urged as Allison felt her eyes fill with tears. “Gramps hated crying women. He never knew what to do with them.”
Allison followed her mother away from the gravesites and across the sloping field. When they reached the river, they paused. The torrent thundering past reminded Allison of her tall, barrel-chested grandfather with his thick mane of white hair and booming laugh. He’d had a wonderful tenor voice and often entertained his guests at the Lodge from a repertoire that included everything from show tunes to country-western. Allison had especially enjoyed the times he’d sung “Annie’s Song” to her grandmother, who often accompanied him on her acoustic guitar.
What a pair they’d been. Until Gram had been diagnosed with cancer and died slowly before Jack Adams’ helpless, desperate eyes.
He’d never sung again. He’d remained jovial with his guests, always appeared happy when he visited Allison and her parents in Ottawa, but he’d never again radiated the overwhelming joie de vivre that had once been a nimbus around him.
Was that what love meant? A song bursting in your heart when you had it and silence when it was gone? She’d never know. Her heart had been turned to stone years ago by the man shoveling earth into her grandfather’s grave.
“You’re cold.” Myra put an arm about her daughter and hugged her to her side. “Heath must be finished. We can head back. Dad wouldn’t want any of us to catch pneumonia.”
“I would have dressed more appropriately if you’d told me these plans.” Cold and tiredness brought testiness into Allison’s tone.
“I was afraid you’d protest and, frankly, my darling, in the past day and a half since Dad died, I wouldn’t have had the strength to argue with you. Especially since your father had several critically ill patients and couldn’t come with us. Gramps would have understood his not attending the funeral under those conditions, but you know how I rely on your father’s strength at times like this. I need you to be with me, physically and emotionally.”
Exhaustion settled over Myra Armstrong’s delicately featured face.
“Ignore my whining. I loved Gramps.” She gave her mother a quick hug. “I’m willing to do whatever he wanted.”
“Are you?” Her mother’s green eyes looked into hers, searching deep. “Are you really, Allison? You do know why your grandfather named his lodge and wilderness retreat the Chance, don’t you? He thought of it as a place that gave people a chance to find themselves, to discover who and what they really are.”
“Of course, but what…?”
“Ready to leave, ladies?” Heath climbed back into the driver’s seat. “This time you can ride on the trailer, if you think you can hang on.”
“We’ll definitely give it a try.” Myra headed for the decrepit conveyance. “My feet are killing me, and I’m sure Allison’s are in much worse condition.”
Chapter Two
“Let’s go.” Allison’s teeth chattered as she huddled against the car, hugging her body while Myra searched her pocket for the key. The black designer suit was poor protection from the cold mist. “Hurry, Mom, hurry. We have to catch that flight back home.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Her mother paused with her hand on the door and looked out at her daughter from beneath the brim of her hat. “You’ll be staying at Chance Lodge. I have to go back immediately—the fundraising drive for the new children’s wing at the hospital is at a crucial point—but a family member has to be here for the reading of the will.”
“Me? Stay, at the Lodge—with him?” Allison was sputtering. “No way! I have to get back. My job…”
“Darling, the Shawville Corporation won’t go belly-up simply because you’re absent another day or two. Get your suitcase out of the trunk and go with Heath.” She glanced over her daughter’s shoulder and smiled at the man waiting beside the mud-spattered Jeep.
“If you’ll give me your key, I’ll get your daughter’s luggage, Mrs. Armstrong.” He strode forward.
“All right, all right.” Allison threw up her hands. Taking charge, bullying his way into their lives. Damn the man! “But as soon as the lawyer reads that will, I’ll be on the next plane to T-O. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Myra handed the key to Heath. As he went to the rear of the car, she embraced her disgruntled daughter. “Thanks, sweetie.”
“I’m not sure how Paul will feel about this arrangement, but safe journey, Mom.” Allison softened at her mother’s imminent departure.
“There you go. You’re doing better already. Take care of my girl, Heath,” Myra continued to the man who had returned, Allison’s