Page 33 of Unwanted Vows

Aims snorts. “Right. Married a young woman of farming stock with native blood. It is all over when a guy goes native.”

Austin inserts himself smoothly into the conversation. “Kate Emory is a certified early childhood educator with a master’s in child psychology and several papers to her name. She can boast some connection to the original inhabitants of this land. It has smoothed the way for several local programs supporting families at various levels of income.”

“Bleeding heart liberals,” the old man says derisively. “Can’t believe you’ve fallen in with this lot. Bet they voted for the losing party last election.

“We do not discuss politics or religion when preparing for or eating a meal,” Maddy says, entering from the kitchen. “Please respect the neutrality of the dinner table.” Her face is drawn, and her eyes sparkle with what I suspect is rage, possibly laced with fear.

She is magnificent, a lioness defending her home and her cub. I want to go back and smack my younger self for not keeping contact. What an ass I was!

No matter. I am here now, and the old jackal will not have either of them. As for his threats . . . I am sure they are just so much hot air.

While I stood like a dolt, trying to think what the old man might mean, Madeline came over and wound one arm around my neck, leaning against me. She instantly has my attention.

“Andrew,” she coos, “be a dear and reach the glasses off that top shelf, could you? The movers put them up there, and I can’t reach them without a stool.”

I bend my neck and kiss the top of her head. “Of course, Maddy,” I say. “Is there anything else you will need that they have put out of reach?”

“The big strainer and the large salad bowl,” she directs, “Mimi will want them when she gets here.”

“We are having salad?” I ask, reaching up and pulling down the desired objects.

She nods. “With spaghetti squash, and herb-seasoned chicken breast. Old-fashioned apple pie with homemade ice cream for dessert.”

Grandfather Aims’ face lights up like a kid promised early Christmas. “Will there be cake?”

Madeline frowns. “She didn’t mention cake, but I can call over and ask. I’m sure there must be a bakery open somewhere.”

“Maybe one of those tiramisu things,” the old man says enthusiastically. “That would go all right with pie, wouldn’t it? Even if it doesn’t, that’s good stuff. Maybe get two, so there’s plenty for everyone.”

I wanted to pound the side of my head with one hand, and try cleaning out my ears. I could not believe what I was hearing. This was the infamous mafia lord grandfather who had the whole family terrified?

“Sir,” one of the attendants hesitantly puts in, “Your diet . . .”

“Ah, diet be damned!” Aims swore.

There he is, the grandfather I remember. “I’ve got six months to live, I’m fuckin’ well going to enjoy it!”

“Yessir,” the attendant says, drawing back as if slapped. No doubt the man had been instructed to help Aims stick to his regimen.

“Grandfather,” I say. “Has your doctor given you dietary guidelines?” I’m not fond of my maternal grandfather, but I don’t particularly wish him dead. Besides, the longer he stays at the head of his corporation, the longer the time before I have to discover what he really wants and the best way to protect Madeline and her son.

Then I suppress a little grin. It is just like him to hire excellent physicians, then flout their advice. I had a sneaking liking for the old man, but no desire to follow in his footsteps.

He snorts. He’s really good at it. “Of course he has. Leafy greens, skinless, flavorless chicken, boiled rice. I’m already sick of it…as if I wasn’t sick already. He gives me six months to live, and expects me to eat weeds and cardboard.”

“Why don’t we have the meal Mrs. Quinn has planned?” Madeline suggests gently. “Knowing her, she already has your diet plan, and has created a tasty menu around it. She is a genius with food. You will scarcely know you have any eating restrictions.”

“What rock did you crawl out from under, girl?” Aims scowls at her. “I’ll know its diet food, right enough. I’ve had plenty of rubber chicken and weeds lately. I knew there was a reason I didn’t want you in the family.”

“Grandfather,” I say firmly. “You are crossing some lines here. We are all adults. None of us are dependent on you for anything. You are a guest. I know it is a foreign concept for you, but do try to put on your company manners.”

“Company manners, is it?” he sneers. “You sound just like your grandmother.”

“Since I never met her, I wouldn’t know,” I say. “However, I do not doubt that she knew about manners.”

“You came here to ask for something,” I add, pulling out a sturdy chair placed at the head of the table. “Why don’t you sit down and let us assemble dinner while you pull your thoughts together.”

He looks belligerent as if he wants to explode, then he deflates like a football that has had its plug pulled out. “All right, all right,” he says. “I do want something. I’m not sure if you can do it, but I owe it to my people not to leave them scrambling.”

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