The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,77
be talking to everyone, I’m sure.”
“Yup.”
She handed him a pair of pliers. “Staff are invited, too.”
“To the visitation?”
“Uh-huh. It’s for everyone to pay their respects.”
“They don’t want no grease monkey like me in that there house.”
“You’d be welcomed. I promise. I’m going.”
“That’s a’cuz it’s your man’s poppa.”
Lizzie felt the blush hit her cheeks. “How did you know about me and Lane?”
“Ain’t nothing that happens ‘round here that I don’t know about, girl.”
He stopped what he was doing and picked up an old red rag. As he wiped his hands, he finally looked over, his weathered face gentle.
“Lane better do right by you. Or I got places to put the body.”
Lizzie laughed. “I would hug you right now, but you would faint.”
“Oh, I don’t know ’bout that.” Except he was shuffling his weight around like she’d embarrassed him. “But I think he’s probably all right—or you wouldn’t be with him. Besides, I’ve see him look at you. The boy’s had love in his eyes for years when it come to you.”
“You are much more sentimental than you let on, Gary.”
“I didn’t get schooled, remember. I don’t know the meaning of those big words.”
“I think you know exactly what they mean.” Lizzie punched him lightly in the arm. “And if you do decide to come to the visitation, you can hang out with me and Greta.”
“I got work to do. Don’t have time for none of that.”
“I understand.” She hopped down off the worktable. “Well, I’m going to head out. I’ve got everything ordered, and Miss Aurora’s on the food, of course.”
“How’s that fool butler doing?”
“He’s not so bad.”
“Depends on what you’re using as a comparison.”
With a laugh, she lifted her hand over her shoulder as a good-bye and headed for the bright outdoors. But she didn’t get far before he spoke up again.
“Miss Lizzie?”
Turning around, she retucked her polo into the waistband of her shorts. “Yes?”
“They doing anything for Little V.E.’s birthday this year? I need to be getting anything done for that?”
“Oh, God. I’d forgotten that was coming up. I don’t think we did anything last year, did we?”
“She’s turning sixty-five. That’s the only reason I asked.”
“That is a milestone.” Lizzie thought of Lane’s birth mother up in that bedroom. “I’ll ask. And shoot, I need to freshen her flowers tomorrow.”
“There are some early peonies coming in.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Let me know if you be wanting anything else done.”
“Always, Gary. Always.”
TWENTY-FIVE
When Lane finally got back to Easterly, after what had felt like years in the presence of that reporter, he went directly to the second floor, bypassing the dinner that had been served in the formal dining room and ignoring Mr. Harris’s fussing about something or another.
At his grandfather’s door, he knocked once and opened it wide—
Over on the bed, Tiphanii sat up fast and took the covers with her, hiding that which was very clearly naked.
“Please excuse us,” he told her. “He and I have some business.”
Jeff nodded at the woman to leave, and God love her, she took her frickin’ time, sauntering around with that sheet while Jeff pulled the duvet over himself and sat up.
After a trip into the bathroom, she reemerged in her uniform and disappeared out the door, although Lane was very sure she purposely left her black panties behind on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“It was totally consensual,” Jeff muttered. “And I am allowed to come up for air—”
“The local newspaper knows everything. Everything.”
As Jeff opened his mouth, Lane barked, “You didn’t have to fuck me like that!”
“You think I talked to the press?” Jeff threw his head back and laughed. “You actually think I dropped a dime and gave them anything—”
“They have the information you’re working from. Page for page. Explain how that happened. I thought I could trust you—”
“I’m sorry, are you accusing me of malfeasance after you blackmailed me into doing this for you? Really?”
“You screwed me.”
“Okay, first of all, if I were going to fuck you like that I would have gone to the Wall Street Journal, not the Charlemont Herald Post Ledger or whatever the hell it’s called. I can name half a dozen reporters in the Big Apple. I couldn’t tell you who to call down here in goddamn Kentucky. And more to the point, after this little nightmare is over, I’m going back to Manhattan. You think I couldn’t use a couple of favors owed to me? The shit about your family and your little bourbon business is big news, asshole. Bigger