“Mother”—Peg looked harried but determined—“he came with papers, including his birth certificate.”
“Papers.” Jake’s voice was sharp. She waved her hand in dismissal. “Everyone knows that anything can be faked now. You can’t trust pictures on the Internet. Anything can be put in a picture. Anything at all. The other day I saw a picture of the president signing a wildlife bill and there was a flamingo on one side of his desk and a wolf on the other and they looked real as could be. I mean, they were real but they weren’t in the picture until someone put them there.” She nodded her head for emphasis. “So you see what I mean. What’s a birth certificate? We’ll have to see about those papers. But when he came, you should have told me. I take care of everything about the house. Susan relies on me utterly.” Her face flushed an unbecoming pink. “It was outrageous to take him upstairs to Susan without any kind of checking! Peg, what were you thinking?”
Peg turned, her hands tightly gripping the laden tray. “Mother, I did what I thought best. It happened so suddenly.”
Gina’s gaze was curious. “Hold up, Jake. If Peg had told you, what would you have done differently?”
“I’d have done something.” Jake’s face twisted in frustration. “We could have called Wade, asked him to check into everything, not troubled Susan until everything was certain.”
Peg’s eyes were soft. “Susan wasn’t troubled. It’s the first time since Mitch died that she’s been truly happy. It was wonderful.”
A tic pulled at Jake’s left eye. “How dreadful for Susan is he isn’t Mitch’s son.”
“He is.” Peg spoke with finality. “There are too many papers, too many links to Mitch. He said he was Mitch’s son. How would he know Mitch was a hero unless someone told him?”
Gina added a bowl of nuts to her tray. “Susan intends to talk to Wade tomorrow.”
Jake clasped her hands together and twisted them around and around. “She’s going to call Wade tomorrow? Oh dear, what do you think is going to happen?”
Peg walked to a swinging door. “If Keith is proved to be Mitch’s son, a great many things will change.”
As the door sighed shut behind her, Jake stared at Gina. “What does she mean?”
Gina added a teapot to a tray, gave Jake a measuring glance. “She means the gravy train’s running off the rails.”
“That’s not nice.” Jake’s tone was sharp. “We haven’t taken advantage of Susan. She depends on us.”
Gina gazed at her aunt with a mixture of affection and pity. “You’ll probably come out all right. Susan likes you and somebody has to run the house and take care of the little guy. But for Tucker and me? We’re not related to her. For that matter, neither are you, dear auntie. Face it, Jake, all of our connections to Susan are through Tom. You were married to Tom’s brother. Our mom was your sister. Harrison was a cousin of Tom’s. Sure, Susan’s been great to her husband’s family, but that was when she didn’t have any family of her own.” Gina turned toward the swinging door.
Jake hurried after her, caught at her elbow. “We’ve been her family. A good family. Susan wanted to take care of us. She always said the house will be mine. This is my home.”
Gina’s smile was crooked. “Think about it, Jake. Susan’s always made everything clear, how the property was to be divided, the estate divided equally but you were to have the house and Mitch the ranch. Maybe she’ll leave each of us something and Tucker will likely still run Burnt Creek. The only difference is that it won’t be his ranch. You have to remember that none of us are blood kin to Susan. If this little boy is Mitch’s son, who do you think will inherit?”
A too-tight pink satin housecoat pulled across Jake’s ample bosom. The bedroom was overwarm, but she placed another log on the fire burning in the fireplace. The mesh metal fire screen rattled as she yanked it shut. She stood uncertainly by the mantel, then, with sudden decisiveness, moved to a chintz-covered chair next to a small table. She perched on the cushion and picked up a cell phone.
Quickly she punched numbers. She began without preamble. “Susan’s going to talk to Wade tomorrow.” She twined a bristly strand of too-often-bleached hair around a finger. “That’s easy for you to say.” Heavily penciled brows drew down in a tight frown. “I suppose you’ll get to run the ranch, no matter what happens. And you’re paid a pretty handsome salary.” She tapped a nervous tattoo on the table. “No.” The words came slowly. “I don’t suppose she’ll throw us out and I know she’s generous. But Tucker, we thought everything was going to be ours.” Her eyes widened. “Of course I’m going to be sweet to the little boy. If he turns out to be Mitch’s son, I’ll be the first to be thrilled for Susan. But it all seems peculiar to me, his arriving right before Christmas with nothing but a shabby suitcase and some papers.” She massaged one temple. “I know.” Her voice was dull. “They’ll be able to prove the truth. I suppose he must be Mitch’s son. Everyone knows about DNA. But we’ve all stood by Susan, when there was no family for her. Tucker, maybe you could talk to Susan. She’s always liked you a lot.” She sat up straighter. “I’m not asking you to beg. But it never hurts to be nice.” Her face looked hurt. “I’ve never asked any favors of you and Gina and I made a home for you when your folks died and now if you can help me…Well, if that’s how you feel about it.”
Jake clicked off the cell, sagged against the tufted chair back. She looked around the room, cluttered with mementos ranging from a painted-face coconut shell to a replica of the Matterhorn. “It’s my house. She promised.” There was pathos and despair in her cry. Jake’s eyes brimmed with tears.
Gina stood by an open window, blowing out a plume of cigarette smoke. She didn’t turn when the door opened behind her.
“Susan hates cigarette smoke.” Peg sounded irritated.
Gina took another deep drag. “A: She won’t come in here. B: I have the window open. C: I am blowing the smoke outside. Give it a rest.”
Peg moved to a dresser, opened the drawer. “I don’t mind sharing my room when you’re here between jobs, but I don’t like smoke either.” She pulled out a pair of yellow flannel pajamas with a prancing reindeer pattern.
Gina leaned against the wall. “Where’s the problem? You’re sleeping in the blue room tonight with the little guy. Lucky me, Susan obviously has never noticed my maternal charm.” Her laughter was wry. “You’ll probably be named nanny-in-chief when she writes a new will. You could spend a bunch before he gets to twenty-one, maybe take him to Paris over holidays.”
Peg slammed the drawer shut. She quickly undressed, neatly hanging up a blue sweater and gray wool slacks. “I wish you didn’t sound so bitter.”
“It doesn’t bother you to go from heiress to pauper in the space of one cold December night?” Gina’s voice shook a little. “One minute you’re looking ahead to a couple of million and maybe you get your art history degree and end up with a job in a museum that won’t pay enough to keep a mouse in cheese. The next you’re out in the cold world, the real cold world, like I am. It isn’t easy to get jobs these days. How are you going to pay back your student loans?”
“I’ll manage.” Peg’s gaze was thoughtful. “How are you going to pay off your credit cards? You don’t even have a job.”
“I’m trying to get one. I’ve sent in résumés and stood in lines and filled out applications online until I’m cross-eyed. There’s nothing out there, and I’m down to my last fifty bucks. I got evicted from my apartment and I canceled my cell because I got so many calls from collection agencies. Nasty calls. I’m using a prepaid cell.” Gina gave a last puff, snuffed the cigarette in a potted plant. She flapped a magazine to fan the air, then closed the window. “Speaking of calls, have you buzzed Dave?”