Black Rose

knees each time Hayley tried to nudge her into a step. And preferred crawling on the patio or trying to climb up Roz’s chair.
    “I swear she walked. You can ask Harper.”
    “I believe you.” Roz hauled Lily up to nuzzle. “Teasing your mama, aren’t you?” She pushed back, rose with Lily in her arms, then picked up a cracker, held it out to Hayley. “You might as well start early using one of the primary parenting tools. Bribery. Scoot down there, hold that cracker out.”
    As Hayley obeyed, Roz crouched, steadied Lily on her feet. “Harper held out a flower.”
    “That boy knows how to charm the girls. Go on, baby. Go get it.”
    To enthusiastic applause, Lily performed. Then she plopped down on her butt and ate the cracker.
    When the others went inside, Roz sat with Mitch in the twilight.
    “Would you be insulted if I said you make a beautiful honorary grandmother.”
    “The term grandmother is a bit of a jolt yet, but since I couldn’t love that baby more if she were my own blood, no. She took her first steps to my boy. To Harper. It’s hard for me not to focus on that, on the significance of it.”
    “She’s not seeing anyone? Hayley?”
    “Her life’s centered on Lily right now. But she’s young and full of passion. There’ll be someone sooner or later. As for Harper, I can’t keep up with the females who come and go. Still, he doesn’t bring them home to meet me. There’s significance in that, too.”
    “Well, speaking of sons, mine’s seeing a new young lady. A local girl. And it happens her parents are members of your club. He’ll be at the dinner dance tomorrow night. I’m looking forward to introducing you.”
    “I’d love to meet him. Who’s the girl?”
    “Her name’s Shelby—after the county, I’m guessing. Shelby Forrester.”
    “It’s a small and crowded world. Yes, I know Jan and Quill, Shelby’s parents. I know her, too—and she’s a lovely girl. Her parents and I are currently on... tenuous terms. Quill is doing business of some sort with Bryce, and it makes things a bit sticky between us. But that won’t touch on anyone else.”
    “No one does complex connections and tenuous terms like the South.”
    “I suppose not, and I only mention it so that if you sense any awkwardness, you’ll know why. But I’m prepared to be excruciatingly polite, so you needn’t worry.”
    “I’m not, whether you decide to be polite or otherwise. Why don’t we take a walk? That way I can hold your hand and find some shadowy and fragrant corner of the garden where I can kiss you.”
    “Sounds like a fine idea.”
    “You’re doing a fine thing for Jane Paulson.”
    “Maybe, but my motivations are murky.”
    He laughed and brought her hand to his lips. “If your motivations were always pure, I doubt I’d find you as fascinating as I do.”
    “I do love astute flattery. Let’s walk around to the stables. I’ll show you Spot’s marker.”
    “I’d like to see it. It might be a good place for me to broach another theory. One I’ve been chewing on for a while now.”

    As they walked down the path, she gauged the progress of her flowers and kept out an eagle eye for weeds.
    “I’d as soon you spit it out as chew on it.”
    “I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to feel about this one. I’m looking at dates, at events, at key moments and people, attempting to draw lines from those dates, events, moments, and people to Amelia.”
    “Mmm-hmm. I’ve always enjoyed having these stables here, leaving them be. As a kind of ruin.”
    Head cocked, hands fisted on hips now, she studied the crumbling stones, the weather-scarred wood. “I suppose I could have them restored. Maybe I will if I get those grandchildren and they develop an interest in horses. None of my boys did, particularly. It’s girls, I think, who go through that equine adoration period.”
    She studied the building in the half light, the sagging roof and faded trim—and the vines, the climbers, the ornamental grasses she’d planted around it to give it a wild look.
    “It looks like something you’d see in a movie, or more likely, in a storybook.”
    “That’s what I like about it. My daddy’s the one who let it go, or never did anything to preserve the building. I remember him talking about having it razed, but my grandmother asked him not to. She said it was part of the place, and she liked the look of it. The grave’s around the back,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mitch, I interrupted.