Page 57 of For the Love of Lilah
“What?” He focused on her, then shook his head. “No, well, yes. That is, the head of the history department had a heart attack last week.”
“Oh.” Immediately sympathetic, Coco came forward. “How dreadful.”
“It was mild—if you can term anything like that mild. The doctors consider it a warning. They’re recommending that he cut back on his workload, and he’s taken them seriously, because he’s decided to retire.” He gave Coco a baffled look. “It seems he’s recommended me to take over his position.”
“Well now.” She smiled and patted his cheek, but she was watching him carefully. “That’s quite an honor, isn’t it?”
“I’d have to go back next week,” he said to himself. “To take over as acting head of the department until a final decision’s made.”
“Sometimes it’s difficult to know what to do, which fork in the road to take. Why don’t we have a nice cup of tea?” she suggested. “Then I’ll read the leaves and we’ll see.”
“I really don’t think—” The next interruption relieved him, and Coco clucked her tongue as she went to answer the banging on the door.
“Oh, my” was all she said. With her hand pressed to her breast, she said it again. “Oh, my!”
“Don’t just stand there with your mouth hanging open, Cordelia,” a crisp, authoritative voice demanded. “Have someone deal with my bags.”
“Aunt Colleen.” Coco’s hand fluttered to her side. “What a... lovely surprise.”
“Ha! You’d as soon see Satan himself on the doorstep.” Leaning on a glossy, gold-tipped cane, she marched across the threshold.
Max saw a tall, rail-thin woman with a mass of luxurious white hair. She wore an elegant white suit and gleaming pearls. Her skin, generously lined, was as pale as linen. She might have been a ghost but for the deep blue eyes that scanned him.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Um. Um.”
“Speak up, girl. Don’t stutter.” Colleen tapped the cane impatiently. “You never kept a lick of the sense God gave you.”
Coco began to wring her hands. “Aunt Colleen, this is Dr. Quartermain. Max, Colleen Calhoun.”
“Doctor,” Colleen barked. “Who’s sick? Damned if I’m going to stay in a contagious house.”
“That’s a Ph.D., Miss Calhoun.” Max offered a cautious smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Ha.” She sniffed and glanced around the hall. “Still letting the place fall down around your ears. Best if it was struck by lightning. Burned to the ground. See to those bags, Cordelia, and have someone bring me some tea. I’ve had a long trip.” So saying, she clumped off toward the parlor.
“Yes, ma’am.” Hands still fluttering, Coco sent Max a helpless look. “I hate to ask...”
“Don’t worry about it. Where should I take her luggage?”
“Oh, God.” Coco pressed her hands to her cheeks. “The first room on the right on the second floor. We’ll have to stall her so that I can prepare it. Oh, and she won’t have paid the driver. Tightfisted old... I’ll call Amanda. She can warn the others. Max”—she clutched his hands—“if you believe in prayer, use it now and pray that this is a very short visit.”
“Where’s the damn tea?” Colleen demanded in a bellow and thumped her cane.
“Just coming.” Coco turned and raced down the hall.
Pulling all her rabbits out of her hat, Coco plied her aunt with tea and petits fours, dragged Trent and Sloan away from their work and begged Max to fall in. Arrangements were made for Amanda to pick up Lilah and for Suzanna to close early and pitch in to prepare the guest room.
It was like preparing for an invasion, Max thought as he joined the group in the parlor. Colleen sat, erect as a general, while she measured her opponents with the same steely eye.
“So, you’re the one who married Catherine. Hotels, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trent answered politely while Coco fluttered around the room.
“Never stay in ’em,” Colleen said dismissively. “Got married quick, wouldn’t you say?”
“I didn’t want to give her a chance to change her mind.”
