lorraine burst out laughing. “Oh, you!” she said affectionately. “Thalia’s on my side no matter what you say.”

      “I certainly am,” Thalia agreed.

      “As a matter of fact,” he said, “so am I. You’ve got a great place here, Mrs. Myers. It’s eccentric, like its owner. I like that in my houses and in my women.” He winked broadly.

      Lorraine looked pleased; Thalia merely looked annoyed.

      “Really, Luke,” she said, “aren’t you ever serious?”

      “Of course. I’m serious now.” And he was. He did like eccentric people, people who did the unexpected and did it with flair. Like Thalia herself on that long-ago day, when she’d done her much-too-young best to seduce him. What he wouldn’t give to have her try that again!

      Damn, she needed something to loosen her up. If he didn’t know what she was capable of, he wouldn’t give a second thought to the buttoned-up woman with the disapproving air. Even if she was beautiful. Even if she did occasionally slip and let genuine emotion show on her face.

      Ah, hell, maybe he would.

      A banging on the front door defused the increasingly taut moment. Lorraine frowned.

      “Who the heck could that be?” Rising, she left the room.

      Luke waited until she was gone and then said, “You’ve got a heck of a mother there.”

      “Don’t I know it.” That could be the first genuine smile he’d seen so far on Thalia’s smooth face.

      “Didn’t you ever want to be like her?”

      She looked astonished. “Good heavens, no. I love her, but she’s so out of control.”

      “And you don’t like that.”

      “You know I don’t. I like things neat and tidy.”

      “And predictable.”

      “That, too.” Her chin lifted. “There’s nothing wrong with predictable.”

      “There’s everything wrong with it, Thalia. It’s…it’s limiting.”

      “It’s reliable.”

      “It’s boring.”

      “I could take that personally,” she snapped.

      “Everything I’ve said to you is personal,” he agreed. “I—”

      Raised voices from the living room intruded. Both of them knew immediately that his mother, Sylvia Dalton, had arrived.

      SYLVIA AND LORRAINE MIXED like oil and water, always had and probably always would. Thalia could imagine them as wizened little old ladies—one silver-haired, one orange-haired—sitting side by side in their wheelchairs at some senior citizens home sniping at each other night and day.

      Nevertheless, Sylvia had always been nice to Thalia, who jumped up to greet the newcomer. She couldn’t imagine why Luke’s mother was here, but it couldn’t possibly be good.

      “Thalia! Darling.” Silvery-blond Sylvia gave Thalia a big hug. Whoever said a woman couldn’t be too blond or too thin or too rich was probably thinking of Sylvia.

      “Hello, Mrs. Dalton. It’s good to see you.”

      Sylvia straightened and turned. “There you are, Lucas. I saw your car outside and wondered if something was wrong.”

      Luke looked as if he considered this a pretty feeble attempt at an explanation. “Nothing’s wrong that I know of.” He looked at Lorraine and daughter. “Anything wrong?”

      “Not a thing.” Lorraine glowered. She didn’t look as if she liked having her archenemy invading her turf. The next words seemed dragged out of her. “We’re having cookies and milk if you’d care to join us, Syl.”

      Sylvia’s nostrils flared at the casual use of a nickname no one else had uttered in decades. She got revenge by saying, “Don’t mind if I do, Rainy.”

      Lorraine rolled her eyes but said nothing, just led the way back to the kitchen. Sylvia fell in behind her while Thalia and Luke exchanged dubious glances before following.

      Sylvia sat down and looked at the plate of cookies with disapproval. “I cannot tell you how many of my son’s meals were ruined in this house by cookies and milk,” she announced. “I held you personally responsible, Lorraine.”

      “Good reasoning.” Luke picked up another cookie, his third or fourth. “She used to tie me to a kitchen chair and jam cookies down my throat. It was hell.”

      Lorraine let out that raucous laughter. “Yes, and everyone can see how it stunted his growth. I think you should call the nutrition police, Sylvia.”

      “I would, if I thought it would do any good.”

      Luke pushed the plate toward his mother. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, Ma.”

      She picked up a cookie, pointedly using her thumb and one exaggerated finger. “I don’t believe I can eat this without something to wash it down.”

      “Milk?” Thalia jumped up, eager to avoid further dissension.

      “I don’t suppose there’s coffee made.” Sylvia said it as if it were a test for gracious living.

      “Darn it, Syl!” Lorraine grimaced. “I am not going to make a whole pot of coffee just for you and end up tossing most of it away. There might be a little left over from breakfast in the carafe, but—”

      “Never mind.” Sylvia gave a condescending sigh. “A glass of water will be sufficient.” She tore off a crumb and lifted it to her mouth as if suspecting it of containing hemlock.

      Thalia pulled a small bottle of water from the refrigerator and offered it hopefully. Lorraine watched impatiently for about thirty seconds before she burst out, “Okay, out with it, Syl. What are you doing here?”

      “I can’t drop by to visit a neighbor?” Sylvia countered.

      “You ask me that after forty years’ worth of cold shoulders?”

      “It isn’t forty. More like thirty-five.”

      Lorraine appealed to the gallery. “She’s quibbling.”

      “No, seriously.” Sylvia leaned forward. “Lorraine, I must speak to you about Shangri-la number two.”

      Lorraine caught her breath sharply. “There is no Shangri-la number two.”

      “But there will be, if you’ll stop trying to rouse the populace against it.”

      “Don’t count on it.”

      “But Rainy, you know it’ll benefit the community, and the land will eventually be developed anyway. In fact—” Sylvia’s voice dropped, became confidential “—the developer has agreed to raise his offer for this little ol’ plot of land of yours. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with what he—”

      “Out!” Lorraine rose in all her leotard-and-tights-clad dignity. Her red-gold curls quivered with indignation. “Out of my house! If you have intruded into the sanctity of my home to insult me with another pathetic offer when I’ve already made my feelings perfectly clear—”

      “Mother!” Thalia tugged at Lorraine’s elbow. “You’re