The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,155
got out and reached for his small suitcase in the nonexistent backseat. “Truth is, her feet get cold and she needs me around so she has something to warm them against.”
Lane engaged the emergency brake and got out, too. As Lenghe came around to the front grille, Lane said, “I’m never going to forget this.”
Lenghe clapped a meaty hand on Lane’s shoulder. “I meant what I said last night, son. You’re going to do well. I’m not saying it’s not going to be a struggle, but you’re going to right your ship. I’m proud of you.”
Lane closed his eyes. “Do you have any idea …” He cleared his throat and laughed awkwardly. “You know, I would have loved to have had my father say that to me just once.”
Lenghe laughed, but his version of the sound was natural and relaxed. “Why do you think I’m bothering to tell you? Just because he didn’t speak the words doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”
With a final clap on Lane’s shoulder, Lenghe turned away. “I’ll see you soon, son. You can always call me—”
“Wait,” Lane called out. “I have something for you. You know, to remind you of the game.”
Lenghe pivoted back around with a laugh. “If it’s those four aces for framing? You can keep ’em.”
Lane smiled and ducked back under the dash on the driver’s side. “No, those puppies are mine.”
As the Porsche’s hood popped, Lane went over, lifted the panel and exposed a brown-wrapped square that was about three feet long and two and a half feet wide. The thing had barely fit inside.
With a grunt, he lifted the package out. “Here.”
John put down his case. “What is this—”
But the man knew the minute the painting changed hands.
Before Lenghe could say anything, Lane put his palm out. “Take it home to your wife. Let her hang it wherever she wants, and every time you look at it, remember … you’re a father figure to a guy who’s wanted one all his life, okay? And before you remind me that you lost, let’s just look at it like you bought your wife a great present for a very fair price—and you and I got to play one helluva game of cards.”
Lenghe held the thing for the longest time. Then he cleared his throat. “Well. Now.”
“The documentation’s in there. On the back side of the painting. Not the front.”
Lenghe cleared his throat again and looked off into the distance. After a moment, he said, “Did your father tell you?”
“About what? And before you answer, he and I didn’t talk about much.”
“My, ah … my wife and I never could have children, you know.” More with the throat clearing. “So. There you go.”
Guess it was kind of perfect, Lane decided. A man who had no sons being a father to a guy with no parents.
Without conscious thought, Lane went in for the clinch, holding those strong shoulders.
When he stepped back, John Lenghe’s face was florid with emotion, so red it was like he’d gotten a sunburn mowing those acres of his.
“You’re going to come out West and stay with us in Kansas,” John announced. “With that nice girl of yours. The wife’s gonna wanna thank you in person, and she does that stuff with food. So come hungry.”
“You got it.”
With a final handshake, the Grain God tucked his Rembrandt under one arm and picked up his suitcase with his free hand. Then he walked up the stairs and disappeared into his plane.
Lane leaned back against the Porsche and saw through the oval windows as the guy sat down and put his cell phone to his ear.
And then, with a final wave and a big fat smile that suggested “the wife” was over the moon, the jet was taxiing out … and taking off.
Just as the early sunlight winked off its fuselage, and Lane started thinking about his father’s impending funeral that afternoon, his phone rang. He answered without looking. “Hello?”
“Lane, it’s Mitch Ramsey. Get out to the Red & Black. They’re going to arrest your brother for the murder. Hurry—hurry!”
• • •
Lizzie was heading back down to the kitchen with her work clothes on as she heard the purr of Lane’s Porsche disappear down the hill. What a night. What a miracle.
And what a nice thing Lane had decided to do.
She had found the roll of brown paper and had helped him carefully remove the painting from the wall and get it covered safely. Then they’d had the fun of seeing whether or not