Page 78 of Slow Burn
The creak of ancient hinges drew her attention back as the ornately carved wooden door swung inward. She was surprised to find it was her biological grandfather who peered out at her.
Errol Abbott released a breath like it’d been sitting in his lungs too long. “I wondered when you might show up.” His words were elongated in the drawl that was familiar for this region, though it was different than Cole’s. It was more stretched and rounded, whether from age or from his perceived station, she couldn’t tell.
Despite her still-simmering rage, her southern roots had never fully left her. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
He swung the door wider as answer. “Come on in.” There was no grandfatherly warmth, but he was polite enough. Maybe even resigned.
Inside, her shoes made no sound on the thick rug that covered the shiny wood floors. A massive staircase loomed to her left, tall doorways lining the high-ceilinged hall. A chandelier glittered above. She could imagine the rooms beyond—family room, a library, a dining room, the kitchen.
Errol led her through the first doorway on the left into something like a parlor. The windows stretched floor to ceiling, the swath of light diffused by gauzy curtains framed by heavy, embroidered drapes. Gilded portraits stared down from the walls, the solemn faces belonging to ancestors she was possibly tied to by blood.
“Have a seat.” Errol gestured to an antique-style sofa of carved mahogany and cream upholstery.
She lingered in the wide doorway, watching him lower himself into a wingback chair with an old man’s weary grunt.
“You are welcome to make yourself comfortable, but if you’d rather stand, be my guest.”
She studied the room, pausing on the dour-faced man whose likeness hung in an ornate frame above the fireplace behind Errol.
“That is your five-times great-grandfather,” he said, steepling his fingers. He gave her an academic appraisal she tried to ignore. “Lewis Abbott. He built this house.”
Her eyes slid back to his, dulled gray with time.
“You’re surprised. These are modern times. I have no reason nor desire to deny who you are to me, child.”
Something twisted in her stomach. If he had no reason to deny it, why pretend she didn’t exist all these years?
He sighed. “Now, my dear wife—God rest her—had old-fashioned ideas about things.”
On the surface, he seemed so benign. But there was still something in his tension, the way he sat so tightly, she suspected there was something underneath.
“And since she’s no longer alive, she’s a convenient scapegoat,” Jocelyn said, testing him.
A flash lit in his gaze like the glint of light along a blade. “You are quick to think the worst of people.”
“Can you blame me? The way my mama and I were treated for all those years—”
“Your mama,” he interrupted, “had a chip on her shoulder, and pride a mile wide.” The kind of authority he was used to wielding edged his words. He leaned forward, ready to say more.
“Dad.”
The voice came from behind her, sending a bolt of electricity up her spine. She turned.
Seeing Daniel Abbott struck her even more than a few days prior, when she hadn’t been ready for it. He had the leanly muscular build of a high school jock. With his clean-shaven face, the lines from smiles and frowns were more evident, but it only served to make him appealingly distinguished. No doubt it gave him an edge in the real estate industry. A handsome face, clean-cut lines, well-cared for body, and charm that was second nature went a long way.
Though his hands hung loosely, the line of tension was obvious when he walked into the room. Stepping from the dim hallway into sunlight, he was like an ethereal being, and it made Jocelyn realize how easily her mama must’ve fallen for him all those years ago.
Daniel looked more like a whipped dog at the moment, though. Nothing like the imperious, if muted, older man who sat across the room from her.
“I’m sorry to hear about Joe’s place,” Daniel said, looking at Jocelyn.
The sentiment stirred her anger. “Are you?”
“Your mama passed on the gift of that chip, I see,” Errol cut in, and Daniel shot him a look. He curled his lip and stood. “I see I am no longer wanted here. In my own home,” he added dryly as he swept by his son.
Daniel moved to the far side of the room as soon as his father was gone, keeping distance between himself and his daughter.
His daughter. The one he’d pretended didn’t exist for decades.
